Ayo... who said that the next chapter would be up in two weeks? They must have lied because it's been much longer than that...

These tributes were created by CragmiteBlaster and domgk115. Thanks so much to these wonderful people who have been submitting since Born To Die. In fact, if anybody remembers Jason from BTD, you'll be in for a treat!

This chapter is unbetaed so all mistakes are my own.

Olivia McCaskey (18)- D6F

I'm not the only one who comes to the cemetery to visit the graves of former Hunger Games tributes. They have little Capitol insignias on their gravestones that indicate an 'honorable death' for their country, and they always have the most flowers and trinkets placed on them. Out of all the tribute graves, Jason's used to be the most decorated. It always bothered me that people who never met him would leave gifts for him. They only knew him as the helpless lover who was manipulated by a Career and died because of it. They didn't know the real him, the one who dedicated his life to helping the poorest people in the district. I'm glad that the tributes from last year now get more attention.

I pass by the plots of Logan and Pagani near the entrance. I still remember the funeral ceremonies. Pagani's mother couldn't pay for a headstone or a funeral since she was homeless, so Logan's Warrior gang paid for it instead. They now rest side by side, their stones covered in candles and wildflowers picked from beyond the district fences. Symbols of eternity.

I stop and watch the candles flicker underneath Logan's headstone, then turn away and head deeper into the cemetery.

The morning is cool and the sky is clear of clouds. It's a great day to go around handing out food and blankets. Hopefully it won't rain while I'm at work. As I walk closer to Sparks' family grave plot, I feel my heart sinking in my chest. I visit almost every morning, but I still can't get rid of that tiny little bit of hope that this is all just a mistake. Or maybe a nightmare. Maybe I'll wake up in the morning to the sound of Jason knocking on the door, telling my brother and I to hurry up and get ready for school.

That little irrational part of myself dies every time I reach the headstone.

Jason Sparks,

Beloved son and friend,

May your love outlast all.

Apparently the last line is also etched onto the grave of Nicolette Anderson in Four. I've always hated it, ever since the funeral when the headstone had been revealed. Why should he be immortalized with the girl who got him killed? But the Capitol always gets what it wants.

I don't leave anything on Jason's grave. I don't have anything that could express the gaping hole that he left behind in our lives when he was sent to the Capitol like cattle to die. Instead I curse the Capitol and their Games, curse Nikki and her demented victor parents, curse the girl from One, TIffany, who shoved her sword into his stomach. Not for the first time, I think about scratching out the final line on his headstone, but I stop myself every time. I'm the one who comes to visit him nearly everyday, SO the Peacekeepers would know that it was me.

I can't believe Jason was training to become one of them when he was Reaped. That's how my brother, Grayson, met him. They were both two of the most promising Peacekeeping trainees in Six. There was a chance that, if they showed enough promise, they would be sent to Two for certification. Then, a twenty year service contract somewhere in Panem before returning to Six. We really thought that they would be able to help make Panem a safer, better place that way. What a joke.

My watch beeps, and I'm broken out of my reverie. I glance at the time and realize that it's almost nine. I have to head to work. People always stream into the mayor's office the day before the Reaping to claim this month's worth of tesserae. Families need food for their celebrations afterward, and morphlings need it to trade for drugs to take their mind off the Games.

"Goodbye, Jason," I murmur to the headstone. I reach out as if to touch the marble, but my fingers fall away before they make contact. I quickly turn and head out of the cemetery the way I came.

…

The Justice Building is full of people, just as I expected. I breeze past them on my way to my desk, trying to ignore the crying of children and arguments echoing through the halls. Peacekeepers flank every inch of the hallways, monitoring everything with their batons held at the ready. I've seen them beat unruly citizens before. They've never laid a hand on someone working in the Justice Building, but the threat is always there.

"Hey, Liv," Serena says cheerfully, looking up from her paperwork and the citizen she's helping for a moment as I set my lunch bag on my desk. She's wearing the same beaming smile she always has, even on the darkest of days. Serena is my age, but in some ways it feels like she has it all figured out, more than I do. With a husband, a baby on the way, and no one to mourn. I give her a fleeting smile in return as I drop into my seat. A line of people immediately divert from Serena's desk to mine, their faces gaunt and expressions hollow. Someone tugs their child forward and wordlessly hands me their paperwork. I look it over before silently handing it back and waving them to the tesserae room, where Peacekeepers are handing out the rations. Most people know the drill by now. It's like clockwork for them, every month without fail.

The next one, however, is clearly not used to the process. She steps up to my desk nervously with her papers in hand, glancing around as if afraid someone she knows will see her. It's a look I've seen many times before. I sigh and extend my hand. She gingerly gives me the papers. According to the form, the age of the child is apparently twelve years old. I glance over the paper at the girl– woman– who stands in front of me and I sigh, tilting the paper back toward her.
"The recipient of the tesserae must be present in order to claim the food," I drone. I know exactly what she's going to say next.

"The recipient is my daughter," she says nervously. "She's at school right now, so she can't come pick it up."

"The local school grants monthly release for tesserae recipients," I say, shoving the paper back into her hand and waving for her to leave.

"You don't–" she glances around before lowering her voice and leaning in over my desk, whispering, "You don't understand. She doesn't know that I signed her up, and neither does my husband. Please, we'll starve without it."

I look her up and down, taking in her polished black shoes, her curled hair, and her neatly pressed blouse.

"Doubtful," I say pointedly. "Next time, bring your daughter."

