Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine.

Note: Just a friendly reminder to keep an eye out for allies as we go through the reapings, and PM m if you think you see a good match.

Thank you to jakey121, Blue Eyes Arch Angel, Aileen's feather, and Call Me Fin for Audra, Domingo, Fallon, and Ciere, respectively.

District Seven
Nothing

Casper Hensley, 31
Victor of the 29th Hunger Games

"We have to tell people."

Casper glanced up as Kurt continued. "They have to know before the reaping. Can you imagine what'll happen if they don't? The people will be outraged. They'll—"

"They'll do what?" Freda shrugged. "Grumble? Whisper to each other about how unfair it is? Go back to their homes and dream of rebellion?"

Casper leaned back on the couch and slipped a hand into Hazel's. Kurt and Freda had come over to see him before the reaping, as they always did. It was the last time they would see him for a few weeks, and they wanted to make the most of it. But then Hazel had arrived with a warning from Nicodemus: There would be two extra tributes this year, to replace the tribute who had joined the rebels.

Two tributes to replace Colette.

He and Hazel had tried to persuade her. Tried to convince her that the rebels' plan would never succeed. But she was only fourteen. She was afraid. She had wanted to hope. She had wanted to believe. She had wanted to stop the Games – and she had wanted to do it for her three brothers, so that they would never have to face the arena.

And a part of him had wanted to believe she was right. That part had won out until the executions had begun.

Kurt shook his head. "What if they do more than that? What if they actually riot?"

Freda sighed. "They won't. They'll do exactly what they did last year: Nothing."

Casper looked away. The worst part was, she was right. When Colette's family had been executed, there had been no riot. No protest. Not a murmur of dissent. The executions in Three, Four, and Six had served their purpose. They had frightened the districts into submission.

So when the first prisoner in Six died, and the Peacekeepers came for Colette's family, there was no struggle. The Peacekeepers took them all. Colette's parents. Her sixteen-year-old brother, Terrence. Her little brothers, Maxim and Myron, thirteen and ten. Her grandmother. Two aunts. An uncle. Five cousins, the youngest only seven years old. Everyone she cared for.

Everyone she'd wanted to save.

The Peacekeepers herded them to the edge of the forest, to a line of tall, thick-trunked trees. There, they unchained Terrence, handed him an axe, and instructed him to chop down one of the trees.

Confused and fearful for his family, surrounded by Peacekeepers with their whips ready, Terrence did as he was told. He quickly felled the tree, then stepped back, waiting. And when the Peacekeepers ordered him to remove his boots and his socks, he did so without complaint.

But when two of the Peacekeepers lifted him onto the stump of the tree he had felled, Terrence began to understand. He kicked and thrashed, but was quickly subdued. Two Peacekeepers held him in place as a third produced a hammer and a pair of long, metal spikes. He began to scream as they hammered a spike through one foot and deep into the rough wood of the stump. Once his other foot was nailed in place, they bound his hands with a rope, then cast the other end over a branch of the next tree, high above his head. They pulled it taut, his arms stretched as far as his body would allow, and tied off the rope.

With their first victim immobilized, one of the Peacekeepers busied himself with stripping away Terrence's clothing, slicing here and ripping there until he stood naked and helpless on bare, bleeding feet. Meanwhile, a second Peacekeeper handed the axe to Maxim and directed him to a second tree, some twenty yards further along the treeline.

At first, knowing what was coming, Maxim refused to take his turn. But then the Peacekeeper turned his whip on Terrence's exposed back, explaining that he would continue until the tree was felled. Tears in his eyes, Maxim swung, and, once the tree was down, he was strung up the same way, hanging by his hands, bare feet nailed in place on the tree stump, stripped naked and whipped mercilessly until the next brother had felled his tree.

So they continued, slowly making their way along the treeline. A few of the younger prisoners had difficulty felling their trees, but, with the whip turned on their loved ones' backs, each of them managed it, in the end. Colette's grandmother wept loudly as her youngest granddaughter was strung up beside her. Weeping quickly turned to begging – begging that the Peacekeepers would simply kill them quickly.

