District 3 Justice Building
Tuesday, July 7th, 1663 P.A.
Skagen Matisse, 13
District 3 Male Tribute
"In the last two decades, District Three has claimed two victors," Mayor Cordae says. Her monotone voice doesn't betray any emotions, even though she lost her daughter years ago in the Games. "Anahita Parthenie, victor of the 1st Hunger Games."
Anahita rises from her seat with a polite smile and a charming wave. Although she was raised in Three, her appearance and demeanor resemble those of a stereotypical Capitolite. Her golden brown complexion looks unblemished from excessive make-up usage, and her chestnut brown hair has highlights to disguise its evident thinning. She wears a translucent halter dress covered in multicolored jewels, which matches her multiple ear and nose piercings. Even more striking, she has a gold chain connecting her nose ring to her cartilage ring.
Twenty years ago, she was a known rebel fighting in the Third Rebellion. Now, she is an avid Capitol and Hunger Games supporter.
The arena changed her into a monster that Three tries not to claim.
"And Leith Taliesin," the mayor continues, "victor of the 16th Hunger Games."
Unlike Anahita, Leith still looks like he was born and raised in Three (even if he is living a more luxurious lifestyle than most). His pale face is slightly burned from the summer sun, his black hair is gelled into a fashionable comb over, and his patchy beard is trimmed into a stubble. He wears a simple navy tuxedo, and his signature oval glasses with tortoise frames are tucked into his collar. Although he neither smiles nor acknowledges the crowd, his dorky appearance suggests that he's introverted rather than condescending.
"Thank you, Anahita and Leith." Mayor Cordae leads an applause for the victors as they sit down. "Now, I will let Elixyvette conduct the official Reaping of the 21st Hunger Games."
I stare at the famous dancer-turned escort with curiosity as she approaches the microphone. When the Reaping began, I swore that the three star-shaped stickers on both of her cheeks were gold and silver. But now, the stars are baby blue, the same shade as her excessive eye makeup.
I'm both disgusted and impressed that someone in the Capitol thought color-changing stickers were a valuable contribution to society.
"Thank you, Mayor Cordae," Elixyvette says. Her gold eyes widen as she scans the crowd. "Wouldn't you say she did a great job?"
Nobody responds.
I catch a glimpse of the star-shaped stickers starting to turn maroon, but in a blink, they're back to their solid baby blue.
So… mood-based, color-changing stickers… no wonder the Capitol relies on the districts for all their necessities.
Elixyvette clears her throat. "As President Quain announced three months ago, this year's twist reads: 'Tributes must be connected to a tribute or victor of a previous Hunger Games, as determined by familial bloodlines and explicit mentions—of them or their ancestors—in the tribute's will.'"
Once again, the escort pauses to allow the audience to respond.
I feel embarrassed for her. Somebody should have told her that Three does not enjoy the Reaping as much as Four or whatever district she escorted before.
"Okay," she mumbles. "As usual, I will begin by selecting our female representative."
She struts to one of the glass bowls, her stilettos clicking and echoing throughout the silent City Square. She creates an unwanted spectacle as she dips her hand into the bowl, tracing her pointer finger over the myriad of paper slips before plucking a single one.
"And the selected female tribute is . . . Eulalia Psy."
An older girl with chestnut brown hair approaches the stage. With a light olive jumpsuit and black glasses, she looks smart and sophisticated. Judging by her pale pink complexion, she hasn't seen sunlight in a while. But that's common in Three: we spend our free time in our house and behind computer screens, rather than outdoors.
When the girl stands beside Elixyvette and faces the audience, I'm taken aback by her scowl. It transforms her otherwise unimpressive and unthreatening face into one of rage and defiance. Although Three is one of the few remaining districts that (secretly) despise the Capitol, we cannot be verbal or blatant about it. If someone tries to defy the Capitol, they are publicly executed and their families and associates are imprisoned. Only those who are lonely and hopeless still rebel.
My stomach drops. Does she have anyone left to lose?
"And . . . uh, now, I will select our male representative."
For a moment, the audience seems confused. This might be Elixyvette's first year hosting our Reaping, but she was an escort before. It's customary to ask for any volunteers before moving onto the next tribute, even if our district rarely has volunteers. Unless . . .
It collectively clicks for the audience.