"Ma'am, my husband lost his job. we can't keep this up forever–"

"What seems to be the problem?" A bright voice asks from behind me. I glance over my shoulder to see Serena standing there, one hand on her pregnant belly and the other on the back of my chair.

"I need my tesserae," the woman continues to whisper. "Please–"

I open my mouth to tell her to get her drug money somewhere else, when Serena discreetly grips the back of my neck with the hand that was on my chair.

"I can handle this one, Olivia," she says pleasantly.

Serena is always a lifesaver. I jump up from my chair and head into the mayor's office that is directly behind our desks. He's not here today, so the room is thankfully empty, with only a few photographs of his family on his desk to keep me company. I lean against the wall and sigh, wishing I could sneak away for a drink right now. I just got to work, and I already want to leave.

At least Serena is here. She's the only reason I got this job in the first place. Her husband Trav works with my brother Grayson on the assembly line making train engines. Her and Trav are some of the only people I can stand to be around after Jason died. Still, sometimes I wish I just got a job at one of the factories like Grayson did after he left Peacekeeper training. At least he doesn't have to deal with anyone. I took this job to help people around the district, but lately it doesn't feel like I'm any better than a Peacekeeper. All I'm doing is helping the Capitol by upholding their sick system.

But if I didn't have this job, we would be one of the people in line here today, desperate for their life-saving tesserae. And I would do anything to risk going into the Games, giving our lives to the Capitol.

So I must persist.

I return to my desk a few minutes later with a cooler head. The rest of the day goes by smoothly, at least as smoothly as it can working here. When Serena and I are packing up to leave for the night, she walks over to me with a soft smile.

"My check up went well," she says cheerfully. "We even got to see a sonogram of the baby."

"Really? It must have cost a fortune."

"Eh, it was worth it." Serena shrugs, placing a hand over her belly. I can't believe there's only a month to go before she gives birth. It seems like it was just a few weeks ago when she announced she was expecting. She glances up at me with a small laugh. "It's getting really real now."

"Did they tell you what the gender is?"

She shakes her head. "We asked them not to tell us. We don't want to know until the birth."

I nod. "You're going to be great parents."

Serena grins brightly at me, looking uncharacteristically shy. "I hope so."

…

I meet Grayson near the Tunnel tonight. He's already standing by the entrance in his factory uniform, and I'm still in my dress shirt and black pants. In his hand is a picnic basket. His expression is always grim, his forehead lined with grief beyond his age, but tonight he looks particularly stressed.

"What's going on?" I ask immediately.

"The Peacekeepers are patrolling this area," he says, his voice tight.

I groan. "Maybe we should just leave."

"We have food to hand out," Grayson booms in a tone that makes me shut my mouth. Instead, I raise an eyebrow and gesture toward the Tunnel entrance, then cross my arms.

The abandoned train tunnel has been a place where the local morphlings and their families gather every night for a dry place to sleep since the Capitol closed it in favor of a new railway system. Homeless camps are set up just inside, and line the walls of the dark tunnel for the rest of its length. Some sunlight flickers on the ground from the holes in the top wall of the tunnel, but most of the light comes from the various campfires lit by the Tunnel's inhabitants.

Grayson hurries to the first person he sees, an old man who is rocking back and forth by his tent and mumbling something to himself. As my brother hands out food, I remember the morning of the Reaping, when the three of us came here. That was when we met Attie, Jason's partner in the Games. She was just another one of these homeless children, and now she's dead. None of our free blankets or meals or thoughtful conversations could stop her from being Reaped.

Not for the first time, I wonder what the point of all this is. Jason wanted to make Six a less shitty place to live, and look how that ended for him.

"Hey, brother!"

I turn to see Dante, leader of Warriors as of last year, standing there, that obnoxious golden W pendant hanging around his neck. In his pants I can see a knife tucked away.

"What are the odds of running into you here?" he asks, tapping his fist on Grayson's shoulder, a charming smile on his face. I roll my eyes and look away, continuing to hand out blankets to the homeless people lining the tunnel's wall. Dante always tries to replicate the charismatic and kindhearted nature of the gang's former leader, but there's a reason why Logan was the one who built the gang into what it is today, and why Dante has coasted on Logan's reputation since his death.

"Hey, Dante," Grayson says, genial as ever, returning his smile. "We must have had the same idea."

"Yeah, great minds think alike." God, he's so annoying. I already know where this is going. "You know, we always seem to have the same goals when it comes to helping out around the district. Maybe we should work together more often…?"

I hand a blanket to a small child who is covered in gravel dust, then gently pat them on the head and get to my feet. I turn to look at Dante for the first time, and bite back a laugh when I see he's surrounded by his posse. Among them is Wench, Pagani's brother, with a cleaner haircut and a grimmer expression than when he was homeless.

"I guess we know why the Peacekeepers are here," I say, walking back over to Grayson. The Warriors were never particularly violent when Logan was in charge, but after his death they've become more like a beacon of anti-Capitol sentiments here in Six.

Dante chuckles a bit. "They definitely don't like us."

I walk over and shove my stack of blankets into his arms. He catches it, looking startled, and a few of the Warriors behind him tense up, glancing at one another nervously.

"If you want to help so badly, then help."

Dante lowers the blankets so that he peer at me warily. "That's what we've always done–"

"You just want our name on your stupid little project," I hiss. "The Warriors. Who came up with that dumbass name? Did Logan?"
Dante looks flustered, glancing over to the other gang members before opening his mouth to sputter some more bullshit. Then someone else appears from the shadows of the tents, her hand on her hip.

