Quinn Bayers, 17

Survivor of the One-Hundredth Fifty-Third Hunger Games

It's been seven days since the Games ended. It's been sixteen days since Quinn was rescued from the arena. It's been twenty-seven days since he volunteered.

He can't help but worry for his family. He can't help but worry for himself.

Tabitha told him that he was wanted in Lana's hospital room. Apparently, they're making plans for what to do with the tributes they stole from the arena.

The wound in Quinn's back is almost completely healed, leaving nothing but a messy scar in its wake. The rebels weren't concerned with making it pretty like they would be if he was the Victor.

Quinn clenches his hands into fists as he walks down the hallway. He has…mixed feelings about Ashe's victory. On one hand, he is happy for her. She's his District partner, and they'd gotten along just fine. But on the other, she betrayed her allies. Quinn does not take kindly to traitors.

But it doesn't matter. Quinn should be dead.

(And, sure, maybe Ashe should be too. She did indeed die, just like Quinn did. God, they're all ghosts.)

He runs into Sterne as he stalks toward Lana's room. Sterne is alright—at least, far more alright the doctors feared he might be. He drowned, meaning his brain was deprived of oxygen. But the wonders of Capitol technology have done it again, and Sterne is walking and talking like nothing ever happened.

Well, it's obvious that he's not acting like nothing ever happened. None of them are.

Sterne is silent as Quinn falls in step with him. Quinn wishes there were some windows in this place. He knows it's a security risk, or whatever Lanai said, but he misses sunlight. He's been underground in this labyrinth of triage centers and conference rooms for far too long.

He doesn't know Sterne. He doesn't want to know Sterne. He can't look at him without thinking of their little conversation in the arena.

But, still. There is a connection between them. They understand each other, because they've both been through the same horrors. They both know what it's like.

Quinn feels the same with Lana, and even Shad. Shad has surprised him in many ways, but it hasn't been in bad ways.

The four of them understand each other in a way no one else can. Not even Ashe would understand, because she's the Victor. Her family knows she's alive. She gets to go home.

Quinn still holds out hope that they'll be sent home. Quinn needs to help his family, in whatever way he can. He doesn't care about the rebellion. His father's debts weren't caused by the Capitol.

Family always comes first. Quinn can stick by that through anything.

They arrive at Lana's room. She's lying in bed, watching some inane program on the television on the wall. Once again, Capitol technology has created a miracle. The doctors say Lana will make almost a full recovery. She'll likely have some trouble walking forever, but it's far better than the full body paralysis or death she would have faced in the Districts.

It's one of the few things Quinn can appreciate about the Capitol.

He can appreciate it until he remembers the poor man who lived down the street from him growing up who was in a wheelchair. There'd be some incident with a crop duster plane, and he'd been paralyzed from the waist down. Capitol technology could have saved him.

Quinn pulls up a chair beside Lana's bed. She looks tired but happy. "Hey, Quinn," she says. "How are you doing?"

Quinn flashes a rare smile at her. "I'm alive."

"That's better than most of us can say," Sterne mumbles.

Quinn has seen what Sterne did later in the Games. He knows that Sterne left many pieces of him in the arena.

It's not that Quinn did nothing awful in the arena. He still wakes up every night with phantom chunks of Ottilie sliding down his face.

Shad arrives a few moments later, not looking particularly interested in talking. Behind him is a woman Quinn knows only by proxy.

Her name is Soprano Cleff, which in Quinn's opinion is the worst name he's ever heard. She's a friend of Lanai, who spearheaded the initiative to rescue tributes from the arena. She was the head of the hovercraft crew, and personally selected the other members who were sworn to absolute secrecy.

She's the reason they're all here. Quinn supposes he has a lot to thank her for.

"Hello," she says. "Thank you all for being here. I'm sorry I haven't been in to speak with any of you yet. It's been a very busy few days since the Games ended, and, well, before that I was on the hovercraft, of course. But here we are. You're all alive! I'm so glad to see you're all recovering from your ordeal."