Suddenly, a young man at the edge of the crowd rushed forward. Whether he meant to try to cut the prisoners down or simply fulfill the old woman's request for a quick death, Casper didn't know. No one would ever know, because, as soon as he laid a hand on one of the prisoners, the Peacekeepers struck.

This time, the Peacekeepers felled the tree themselves – perhaps believing he might allow one of the prisoners to be whipped to death rather than fell his own. He was still hurling curses at the Peacekeepers as they strung him up alongside the others, but a few lashes quickly silenced him. The Peacekeepers turned to the crowd, waiting. Daring anyone else to step forward.

No one did. The message was clear. The Peacekeepers left only one guard with the prisoners, patrolling up and down the treeline. But one was enough. People passed by on their way to and from the forest, but no one came near. Not when the prisoners began to beg for water. Not when they began to beg for death. Occasionally, the Peacekeeper on patrol would whip one or another of the prisoners, but, mostly, they simply hung there, exposed, humiliated, waiting to die.

And, one by one, they did. Colette's grandmother died the first day, along with the youngest of the children. On the second day, the rain came, relieving the prisoners' thirst but prolonging their deaths. Rain washed their blood to the ground as the Peacekeepers gave each of the living a sound lashing – but not enough to kill them.

Gradually, the dead bodies drew the attention of animals. Birds. Rodents. Insects. Peacekeepers kept the larger predators away, but were content to let the rats, crows, and maggots feed on the decaying flesh. The dying cried out in agony as their wounds were infested, their eyes pecked out, their flesh torn away. One by one, they were claimed by infection, blood loss, exposure, thirst, and sheer exhaustion.

Colette's father was the last to die, only minutes after Colette's own death in the Games. Casper was almost glad that Colette hadn't been the first to accept the Capitol's offer to let one of them live. To come home and learn that her family had been so cruelly executed … It would have broken her.

Just as it had broken the spirit of District Seven. Freda was right. There would be whispers and grumbling at the reaping when two extra tributes were called. But there would be no riot. There would be no outrage. There would be only despair.

Hazel shook her head. "Tell them or keep it secret – it makes no difference. What can they do? What can anyone do?"

Casper wrapped an arm around Hazel's shoulders. He wanted to tell her that she was wrong. That there was something – anything – they could do. That they could make a difference.

But Hazel was right. Two extra tributes would enter the Games, regardless of anything they did. They were powerless.

Casper turned to Kurt and Freda. They were looking to him for some sliver of hope. That was what he was supposed to represent, after all. He was a Victor. One of the few who had made it out of the Games alive. Living proof that anything was possible.

That was what he was supposed to be.

But he wasn't. He felt eighteen years old again. Helpless. Helpless as he had cradled his only ally in his arms, powerless to do anything as the life slowly drained from Lydia's body. And now her parents were watching him with the same helplessness. They wanted to do something. He wanted to do something. But there was nothing – nothing – that they could do.

"Tell them," Casper decided at last, nodding to the old man and woman who had taken him in as their own after the Games. His own family was distant. Reluctant to even talk to him. But he was all that Kurt and Freda had left of Lydia. And they were all he had left of the first real friend he'd ever had. They were family now.

"Tell them," he repeated. "Tell everyone you can before the reaping. But keep quiet about it. Try not to let the Peacekeepers know."

Kurt and Freda nodded and hurried off. "Not much point," Hazel noted once they were gone.

"They deserve to know," Casper sighed.

"I meant there's not much point in being secret about it. The phone lines are tapped. The Capitol knows Nicodemus called me. They could have cut the call off, but they didn't. They know there's nothing we can do."

"I know," Casper agreed. "I just want them to be careful. You know how the Peacekeepers have been ever since…"

Hazel looked away. She knew. Since Colette's family's execution, the Peacekeepers had been like a child with a new favorite toy. Hangings and firing squads seemed merciful now, but they were a thing of the past. Any execution now earned a stump at the edge of the forest, the bodies left in place to rot long after the unfortunate victim was dead.

Even for lesser crimes, the prisoners were still strung up, nailed, whipped, and left to hang there for a few hours before the Peacekeepers allowed their families to take them down and nurse them back to health. A year ago, Casper would have doubted that the Peacekeepers would punish an elderly couple for spreading rumors about extra tributes during a reaping. But now…

It was better to be careful.