"Olivia, Grayson," she says, nodding to each of us. I immediately notice the heavy pendant around her neck that wasn't there the last time I saw her.

"Natalie," I say, raising an eyebrow. "Got a promotion? I thought the Warriors didn't accept girls."

"That's never been the case," she says. "And yes, everyone decided that it would be best for me to continue Logan's legacy in District Six."

I look her up and down. She's a year older than me, and clearly been through something similar to what we've gone through. But I work in the Justice Building. I know how "promotions" like this work, whether it's in the mayor's office or on the streets. I don't trust her.

"Recruiting us into your little gang is going to accomplish that?" I ask scathingly. "We don't need the threat of violence and Peacekeepers harassing us every fucking time we step outside. We can help the poor without that."

"The Warriors will be able to help carry Jason's vision for Six into the future–"

At the mention of Jason, my eyes go wide and I step up to Natalie, putting a finger in her face. Dante and a few other guys hurry over to us, but Natalie waves them away with a finger, eyes staring into mine.

"You don't get to say his name," I hiss. "You haven't earned that."

Natalie doesn't break my gaze, her brown eyes staring into mine. Deep inside, I can see some of the same pain that I feel. But losing her boyfriend to the Hunger Games isn't a unique experience. Plenty of people around the District have gone through the same thing, and they haven't turned to gang wars and demonstrations of violence to work through their grief. Hell, even I didn't, even if I thought it would feel nice sometimes.

Of course, Jason and I were never together. I missed that chance.

Natalie raises an eyebrow at my words but doesn't push the matter. Instead, she steps away and motions of the rest of the gang. "Let's head back to our territory," she orders. "Leave these two to theirs."

As the gang slowly migrates out of the Tunnel, Grayson grabs my shoulder and spins me around to face him. "What the hell was that?" he spits.

I let out a long-suffering sigh. "That was me trying to keep us out of trouble."

Grayson's frown reminds me of what little I remember of our father. His eyebrows pulled together, the slight graying of his hair that's way too early for his age. The only thing he's missing is the glazed over look in his eyes and needle points in his arms.

"Let's go home," I say, turning away before he can say anything else. I need a drink.

I can feel Grayson seething behind me on the walk home. He's probably torn between his desire to stick it to the Capitol and our goal to simply make Six a better place to live. Deep down, he has to know that joining some street gang won't accomplish either of those things effectively.

I wish Jason hadn't been Reaped so that I could still live in my bubble of ignorance about the world. I wish he had won so that he could use his riches to help the District. I wish that even if he died, I had confessed my feelings to him in those final moments in the Justice Building, the feelings that I'd kept carefully hidden for years of friendship.

Instead, I watched him fall in love with someone else on national television. A person who trained to be a child killer for years and who killed several innocent people. Nikki would have won if Tag hadn't shot her through the throat with his crossbow, and I'm thankful for that everyday when I visit Jason's grave.

…

After we moved into the Sparks' household, Grayson took Jason's old bedroom. I sleep in the storage room with a pullout bed in the corner. Gregory, Jason's father, couldn't afford the house by himself after his son died, so we offered to move in and help pay the bills.

Just like we do most nights, Gregory and I spend the evening sitting at the kitchen table in a bottle of liquor. At times, I think I can understand what drove my parents to the morphling. The neverending pain and grief of mere existence is too much to take. Sometimes nothing is better.

"Do you believe in an afterlife, Liv?"

I look up from my cup, staring with my parents' glazed eyes at Gregory. "What?"

He shrugs, looking awfully young for a man in his fifties with a grown son who lived and died. "I just mean, do you think there's something after this life?"

Once I register what he's asking, I simply say, "No," and take another sip from my cup.

"I don't think I do either," he says, fidgeting with the bottle, staring at his reflection in the glass. "Still, it's a nice thought."
I don't agree, but I let him have his fantasy.

…

I'm awoken in the middle of the night by a loud crash. I leap up out of bed, reaching for the nearest object I can use as a weapon, before I recognize the silhouette standing in the tiny doorway to my closet-room.

"Grayson," I grumble, throwing down the book that I grabbed from my nightstand. Self Defense Tactics for Peacekeepers. A basic manual that was given to Grayson by his old instructor.

Grayson leans down to pick up the book, flipping through a few pages before placing it back on the nightstand. "We were supposed to train tonight."

I groan, suddenly realizing that my head is pounding. I jump back into bed and bury my head in the pillow.

"You were drinking again, weren't you?" he asks, using that voice. The one that tries to be understanding but is thick with suppressed anger.

"So what?" I ask my pillow. "The Reaping is tomorrow. Cut me some slack."

"I've told you, fighting is a much better outlet for anger rather than drinking!"

I don't respond.

Grayson sighs and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him. Not long after, I hear the distant thuds of a fist meeting a punching bag in the house's tiny basement. Even if he's no longer in Peacekeeper training, exercise is always his go-to stress relief, and he's tried to impress it on me too for the past couple months, ever since the demonstration in District Eight during the Victory Tour. He says we need to be prepared for anything, but lately it seems the only thing to be prepared for is more misery, forever.

Apollo Dax (14)- D6M

I'm already awake when the sun peeks over the horizon. I stand up from my desk to open the curtains of my bedroom window and take a moment to stare out at the district. Our apartment is in one of the tallest and nicest towers in Six, and I can nearly see the entire district sprawled out underneath us, all the way to the distant lakes to the west.