The four of them exchange a dubious look. "Ordeal" is putting it lightly.

"I've gathered you here today to talk about what's next for you," she says. "Unfortunately, it's unsafe for you to stay here in the Capitol. Renius has eyes everywhere, and we can never be too careful about who we trust. So, we've outlined a plan—a sort of witness protection. As soon as Lana is cleared for travel, we're splitting you up. Sending each of you to a different District, under a new name, where you can live the rest of your lives in safety and freedom." She pauses. "Well, as much freedom as you can have in Panem."

"You're splitting us up?" Lana says. "You can't split us up!"

"It's the safest for everyone if you don't associate with each other, Lana," Soprano says placatingly. "I'm sorry, and I'm sure you've all connected over your ordeal, but it's best if you aren't seen together."

None of them say anything. What is there to say?

"Which brings me to my next point," Soprano says. "The Capitol is known for its plastic surgery."

"Oh, hell no," Sterne says. "You are not doing plastic surgery on me."

"Don't worry, Sterne," Soprano says. "We won't change much. Just enough that you won't be immediately recognizable as tributes from the last Hunger Games. We'll change your hair color and eye color, and just a little bit about your face—"

"No," Sterne says. "You can't take everything from us."

"We're not trying to take things from you, Sterne," Soprano says. "We're trying to keep you safe. And the best way to do that is to change your name, change your face, and find you a new home."

"My home is in District Eleven," Quinn says. "That's where my family is."

Soprano turns those soft, pacifying, pitying eyes on Quinn and says, "I'm so sorry, Quinn, but you can't return to your home Districts. It's far too dangerous."

Again, none of them speak. The knowledge that they can never go home is too much for all of them, Quinn thinks.

It's certainly too much for him. They can't drag him out of the arena so he can live and then change his name, give him a new face, and throw him into District Three. His family needs him. He failed the first time, but he won't fail this time.

He's been given a second chance, and he won't let a bunch of Capitolites ruin it.

Familiar anger is boiling to the surface, and Quinn will destroy these stupid rebels if they try to stand in his way.

"I know this has been a very tumultuous few weeks for all of you, but you have to understand that all we want is to keep you safe," Soprano says.

"And what if we want to help?" Shad says, speaking up for the first time.

The pacifying look in Soprano's eyes falters. "Huh?"

"What if we want to help with the rebellion?" Shad says. "I want to help end the Games."

Soprano purses her lips. "We'll stay in touch with all of you, and whenever we find a way for you to help, you can help."

"Why did you rescue us, then?" Shad says. "I thought you rescued us so we could…add fuel to the fire. Help you end the Games by showing people what it's done to us."

"All in due time," Soprano says. "As it is now, things are too unstable for something like that. Give us time, Shad. Rebellions don't happen overnight." She laughs a little, like it's a joke, like the rest of them are going to laugh as well.

All they do is stare at her. Quinn does not find anything funny about the situation.

Soprano sighs, wishes all of them well, and then dismisses them. Shad clearly wants to discuss what they're going to do, but Quinn isn't planning on sticking around. He's getting out of here, whether the Capitolites like it or not.

They want to keep him here against his will. They want to send him away to a random District, strip him of his identity, and keep him from his family forever.

Quinn won't stand for it. His family comes first. Always.

He heads in the opposite direction from his bedroom. He's never left the basement, but he knows how. He's seen plenty of people go that way before. He knows there's a code to enter, but not one to exit.

They're trying to keep him here. They're no better than the Capitol.

Quinn is going to forge his own path. He'll get home and he'll save his family and Soprano Cleff and Lanai fucking Hollister cannot stop him.

There's no one around. Quinn simply steps into the elevator and steps out into the lobby of an old hotel. There's no one at the front desk, either, but Quinn heads out the back door just to be safe.

His head hurts. His back hurts, too, but there's no wound there anymore. He drifts a hand under his shirt to check, just in case. It's still just a scar.