For a while, the two of them simply sat there, silent, perhaps hoping to wake up and find the past year had been a dream. But, instead, the minutes ticked steadily by, bringing the reaping closer and closer. "We should go," Hazel said at last.

That was all that needed to be said. The pair headed for the district square, where a crowd had already gathered. Casper spotted Kurt and Freda at the back of the crowd, silent, their arms around each other. They had no remaining children, and no grandchildren. They had no stake in the reaping about to take place. But they wept silently, nonetheless. For the child they had lost to the Games. For the families who, though they didn't know it yet, would face the same loss this year.

The crowd was silent as Casper and Hazel took the stage. Silent as their escort, Ebony Guthram, took her place beside them. She was still smiling, but her smile had none of its usual cheer. This year, it was forced. She didn't want to be here, in a district whose tribute had chosen to rebel. The people of the district didn't want to be here, in a district where the bodies of the dead marked the treeline. None of them wanted to be here.

But here they were.

Casper was almost sure he heard Ebony sigh as she dipped her hand into the first bowl and drew a name. "Audra Trevaille!"

The eighteen-year-old section parted around a girl in a cream-colored dress, white stockings, and beige shoes. The girl's face was pale as she took a few steps forward. Then a few more. Her hands clenched tightly into fists, but she kept walking, and, eventually, made it to the stage, tears in her eyes as she took her place next to Ebony. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, wiping the tears away before they could fall.

She was about average height, with light blonde hair, pale skin, and light grey eyes. She wasn't particularly muscular, but at least she looked healthy. She quickly wiped away a few more tears, then turned back towards the crowd, trying to smile as Ebony proceeded to the boys' bowl.

"Domingo Ibanez!"

The fourteen-year-old section parted around a boy in a brown button-down shirt, knee-length trousers, and a flat grey cap. Only as the boy began to walk quickly towards the stage did Casper realize that he was barefoot. But even that didn't seem to slow him down much; he took the stage quickly and confidently, eyeing his district partner warily as he took his place beside her.

The boy was short, and looked even shorter next to a girl four years older, but he, too, looked healthy, at least. He was well-tanned, with dark brown hair swept to one side and dark brown eyes. He looked about as relaxed as anyone in his position could be onstage, and was almost smiling as he looked back out at the crowd.

There were a few murmurs in the crowd as Ebony made her way back to the girls' bowl, but no one said anything. No one did anything. Nothing happened as she drew another slip of paper. "As the first replacement for Colette Woodsworth … Fallon Ladris!"

The fifteen-year-old section parted around a small girl in a black-and-white patterned dress. The girl glanced around from one person to another, confused. One of the girls beside her whispered something, but the girl simply stared in disbelief for a moment before pointing to herself. "Me?" she was probably asking, too quietly for the crowd to hear.

As the Peacekeepers came towards her, however, she finally put the pieces together, accompanying them to the stage without a struggle. Casper breathed a sigh of relief, grateful she hadn't decided to cause a scene. Instead, she simply stood there onstage, still a bit flabbergasted. She was rather small for her age, almost as short as Domingo, with long, brown hair and big brown eyes that turned towards Ebony in confusion as she reached in for yet another name.

"As the second replacement for Colette Woodsworth … Ciere Renole!"

The seventeen-year-old section parted around a girl in a short yellow dress with a thick white belt. For a moment, she seemed as confused as the other girl, but then she simply shrugged and stepped forward, making her way to the stage as quickly as she could. Once onstage, she turned confidently towards the crowd, not a tear in her eyes.

She was about the same height as Audra, slim and well-tanned, with curly, dark brown hair and dark brown eyes. As Casper watched, a strange look came over her face. A look that was almost satisfaction. A small smile found its way to her lips as she faced the crowd.

Casper placed a hand on Hazel's as the four tributes exchanged handshakes and were led away. Four tributes. Double the usual number. Which meant two for each of them. But Hazel had mentored two tributes on her own for more than twenty-five years before his victory. He could manage for one year.

At least, he hoped it would only be one year.

Surely this was only a one-year occurrence, not a permanent change. The Capitol wouldn't punish two extra tributes every year simply because of what one group of tributes had done.