Nobody can volunteer for a convicted criminal or a child of a convicted criminal, regardless of the severity of the charge. It's how the Capitol ensures that crime rates stay low in the districts. Some criminals may manipulate the legal system to avoid execution, but nothing can save them in the arena.
Elixyvette clears her throat into the microphone, and the audience refocuses on her.
"And the selected male tribute is . . . Skagen Matisse."
The Peacekeepers lead Eulalia and I on a silent walk through the Justice Building. Although this is my second time here, it looks more intimidating than before. The narrow hallways and large doors make me feel inferior and insignificant. Like I could be swallowed in a shadow and disappear forever, forgotten by the outside world. If this is a glimpse of what the Capitol is like—
I bump into the Peacekeeper in front of me.
"Here are your rooms," the Head Peacekeeper says, gesturing to a set of doors behind her. "Your visitors will each have five minutes to talk to you. When all of them leave, you will be escorted to the train by your mentors."
"What if I don't want to see anyone?" Eulalia says with an impassive expression. "Can I go straight to the train?"
"No," the Peacekeeper responds. "You both have visitors. You will both speak to your visitors until your time is up."
"What if I don't want to speak?"
I tense as Eulalia and the Head Peacekeeper have a silent staring contest. Neither looks like they're willing to back down.
"Can I… um—" I blush when everyone turns toward me. "Can I see my visitors now?"
For a moment, Eulalia and the Head Peacekeeper stare at each other again before simultaneously averting their eyes.
"Yes," the Head Peacekeeper says. She points to the first door "That room is for you."
As soon as the door closes behind me, I let my defenses fall.
A wave of nausea engulfs me, and I squeeze my eyes shut. My breaths are shallow. My hands are shaking. I must fall at some point because when I reopen my eyes, I'm on the floor. I pull my trembling thighs to my chest, resting my head on my bony knees. But it doesn't help. The nausea persists. I feel like someone is strangling me. The room is spinning around me. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth in five-second intervals. But it's not enough. My head feels light and dizzy.
I can feel the panic attack setting in, and nothing is stopping it.
I'm going into the Hunger Games. A shiver runs down my spine at the thought. I'm going into the arena. When I'm thirteen. Just like Petrovna.
My whole body goes numb.
Six years ago, my oldest sister was reaped for the 15th Hunger Games. She survived long enough to attend the feast, long enough for my family to be interviewed, long enough to reach the finale. She could have won. She would have won. She would have won if she didn't trip over a branch and get devoured by pyrovermins—flesh-eating, fire ant mutations whose bites cause an intense burning sensation. All she had to do was outlive one more tribute—a Career tribute but the weakest of the pack. Then she would have come home alive.
Instead, she came home in a tasteless casket.
My dad disappeared a week later. He didn't even bother to come to Petrovna's funeral. Was her death that traumatic to him that he had to leave my mom, my seven other siblings, and me? (He didn't even watch it live; he was too plastered to remember it!) I don't even know if he's still alive or if his body is decaying in some hole.
Either way, I hope I never see him again. I could never forgive him.
"You should have volunteered." I lift my head when I hear my mom's hushed voice through the door. "You could have saved him, Marcel."
My stomach drops.
"What would you have done then, Mom?" My eighteen-year-old brother hisses. "What would you do if I died? If I couldn't take care of the twins during your late shifts? If I didn't pay half our bills?"
"You would have a chance to survive."
"It's not a risk I'm willing to take. Not when the family needs me." My brother lowers his voice. I hold my breath to hear his next words. "I know this is hard for you, but try to look at the bigger picture."
"I don't want to lose another child. I—" My mom abruptly stops as three new pairs of footsteps approach my room. "Lilith, where are Nessa and the twins?"
"The twins weren't feeling good," my fifteen-year-old sister says, "so Nessa brought them home."
"They didn't want to say goodbye to Skagen?" I can hear my mom's frown through the door. "Even though he might die?"
"That's why they weren't feeling good."
There's a pause for a moment. I wonder if they realize that I can hear them.
Maurel eventually breaks the silence. "Should we go in?"
The door opens.
Before anyone can say a word, I throw up on Maurel's leather shoes.