The sunlight is blazing and hurts his eyes. Quinn lifts a hand to shield himself from the sunlight and starts down the alleyway. He pulls the hood of his sweatshirt around his face and feels the sudden urge to laugh.

He always used to plan everything out. He never wanted to do anything without a plan.

What kind of plan does he have? He doesn't care. He doesn't need one. Quinn knows what he's doing. He's going home. He's going to get his family back.

Family comes first. Family always comes first.

Quinn slinks around a corner, attempting to blend in with the Capitolites on the street. Unfortunately, his jeans and dark red sweatshirt look out of place compared to colorful and garish outfits the people around him are sporting.

It doesn't matter. None of it matters. Quinn's losing his mind.

He'll head to the train station, stow away on a train, no matter where it's going. Once he's in the Districts, it will be easier. No one will be looking for him. He won't have to worry about being caught. It will be so easy. He's getting out of here.

He turns down another street. There's a sign ahead pointing him to the train station. Maybe if he's lucky, he'll hop on the train bound for District Eleven, carrying Ashe back home.

Jealousy flares up in his stomach at the thought of Ashe. Why does she get to go home and he doesn't? What makes her special? She died, too. She's just as much of a ghost as he is.

They both should have died in the arena. They all should have died in the arena. Sterne should have drowned in a river. Shad should have bled out in the brush. Lana should have been torn in half by the teacups.

Quinn should have died on that walkway, and Ashe should have died in the water.

There's a hand on his back, someone tapping his shoulder, asking if he's alright, and Quinn's come this far, he's not going back—

…

There's light shining in his eyes when he wakes. His back hurts, his shoulders pulled taut by his arms snaked around the back of a chair.

"Ah! Good. He wakes." A voice says as the light is turned off.

Quinn blinks several times, and there's a vaguely familiar platinum blond man standing in front of him. Quinn's not sure he's a man, actually. He looks younger than Quinn is.

"What the—" Quinn starts to say, but the man interrupts him.

"Greetings, Mr. Bayers. It's so good to see you," he says. "I'm Ezra. Vice President of Panem."

Quinn shifts his hands, finding them tied behind his back. His shoulders ache like they've been in that position for far too long. He's seated in a hard wooden chair. The room is dark, although he can make out the outline of a door on the opposite wall. There's some kind of box a few feet away from which wires snake out, attached at different parts of Quinn's body.

Electrocution. It's almost poetic. Ashe's world ended in electricity. It seems fitting that Quinn's would, too.

"Now, Quinn, I have just one question for you," Ezra says. "What other of my tributes were stolen from the arena?"

Quinn makes a split second decision. If Ezra doesn't know, then Quinn won't tell him. He cares about Lana and Sterne and even Shad to an extent.

"Other tributes?" he says. "It's only me."

"Hm," Ezra says. "See, I'm not quite sure I believe that."

He leans over to the box, flips a switch, and then Quinn's world descends into agony.

…

Shad's hands itch to do something, to help them, to make sure that no one ever goes through what he did again. All he wants is to end the Games, to make sure no one else is ever raised to volunteer for a death match again. But instead the rebels don't want his help. They want to get rid of him. It's bullshit.

Lana's tired of being bedridden, but in a few days she should be cleared to start physical therapy. Once they get her walking, they'll be able to ship the three (remaining) tributes out to the Districts. She doesn't want to be split up, but after Quinn's disappearance…well, she'd rather be in the Districts. It will be safer there.

Sterne's pacing the halls day and night, unable to sleep. Every time he closes his eyes, he's stabbing Everett with a key. He's slicing open Bayou. He's underwater, fighting for air. Dead. Sterne wakes up choking on phantom water. So he paces, because if he stops moving, he'll die.

Quinn's losing his mind when Ezra visits him, asking questions Quinn doesn't even have the answers to. He keeps his mouth shut, no matter what. Lana, Sterne and Shad deserve his silence. He'll get out of here soon, and then he can get back to his family. Family comes first. Always.

A/N: I have so many plans for what's going to happen to these poor kids.

Only one more chapter to go! We're almost there.

-Amanda