Would they?

A year ago, he would have said no. Of course not. Even the Capitol wouldn't do anything so arbitrary, so vindictive, so cruel. Now, he wasn't so sure.

"Do you have a preference?" Hazel's voice interrupted his thoughts. She knew it was only a formality, of course. The two of them generally worked together, providing advice and comfort to both tributes. Occasionally, a tribute would want to work separately with one or the other, but, even then, they tried to split their time evenly, working with each of the tributes, trying to give them as much guidance as possible.

Casper shook his head. "I'll take the younger two." Younger tributes often reminded him of Lydia, which was both a comfort and a burden. Trying to help them was like trying to save her all over again … and failing. He had failed every time, just as he had failed to save her in the arena. But that would never stop him from trying.

There was nothing else he could do.

Audra Trevaille, 18

There was nothing she could say.

Audra wrapped her arms tighter around her mother as they both sat in silence. She wanted to say something. She knew her mother wanted to say something. Each of them wanted to comfort the other, to assure each other that everything would be all right.

But neither of them wanted their last words to the other to be a lie.

And, either way, it was a lie. Win or lose, nothing would ever be "all right" again. In order to win, she would have to kill. Other people would have to die. And, in the past year, she'd seen enough death.

No one she knew particularly well had been executed. But to see that kind of death up close, day after day … She sometimes felt like she had known each and every one. Their hopes. Their dreams. Their fear.

Fear. Now she understood their fear better than ever. Not just the fear of dying, but of dying the way they had – alone, defenseless, lingering in pain for days before death finally claimed them.

Audra closed her eyes. If death found her in the Games, she hoped it would be quick. Chances were, most of the other tributes were thinking the same thing. Wishing for either victory or a quick death. Audra swallowed hard. If she had to kill – when she had to kill – she would make it quick. As painless as possible.

Because that was what she would want.

Audra gripped her mother tighter, surprised by how quickly she had accepted the idea of killing people. But the simple truth was, they were going to die. The Capitol had proven that last year. If she could make their deaths quick and painless rather than slow and agonizing, as the Capitol had, wasn't that better?

Wasn't that kinder?

The Peacekeepers knocked on the door. Audra's mind raced. She had to say something. If she won – if she made it home – what she said now wouldn't matter. But if she didn't … There was only one thing she wanted to say. One thing she wanted her mother to remember.

"I love you," she whispered as the door opened and the Peacekeepers entered. Tears filled her eyes as her mother whispered the words back. Then she was gone. It was over. There was nothing left to do.

She was on her own.

Domingo Ibanez, 14

There was nothing he could do.

Domingo rubbed the back of his neck as his mother, father, and older brother Santiago sat down awkwardly beside him. They didn't want to say goodbye. They didn't want him to go. And he certainly didn't want to leave, either. None of them wanted to be in this position.

But here they were. And there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing any of them could do. He was going to the Capitol. He was going into the Games. There was no point in sitting here and crying about it.

But, of course, that was exactly what his family would do. Just as they had cried four years ago when Santiago was reaped, before a close friend unexpectedly stepped up to take his place. To die in his place.

Domingo shook his head. No one had stepped in for him. Santiago was too old now, and Domingo doubted he would have, anyway. And his friends…

He'd never been very good at making close friends. There were people he hung out with occasionally. People he knew from school. But no one he was particularly close to. Certainly no one he had expected to give their life for him.

But that was normal. That was typical. Seven wasn't a Career district, after all. Most of the time, the name the escort called was the same poor soul who found themselves dying in the Games a few weeks later. That was simply the way it worked. And, especially after last year's events, any outer-district volunteers would be regarded with suspicion.

But none of that mattered. No one had volunteered. No one had come to save him.

And no one would.

He was on his own. But maybe that was better. No more parents looking over his shoulder. No more teachers pestering him to sit still and do his work on time and show up for class. No more Peacekeepers watching his every move, just waiting for any excuse to string him up for a good lashing.

Either way, all of that was in the past. If he won, there would be no more school. No more work. The Peacekeepers would leave him alone. And if he died … Well, none of it would matter, anyway.