Eulalia Psy, 17
District 3 Female Tribute
When I was first interrogated five months ago, I stared more at the surroundings than at the interrogators. I memorized the individual cracks of the brick walls, the unappealing rust of the metal vents, the minuscule scratches of the steel door. With my mind focused on capturing the smallest details of the room, I was able to distract myself from the Peacekeepers and their electroshock torture.
It was difficult at times, but it's how I survived.
If I cracked, I knew I would die.
They wanted to know what I found. They wanted to know who I told. CapDocs, the Capitol's most extensive and confidential database, was supposed to have an infallible defense system. A seventeen-year-old girl in Three should not be able to override the firewall. They didn't care that it was an accident. They didn't care that I only wanted to find my parents. They didn't want excuses; they only wanted answers.
I never told them.
I'm pulled away from my thoughts when the door opens.
On instinct, I release the tension in my face and tilt my head to the side. After so many years of putting on an emotionless façade, I can slip into one without a second thought. (If I act like I can't feel anything, everything hurts less.) Even the Capitol psychiatrist who assisted in my interrogations couldn't read my emotions.
Two Peacekeepers walk into the room, and it doesn't take me long to recognize the first one.
Although his face is obscured by his helmet, his posture and movements are distinct. He walks to the chair across from me, each stride strong and calculated, as if to insert his dominance in this situation. After a beat, he draws out the motion of pulling off his helmet. If he expects me to be surprised, he's wrong.
I will not be fooled by an idiot's game.
"Garson." I raise my eyebrow at the Commander of Investigation. "I was wondering if you would show up. I can't say I'm happy to see you."
"I feel quite the opposite." He grins, flashing his teeth like an aggressive dog. "In fact, I'm pretty ecstatic about this situation."
"Ooh, 'ecstatic.'" I smile. "I'm glad you learned how to open a dictionary. It was getting rather tedious using a simple vocabulary so you could understand."
"And I'm glad you're finally going to be out of my life." He leans back into his chair. "Took a looong time for you to get what you deserve."
"Are you suggesting you tampered with the Reaping?" I fake gasp. "Because I believe that is classified as an indirect form of treason. Maybe even a direct form of treason since I don't qualify for these Games."
"No, you do." He smirks. "What? Did your parents never tell you?"
My retort dies in my throat, my emotionless façade slipping for a moment. I never told him about my parents.
"Wait, I guess they can't, right?" he continues. "Because they abandoned you when you were a baby. You probably don't even remember them."
I open my mouth, but I don't speak. My brain struggles to find the right words. I was not prepared for a conversation about my parents.
"You know, this whole situation is ironic." He snorts. "Because of your hacking, we found out about your parents. And because they aren't here, they can't tell you that they're the reason you were reaped."
I blink. "What?"
"You know, your hacking?" He raises an eyebrow. "When you got into CapDocs?"
I nod without thinking.
He smirks. "Well, the Capitol was more impressed by your skills than offended. You could've gotten out of this shitty district and made something of yourself."
"But what about my parents?" I ask. There's no point trying to act like I'm still in control of this conversation. He has all the cards, and he's enjoying it. "Did they . . . were they in the Games?"
In hindsight, I should have thought about that earlier. As soon as I learned that I was eligible for this twist, I should have pieced it together.
The first few twists were lax with the age requirements. For the 4th Hunger Games, only young parents, between the ages of twelve and twenty, could be reaped. Then, for the 5th Hunger Games, only young couples could be reaped, as long as one of them met the standard age requirement. I was an infant during both. If my parents were reaped . . . that would explain why they disappeared when I was young, why I don't have any memories of them, why they haven't come back.
"No, your parents weren't reaped," Garson says. "But your relation to them made you eligible."
A feeling of hope warms my chest. "So they might still be alive?"
"Nope."
"How do you know?"
"I can't say."
"Why not?"
"Because I can't."
I slam my palms against the table. "Well, can you tell me anything about them?" I shout. "Or are you just going to sit there like a dick and give shitty responses?"
"I didn't know you wanted me to give you the answers." He smirks. "Isn't that cheating? I thought you were supposed to be smart?"
I huff.
"Well, you have a week to figure it out. I doubt you'll last long in the arena."
"You don't know that!"
"The Gamemakers will make sure of it." He stands up and glances at the other Peacekeeper. "After all, she just confessed to her crimes, right?"
The other Peacekeeper nods.