I catch my mind wandering and quickly snap my attention back to my work. The flip to the next page of my medical journal and frown at the diagram. This journal was co-written by a surgeon from Three and a group of high profile Capitolite doctors, and it uses some terminology I haven't heard before. Which is strange, because I always remember a word once I've seen or heard it. My finger taps against the edge of the desk. Not for the first time, I curse my parents for not letting me read the work of professional doctors until I turned thirteen. I could have learned so much as a child if they hadn't treated me like one! As if I hadn't been doing surgeries since I was nine, and setting bones and sewing stitches before that.

My finger tapping grows more insistent, and I realize that my foot is also bouncing up and down. I force myself to stop, taking a moment to breathe, closing my eyes and visualizing my happy place. The hospital, where everything is clean, neat, and easy to understand. Where nothing matters but the patient and the method to complete the surgery.

As my eyes slowly open, I let out a sigh. I know what has me so worried, and it's not tomorrow's scheduled surgeries. It's the Reaping. The thought of it makes me shudder, the fear settling under my skin like a possession. It doesn't belong there. A doctor should never be afraid. They should always keep a cool head.

It's not just fear that echoes in the back of my mind, though. The rumbling of a lifelong hatred also resides there, where I usually keep it, buried deep in the recesses of my emotions. I rarely let it come out, but when it explodes, it usually happens on Reaping day.

I shut the book and neatly place it at its place on the shelf. There's no use in trying to study this morning.

The shrill sound of the doorbell rings throughout the apartment. I peek my head out my bedroom door, down the hallway and past the one fake plant that my parents bought to liven up the place. They're likely still in their office studying for their own surgeries this week. Only one other person could be at the door.

I walk to the front door and open it to reveal the grinning face of my best (and only) friend Pedal. I don't return her smile, instead gesturing up at the purple bruise that covers her left eye. She laughs unabashedly, reaching up to push her hair out of her eyes.

"Fell off the skateboard again," she shrugs.

I sigh, taking in the rest of her appearance. The bare skin of her arms are plastered in bandaids likely concealing scratches and scrapes from her scuffles with the pavement.

"Do you want to come inside?" I ask, gesturing for her to enter.

"Nah. We're going skateboarding!"

I turn away and open the fridge, staring inside blankly. "I don't want to skateboard today." My tongue fumbles on the 's' sound in the word skateboard. My lisp has always worked against me, one reason that I try only to talk when necessary.

"Of course you don't," Pedal in a long-suffering tone. "You never wanna do anything fun. You'd stay locked in here all day if I didn't drag ya out!"

She grabs my arm before I can do anything, and pulls me out the door.

"I would prefer to put my shoes on," I say stiffly. Pedal just giggles and reaches in through the door to grab my rarely-used sneakers, and throws them at me before slamming the door shut.

"Let's go!" she exclaims, probably waking up half the building. I wince at the noise, but I can't help but feel affection bubble in my chest. It only grows when Pedal grabs me by my arm and pulls me to the elevator, her hand warm and firm on my skin. The only time I touch another person is through sterile gloves and hospital gowns, and the person is usually unconscious. Pedal rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet, excitement plain on her face. No matter how many times we go off on adventures together, her enthusiasm never wanes. Even on Reaping day, she's still as spry as ever.

As soon as the elevator beeps, signaling that we're on the ground floor of the building, she throws her skateboard down on the floor and skates through the lobby.. I sigh and follow her slowly, glancing around in case anyone sees her. I think she's gotten in trouble for skating inside my apartment building more than anyone who actually lives here, and the doormen know her face. Luckily, it seems they have the day off for the Reaping.

The wall of heat that hits me like a train when I walk out the door. Pedal kicks her skateboard back up and sighs under the hot sun, her blonde hair sticking out at all angles, a hand deflecting the sunlight from her blue eyes. "It's fucking hot!"

"It would be cooler down in the tunnels," I suggest.

Pedal's eyes widen. "Oh yeah! Great idea, Apollo." She grabs me by my hand and pulls me along once again, and I feel an unwitting smile appear on my face.

My skateboard is stored in my building's garage, which is even more unmercifully hot than the outside. Once we retrieve it, we have no time to waste. Pedal's parents will want her to return home in a few hours to get ready for the Reaping. The Reaping ruins everything, just like it ruined my family and the district's morale and now my time with Pedal–

"Apollo?"

I glance over at Pedal, realizing that I've been staring at the sun for the past thirty seconds. "My apologies," I say. "What were you saying?"

Pedal rolls her eyes. "Don't use your hospital voice with me. You're thinking about something. What's the matter?"

I contemplate answering for a moment, then settle on, "What do you think?"
Pedal nods knowingly, then grabs my hand again and pulls me away from the garage.

We leave my neighborhood (which my parents would kill me for if they knew about it) to head to some of the more unsavory parts of the district, where the old underground train tunnels are more easily accessible. Pedal drops down through the nearest grate, and I toss her our skateboards, wincing each time. I can imagine the skateboard cracking on the concrete floor of the tunnel, or worse, smacking her in the head and giving her another black eye. Instead it's my foot that does the damage this time as I drop down.

"Ouch!' she yelps, bouncing on one foot.

"When I say I'm coming down, get out of the way," I say patiently, though not without some amusement.