Domingo took a deep breath, wishing his family would just leave. This was awkward. It was unnecessary. If he won, all their tears now would just seem silly. And if he didn't, all the tears in the world weren't going to do him one bit of good. There was nothing they could do for him.

He was on his own.

Fallon Ladris, 15

There was nothing any of them could do.

Fallon watched as her family left, the door closing slowly behind them. Silently, she paced the floor, fidgeting with the edge of her shirt. There was nothing they could have done. Nothing they could have said. They couldn't help her now.

She was on her own.

Fallon brushed the tears from her eyes. She didn't want to be on her own. She'd always had someone. Her little brother, Ace, always tagged along with her. Her older sister, Gabrielle, usually tolerated the two of them. Cousins. Friends. She'd always had someone.

She needed someone.

Fallon fiddled with the end of her hair, starting to braid it. She would need someone in the Games, too. She wasn't kidding herself. With so many other tributes, she would need allies. She would need help. Someone. Anyone.

No, not anyone. That wasn't right. It had to be the right person. But how was she supposed to know who the right person was? How was she supposed to be able to tell if she could trust someone, when she only had a few days to get to know them? How could anyone actually trust each other in the Games, when they'd only met a few days before?

Fallon shook her head, undoing the braid she'd started. It looked silly. She didn't want to look silly. She wanted to look…

How did she want to look? Any chance of looking strong and in control had probably been lost at the reaping. But she couldn't help it. She hadn't been paying attention. The escort had already called two tributes, after all. How was she supposed to know she was going to pick another?

How was she supposed to know it would be her?

Then again, no one knew, at the reaping, that it would be them. No one except the Careers, of course. They knew. They planned for this. Trained for this. Trained to kill.

No. No, she didn't want to think about that. About all the people in the arena who had trained to kill people. To kill her. There would be time to worry about that later. Right now, she had to focus.

Focus.

Just focus.

They always said it like it was so easy. Just focus. Just think. Just pay attention. But it wasn't that easy. It never had been. And now … now it was worse. Because in order to focus on getting home, she would have to focus on fighting. Killing. And she didn't want to do either of those things. She just wanted to go home.

But she couldn't. Not yet. That wasn't how the Games worked. In order to survive, she would have to fight. She would have to kill. Nothing could change that.

So she would have to change, instead.

Ciere Renole, 17

There was nothing more to be done.

Ciere leaned back against the wall as her family finally left. They were gone. She would never see them again. She was never coming back.

And there was nothing they could do about it.

Ciere closed her eyes as she lowered herself to a seat on the floor, knees tucked to her chest, back pressed against the wall. It was easier this way. It was better. It was kinder. Kinder than what she'd planned.

Now they would never know.

They would know only what they saw on their screens. They would see their daughter, their sister, fighting for her life. Fighting to win. Fighting to come home.

But she was tired of fighting.

She was tired of fighting the feeling that overwhelmed her from the moment she woke up until she finally cried herself to sleep at night. She was tired of going through the motions, day after day, pretending that she was still the same happy little girl she had once been. She was tired of being strong, of putting on a smile, of pretending everything was all right.

Now she just had to be strong a little longer.

Just long enough. Long enough to convince them that she had tried. That she had wanted to come home to them, but just hadn't been strong enough, fast enough, clever enough. It was better this way. They would never know.

They would never know that she wanted this.

She'd thought about doing it herself. But the thought of her family – of little Laya or Brennan stumbling across her lifeless body somewhere in the attic or in the forest – that always stopped her. She'd even thought about volunteering, but had never quite worked up a plausible lie for why she had volunteered, why she was risking her life.

Now she didn't have to.

It was better this way. It was easier. The choice had been made for her. She could pretend she didn't want it. She could cry and tell them how sorry she was that she was leaving, how much she wanted to come home to them, how hard she would fight.

She could tell them how much she loved them.

That part, at least, wasn't a lie. She did love them. Enough to lie to them. Enough to make this easier for them. She would die, but they would never know the truth.

She had already lost.

"I was never meant to do anything! Every single second of my pathetic little life is as useless as that button! You think it's important? You think it's necessary? It's nothing. It's nothing. It's meaningless. And who are you to tell me that it's not?"