Garson turns toward me with taunting eyes. "And the Capitol doesn't appreciate criminals."
I wait until the door closes behind them before I scream.
Fifteen minutes pass in lonely silence. I assume that Skagen is still talking to his visitors. He looks like the popular type. Fawn white skin. Dirty blonde hair. Cerulean eyes. Long limbs. Short stature. In a few years, he would've grown into his features. He might have promising beauty for his youth, but he would've become an irresistible man, someone who could have anyone he desires.
My stomach drops at the thought. Not because he's attractive—even if he was older, I'm more than comfortable with my asexuality—but because he would've had a future. He has family and friends, people who care about his well-being. When he dies, people will give him a proper funeral and visit his grave on a regular basis. People will want to remember him.
When I die, nobody will want to remember me. I will always be the orphan criminal, the one that Peacekeepers tortured, the one that embodies all the evilness in Panem. When people think of me, they will only remember my crimes. I will become a cautionary tale to dissuade future criminals.
The silence is broken when the door opens.
"Eulalia," Anahita says. Her tone is polite, yet her eyes are filled with disgust. "Skagen is finished talking to his visitors. He is being escorted to the train now."
"Okay?" I raise my eyebrow. "So are you here to bring me to the train?"
"No."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because President Quain"—I ignore how fondly she says his name—"has assigned me to be your mentor. He believes it will be for the best."
"Does he normally do this?"
She tilts her head to the side. "What do you mean?"
"Assign mentors to a specific tribute?"
"No."
"And how could he contact you so quickly?" Anger bubbles in my chest. "Did he know I was going to be reaped?"
"You do realize our district creates phones, correct?" she scoffs. "And that the Reapings are organized so the Capitol can watch them live?"
"We both know you're not that dumb." I rest my cheek on my palm. "Save us both some time and tell me the truth. Why did he assign you to mentor me?"
Her polite expression morphs into one of irritation and apathy. After a moment, she sits down across from me with a rigid posture and cold eyes.
"Because he trusts me to figure out what you found," she says in a low voice. "You already confessed to your crimes, so what do you have to lose? Why don't you tell me what you found?"
"What do I have to gain?" I pull my glasses off my face, casually cleaning the lens with my jumpsuit. "Are they going to get me out of the Games?"
"No."
"So, whether or not I tell you, I'm going to die?"
"Correct."
I snort. "You're terrible at negotiating."
"I don't negotiate with criminals." She pauses. "But I'm not opposed to bribery."
"Bribery?" I bite my tongue and cover my mouth to hide my smirk. "That's even worse than negotiating. How do you rationalize that?"
"I set the terms for the bribe. I don't need to negotiate a deal with you because I create it. It's your decision whether you agree or disagree."
"Humph. So what's your bribe?" I raise an eyebrow. "Because money and sponsors aren't going to help someone who's guaranteed to die in the arena."
"Your parents." She leans forward. "We both know you were looking for them on CapDocs. But you couldn't find them, correct?"
I nod hesitantly. "And you think you might?"
"I can." She smiles. "And when I find your parents, you will tell me everything that you found on CapDocs."
"How do I know you'll tell me the truth and not some fabricated version of them?"
She shrugs. "I guess that's a risk you'll have to take."
"And if I don't take it?"
"Like you said, you don't have much to gain. This may be your only chance." She extends her hand until it's halfway between us, her elbow resting on the table. "Deal?"
I pause for a moment before shaking her hand. "Deal."
End of Chapter 5.
Current Tribute List:
District 1
Lorcan Estrelle, 15
Veira Faustus, 17
District 2
Xolani Satine, 18
Honoria Brantlie, 16
District 3
Skagen Matisse, 13
Eulalia Psy, 17
District 4
Tycho Searling, 17
Mayuri Odelle, 18
District 6
Kaia Palani, 15
Lark Devereaux, 16
Author Note: Thank you for reading this chapter! Eulalia was indirectly mentioned in the Prologue, but now you have a formal introduction to her. If anyone is uncomfortable with the minor vulgarity in her POV, I apologize, but it fit with the dialogue and with her personality. As for Skagen, he was a tribute that I heavily revised over my drafts, so I hope you enjoyed him!
Q: What do you think about Skagen and Eulalia?
Next Chapter: Deception (D7 Justice Building)