I was right about the tunnels being cooler than the upper level of the district. The network of train tunnels that run underneath the district were abandoned after the war, and most people only know about the main entrance, which everyone fittingly calls the Tunnel. The Tunnel is home to morphling addicts and their families, as well as gang and Peacekeeper violence, but the rest of the tunnels are usually empty aside from the occasional homeless person. The grates above us provide enough sunlight to be able to see clearly, and a bit of vegetation even grows down here. And best of all, the curved walls of the tunnel are a perfect place to practice our skateboarding tricks.

"Here I come!" Pedal shouts as she drops her skateboard down and jumps onto it, skating right past me, close enough that I can feel the air whoosh past me. I watch her, partially in awe, partially envious of her carefree grin, her screams followed by laughs as she nearly falls off the skateboard. She's so free in a way that I can never be, though I might try. Though I wouldn't trade my medical career for anything, sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be a regular kid. Well, as regular as Pedal can be.

"Apollo, get over here!" Pedal yells, managing to complete a rudimentary skateboard flip without falling flat on her face.

With a dutiful nod, I let my skateboard drop to the ground and jump onto it. The air whooshes past me again. The board moves beneath my feet like an unruly beast and I ride it masterfully like its tamer. I execute a simple flip and adrenaline pulses through me. I may not be able to live as freely as Pedal, but I can still have these moments with her.

Skating makes the time fly by like nothing else. I couldn't say if hours passed or merely minutes when I'm down here with Pedal, the two of us just having fun together.

"AH!"

The sound startles me so much that I nearly fall off my skateboard, but I manage to steady myself enough to step off. I turn to see Pedal lying prone on the ground, clutching her ankle. Shit, not again.

I rush over to her, checking first to see if there are any tears in her eyes. There aren't, so I quickly remove her hands from her ankle and examine it. It's not twisted and she doesn't wince when I touch it, so she's probably fine. I tell her as much and she nods, though she winces as she moves her leg. I suppress a smile when I remember how we met in a situation very similar to this. Pedal had tried to skate in the pouring rain, and ended up falling and breaking her arm. I'm the one who discovered her on the sidewalk and helped her to the hospital.

"I slipped," she grumbles. I glance around and point to a rogue bandaid on the ground.

"You slipped on that."

"Goddamnit," she says, though her jovial grin has returned. "The culprit! This little guy betrayed me." She reaches down to pluck the bandaid up, examining the little dinosaur on the front before sticking it back on a small scratch on her arm.

"Don't put that back on!" I snatch it away from her. "That's unsanitary."

She shrugs. "Whatever you say."

I pocket the bandaid to keep her from reapplying it, and she giggles. I look up at her and our gazes meet for just a moment. Her blue eyes glint like sunlight shimmering in a pool of water. We're sitting so close together that I can see the freckles on her nose, and my hand is still on her ankle.

I clear my throat and pull away, brushing the dirt off my sleeves. As I stand up, I notice that Pedal looks slightly disappointed. She's probably wondering why I'm being so weird around her.

Pedal stands and grabs her skateboard, and the sound of the wheels scraped against the metal makes a horrific screeching sound. Suddenly I'm transported to my living room, sitting in front of the TV with my family, all of us watching helplessly as my cousin is pinned to the ground, the sword of the District One male dragging against the rock toward him. Or watching as Augustus Braun gleefully tortures my uncle for sport. An uncle who I never met thanks to him.

"Apollo?"

For the second time today, I'm brought back to the present by Pedal's voice. This time when I look over to her, I don't deflect with my hospital voice.

"I just fucking hate them so much," I say, voice measured.

Pedal drops her skateboard back down and reaches over to touch my shoulder. I brush her away and stare up through the grate above us.

"I know," she says. The hint of sadness in her voice should never be there.

She turns to pick up her skateboard again, and grabs mine as well. "Let's go home. I need to get ready soon anyway."

…

"It's just not like you to be so–" Pedal shrugs her shoulders and gives a strained laugh, "so– illogical, yaknow?"

We're walking back to my apartment complex, the hot sun beating down on us like the watchful eye of the Capitol.

"I know it's not logical," I say, gazing out over the skyline of Six. Outside of the gated neighborhood where we live, the district is made up of huge tenement buildings interspersed with factories and garages. To the east, smoke rises from a factory building. This world of cold hard metal and steam is so different from my world of soft matter, blood and breakable bones, where one precise blow can smash someone's brain or drain their body dry.

I find my fist curling by my side as my thoughts turn to District One again. I wonder, not for the first time, if the system was rigged against my family after the creation of the Hunger Games, so that every generation would have to sacrifice one of their own. And District One is their loyal lapdog, executing my family members one by one as commanded.

"You know, um…"

Pedal's sad tone grabs my attention. I should try to remain cheerful for her sake. "Yes?"

"After your family's party, you can come over to my house if you want," she says, shifting her feet nervously.

"I thought your parents did not like me."

"Who cares what they think?" she says, her grin returning. "They can't see that you're different."
I frown slightly. "Different? How am I different?"
"I just mean…you're just different from the other rich kids." She shrugs. "You're not stuck up or anything like that. I dunno!" She laughs, sounding nervous again. "Um… you can come over tonight and I'll sneak you in, okay? I have a few other friends I want to introduce you to."

"Okay." I try not to show anything on my face, but my heart is pounding. Pedal wants to hang out at her house? With her other friends? That never happens. She talks about them from time to time, of course, but I haven't met any of them.

"And um, I have this friend, Fascia. She's really nice and pretty and stuff and um, she's really smart like you, so I thought maybe the two of you would get along, you know?"
My heart sinks. "Oh."

"You know, you're just so smart and there's not a lot of kids who are on your level, but I feel like she maybe is like, on the same level as you–"

"Of course," I say with a nod. "That makes sense."

There's an awkward pause. What does Pedal mean by 'on my level'? I'm just the boring boy who speaks with a lisp and always smells like a hospital, while she's the fun-loving girl anyone would want to be with.

We walk silently for a minute or two until we reach my apartment building, at which point Pedal waves at me and begins to run away, her cheeks a bit pink.

…

"Why don't we cancel it?"

"You know why, Apollo." My mother pours herself a glass of milk and takes a drink without looking at me.

"No, I do not. If we don't want to host it, we don't have to. The Capitol can force us to watch the Hunger Games, but they do not force us to celebrate–"
"It's a family tradition, Apollo," my mother says gently. She turns to look at me, but it seems she can't think of anything else to say. She drinks the rest of her milk, then rinses out the glass and proceeds to wash it.

I frown down at my scrambled eggs and protein shake. The Hunger Games aren't just a sore spot for me, but for my entire family. I would say I'm actually the one who handles it best. My father has been bedridden for the past week with a mysterious illness that only seems to crop up around the Reaping each year, while my mother has buried herself in her work. The rest of my extended family are always a mix of hysterical crying adults and stone-cold, emotionless children. My aunts and uncles have been increasingly paranoid since one of my cousins was Reaped in the 72nd Games. I expect they'll be inconsolable tonight at our annual family gathering.

At least I'll be able to see Pedal afterward. And her… friend.

"Mini?"

My father's voice comes from the hallway.

"In here, dear," she says, flipping through one of her medical journals.

My father steps into the kitchen, looking haggard, but with a strained smile on his face. "I, for one, think it will be good for us to see the family," he says, taking a seat at the table across from me.

"I see Uncle Grille everyday at the hospital. I'm shadowing him next week during one of his surgeries."

"Work is different."

"How is it different?" I ask again, more confused than ever.

"We can talk about life, about work, talk about the kids," he says with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"You will only talk about the Hunger Games, and Uncle Rover."

His facade falls, and for a moment I wonder if he's going to cry, or even get angry at me.

"Perhaps we will talk about that as well," he says tightly. I should have known better. My parents never speak freely about anything, and that includes yelling or even comforting one another. I didn't think it was weird until I met Pedal, but lately it's all that I can notice. I wonder if my father would have grieved his brother's death properly if he had a friend like Pedal.

The footage of Augustus Braun torturing Uncle Rover for hours before he succumbed to his wounds flashes through my mind, the sound of the girl's, Hypnos', maniacall laughs ringing in my ears.

"Don't worry, Apollo." My mother puts her hand on my shoulder. I flinch away, not having heard her creep up behind me. "Your father's family had to take some tesserae when they were younger. You've never had to do that. We made sure of it."

"Dynamo didn't take tesserae either…" I say, referring to my cousin who was Reaped a few years ago. The District One male chopped off both his arms before scalping him with his sword. I'll forever be grateful to Johanna Mason for sticking her ax through the psycho's brain.

"Dynamo was also older than you," she says.

"So… I'll be Reaped when I'm older?"

"That's not what I said."

Silence hangs over us, and as my hatred for District One dissipates, I feel anxiety about the Reaping take its place.

"We need to get dressed. Apollo, wear the shirt your grandmother bought you."

I nod stiffly, staring down at my breakfast again. "Okay."

Olivia McCaskey (18)- D6F

I wonder if it's obvious that I'm hungover. Or if people would even care if they do notice. Or if I even care what they think anyway.

The mayor's mic is far too loud and so is the propaganda video. It feels like President Snow's voice is reverberating inside my brain and the bright lights are burning my eyes. I shut them tight until the Panem anthem plays, then peek one open to see the annoying escort, the same one that read Jason's name two years ago, step up to the mic.

C'mon, Jeff. I watch the mayor stand at the back of the stage beside the victors, who look high enough to float away. Do something. The mayor stands like a clay statue, eyes dead and glassy. The only time he comes to life is when the Justice Building is granted a visit from an executive or government agent from the Capitol. My hand forms a fist at my side. I try to calm down by imagining him stepping forward to wrap his hands around the escort's neck, squeezing tightly until her eyes pop and her neck breaks. I'd give everything I own to see a Hunger Games filled with these psychopathic child murderers.

Fingers gently touch my curled fist. I glance over at Serena, who is standing next to me. She flashes me a sweet smile. She knows how hard Reaping day is for me, and she can tell when I'm starting to drift away. I give her a stout nod, then turn to the crowd behind us. Grayson is tall enough that I can see his head peeking out above some of the other worried families. I know Gregory and Trav are standing somewhere near him. I can't wait for this to be over so I can enjoy my day off. Preferably by getting fantastically drunk.

"Ladies first!" the escort chirps, her high-pitched voice hurting my ears and making me wince. Serena grabs my hand tighter, now looking suddenly nervous. Her other hand comes to lay over her protruding belly. I'm an asshole for forgetting that for most people, the Reaping isn't about memories of Jason. They fear for their own safety. I fold my fingers through hers and wait for the escort to be done with this pointless pageantry.

The escort grabs a slip from the bowl and makes a show of unfolding it, before leaning into the mic with a sickening smile. "This year's female tribute for District Six is… Serena Albans!"

Serena's fingers slip from mine.

Anger comes first. Anger that the Games are taking something else from me.

Then I just want to get drunk.

I grind my teeth together, absorbed in my fury and grief. Serena stands on the stage, both hand under her belly. She looks terrified. Whispers of disapproval permeate the crowd. No one likes it when a pregnant girl is Reaped. Even the escort looks uncomfortable, but she still places a clawed hand on Serena's shoulder and leans into the mic.

"Is there anyone who would like to volunteer for Miss Albans?"
"It's Mrs." Serena says suddenly, her voice booming throughout the Square.

The escort looks at her in surprise.

"Albans is my married name."

"Oh, uhhh… sorry."

Suddenly I know what I have to do.

I step forward while the escort is distracted, before anyone can say that the volunteering period has passed.

"I volunteer as tribute," I say firmly as I walk up to the stage. Heads turn to me as I walk forward, pushing past a few twelve year olds at the front and making it to the stairs before the escort even notices that I'm here. She watches me in awe, her sick smile suddenly returning.

"What a turn of events! A volunteer! Hurry up here, dear."

I walk slowly and resolutely without looking at her, my eyes only on Serena. Her eyes are brimming with tears. I wrap my arms around her in a hug, then whisper in her ear, "Go to Trav."

When I pull away, she nods and sniffles, whispering back, "Thank you."

Once Serena is safely off the stage, I turn to face the crowd. The faces of the children in front of me look mostly relieved that they've been spared another year, but some of the older kids in the back gaze at me with respect. Kids who went to school with Serena and I, or who spoke to us at the Justice Building.

"My name's Olivia McCaskey." After announcing my name, I turn to stare into the camera to my left, not saying a word, but hoping that the Capitol can feel my rage through the screen.

"Quite an entrance!"

The escort has to ruin the moment, of course. She tries to put a hand on my shoulder but I shrug her away, moving over to the side of the stage on my own before she can give anymore commentary.

"Alrighty, looks like it's time for the boys!"
This is probably the last time I'll see this Square, the last time I'll gaze out over Six. Yesterday morning was the last time I'll hand out food and blankets to the poor, and last night was the last time I'll sleep in my own bed. This morning was the last meal I'll have with my makeshift family.

And yet, I find myself smiling.

"Apollo Dax!"
From the fourteen-year old section comes a shocked little boy. He's not a streetkid by the looks of him. He's a good weight, well-dressed, and clean, with his black hair slicked back with gel. Probably never had to take tesserae. Not that it matters– Serena hadn't either.

"Incredible! Everyone please welcome our two tributes, Olivia McCaskey and Apollo Dax!"

During the scattered applause, Apollo turns toward me and extends his hand. He still looks shellshocked, but he's keeping his composure fairly well for someone his age. I return the handshake, which he drops quickly before turning away from me.

…

Grayson and Gregory come together. Gregory is already bawling before he even sees me sitting on the bench. I roll my eyes at him and stand to give him a hug. I pat him on the back a few times.

"It's okay, Gregory. Jason would have wanted me to do this."
"Jason is dead!" Gregory cries. "And now I'm going to lose you too!"

Grayson's face is stony, and I can tell that he's angry. He pats Gregory on the back as well, keeping his eyes fixed on me. The two of us have become like Gregory's surrogate children after losing his son, and we're the only two who can share in his grief. Losing me will be hard, but he'll still have Grayson, who has always been better at taking care of us anyway.

"I couldn't just let Serena die," I say, my voice cracking on the last word, but somehow a smile is still on my face. "You know I couldn't." I almost feel like I'm pleading with them, especially Grayson. My brother is still staring at me icily. He drops his hand from Gregory's shoulder and steps toward me.

"Use everything that I've taught you. Everything that you remember, since you don't pay attention half the time," he says, using that voice again. I sigh and look down at my feet. "You know the basics of using a baton. Using a sword is basically the same thing. Just pay attention in training and—"

He chokes off into a sob. I look up suddenly, that strange smile returning.

"Remember not to get attached," he barely finishes.

I nod seriously. "I won't, Grayson. I won't make the same mistakes as him."

Grayson nods, and the three of us collapse into a hug. Before the Peacekeepers come to pull them away, Gregory manages to give me something. An old photograph of all of us with Jason, younger, happier, and more naive. Seeing my carefree smile and Jason's arm around my shoulders makes me tear up, but I refuse to cry. Not until Serena has had her turn with me.

When Serena does come, she's dragging Trav along behind her. They're both crying as well, and I feel a strange sense of irony. I'm the one being sent off to my death, yet I'm the one comforting everyone else. It's even more ironic that Serena and I spend hours everyday just outside this room, sending people in here for their tesserae.

"I'm sorry, Liv," Serena blubbers as she grips my sleeve. "I had to take tesserae– with the baby coming I just couldn't– and I didn't tell Trav–"

"There's no need to apologize," I soothe her. "It's not your fault. It's the Capitol's fault, it always is."

"I know but—" she reaches up to wipe her tears. "If you die, I'll never forgive myself."

There's nothing I could say that would take away that grief, so I just lean in to hug her again.

"Olivia," Trav says, sounding urgent. I pull away to look at him in surprise. He's usually not very talkative, the stark opposite of his wife. He glances at her once and she nods, then he grabs her hand.

"The baby is a girl," he says. "We were going to keep it a secret until the birth, but we wanted to tell you now before you go. We're gonna name her Olivia."

My heart swells, and I find myself laughing in joy despite myself. "Congratulations! You're going to give her a great life."

"Thanks to you," Serena says, her eyes red and swollen. "No matter what happens, we all love you. My baby will always know what you did for her, whether you win or not."

Jason's dream of making Six a better place to live may have been a pipe dream, but I can still help Serena. I can save her and her child, and save her husband and family from grief. I can try to hand out justice to the Careers who murder children. For the first time in a long time, I finally have a purpose.

Apollo Dax (14)- D6M

"No, no, no! Apollo, no! Apollo, Apollo…"

I pat my mother on the back, unsure what I should do. I've never seen my parents like this. I don't think I've ever seen my mother cry, let alone sob uncontrollably like this. Her arms are wrapped around me tightly, her face buried in my chest. My father sits beside us, his face crumpled in grief.

"Apollo, no…." My mother continues wailing.

"How are you feeling, son?" my father asks, speaking for the first time since entering the room.

How am I feeling? He's never asked me that before. I'm scared, of course. Nervous about leaving my life behind and about what the Capitolites will think of me. Furious that the curse that plagues my family has struck once again. Anger at the Capitol for orchestrating this all in the first place. And yet…

To my own disbelief, I find myself smiling.

"I'm alright, Dad," I say truthfully. "I'm scared, though."

"Of course you are," he says, reaching over to take my hand. I've never felt so much care from him before. "You're incredibly strong and resilient. And you're smart, so smart, smarter than any kid I've ever seen. Smarter than I was at your age, and smarter than Rover too."

I know how he must be feeling at this moment, sitting in the same room where he said goodbye to his brother twelve years ago. I was just a baby. My father was a grown man with a wife and a child, but Rover was the youngest of his many siblings, Reaped in his last eligible year. The few memories I have of my late grandfather are of him lamenting the loss of his son, which was so similar to the loss of his own sister that he experienced as a child. She, too, was killed by the District One male, though her death was apparently quick and clean. I've never had to see it. Those Games are so long past that they never play on CapitolTV anymore.

"I may be smart, but I don't know how to fight…" I state the obvious rather than skirt around it. My mother leans up from my chest and catches my gaze, staring right at me.

"You're the fastest learner at your school. Use your intelligence to your advantage, alright?"
My smile returns again, and I'm not sure why. "I will."

"I love you, Apollo."

"I love you too."

…

Pedal is my only other visitor. I expected her to be in hysterics, crying and wailing about how I'm going to die, but instead she's perfectly calm.

"You're going to win," is the first thing she says.

"I wouldn't be so certain."

Pedal reaches over to take my hand and for a moment I wonder if the impossible is about to happen, but instead she looks me in the eyes like my mother did and keeps talking.

"Apollo, you're a genius. There's no one like you in Six, or anywhere in Panem. You're a doctor! You know how to keep yourself alive, and you can make allies. I think even the Careers would–"

The thought of allying with the Careers makes me snarl, a growl escaping my lips without even thinking about it. Pedal stops and gulps.

"Listen, Apollo," her tone is not urgent at all, as if she's just stating the matter-of-fact. "You can ally with them or not. Even if you don't, you can… settle your grudge once and for all, you know."

My eyes widen at what she's suggesting. I could never kill… could I? If it was a cold-hearted trainer killer from One, the district that has tormented my family for generations, maybe I could. Maybe I could at least give my uncle, cousin, and great-aunt some rest.

Pedal nods, perhaps sensing my thoughts. Then she leans in and gives me a kiss. It's the only kiss I've ever had. It's sweet, and over far too quickly.

"I'll miss you," she says, voice cracking just for a moment. "Come back quickly."

…

My district partner– Olivia, if I remember correctly– is polite. That's all I can ask from her, so I'm pleased. She's also older than me, and doesn't seem upset at all. In fact, she seems oddly at peace, lost in thought as she stares out the window of the car.

I recall a few years ago when a pregnant girl from Nine entered the Games. She was killed in the bloodbath by the girl from One (it's always One it's always One it's always One) but her baby survived. Later, the Capitol aired a segment on a Hunger Games recap about how the father had killed himself not long after. It seems Olivia wanted to save this pregnant girl from being Reaped. I respect that. We doctors take oaths to help others the best we can, and that's what she did.

Still, if I were at the hospital right now and she walked in, I wouldn't be surprised. Her eyes have dark circles underneath them, and she looks tired, wincing at the sunlight and the noise coming from the car engine. Classic signs of a hangover or a comedown. Even if she's not a morphling, all addicts are the same, and they cannot be trusted.

"The two of you are going to just love the Capitol!" the escort blathers on, waving her clawed hands around so much that I'm afraid of getting sliced. "I've heard a few rumors about this year's Parade…" she says with a grin, holding a finger up to her mouth as if to shush us. "And let me just say, you are going to look amazing! No more drab clothing like this." She looks pointedly at my partner's simple gray dress.

I turn to gaze out the window, filtering out the escort's voice. The district passes by in a blur. My mind turns to my final moments with Pedal, and I feel a small smile prick at my lips. Maybe she's right. Maybe it's possible that I could avenge my family, and return to Pedal and to Six as a hero.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please leave a review and let me know what you thought. Also let me know which district you'd like to see next, and when you think I'll upload next (LOL). For real though, the next chapter is nearly done but I'll likely post it in a week or two. See you then!