Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine.

Note: Three things. First, I'm leaving tomorrow for a camping trip with my family. We'll be back in about a week. Just wanted to let you know in advance that I'm not disappearing forever.

Second, as a few people have noted, I did decide to bump the rating up. Better safe than sorry.

Third, thank you to Sunlight Comes Creeping In, The Lunar Lioness, kkfanatic22, and Aspect of One for Sariya, Myrah, Melody, and Thane, respectively.

District Nine
Anything

Eloise Davies, 26
Victor of the 33rd Hunger Games

"We have to do something."

Eloise shook her head slowly. The seven of them – Eloise, her parents, and her four younger siblings – sat crowded together in their old farmhouse. Ever since they'd moved into her home in Victors' Village, the old house had been abandoned. It was dark, stuffy, empty – the perfect place to meet.

Eloise squeezed Tevin's hand tightly. He seemed so young now – much younger than his fifteen years. Last year's Games had been hard on everyone, but Tevin had been hit hardest of all. The female tribute, Denice Akaishi, had been a family friend, but particularly close to Tevin. Against Eloise's advice, she'd sided with the rebels.

Eloise shook her head. "We will do something. I promise. But we have to be patient."

But even as she said the words, she knew how hollow they sounded. She hadn't been here when the executions had taken place. She had been safely in the Capitol with Crispin, watching everything on their screens. Watching as her family's closest friends were led to their deaths.

The three of them – Denice's mother, father, and eleven-year-old brother Aven – were paraded through the district to the edge of a field. There, the Peacekeepers bound in place around a single wooden pole, their backs braced tightly against the stake. Wood and coals were piled at their feet, then covered with chaff from the field – but not too much. Too much, the Peacekeepers knew, and the smoke would smother them before the flames even touched them.

As soon as the flames were lit, Aven began to cry. Crying turned to screaming as the flames crept upwards, licking at their feet, then catching the bottoms of their trousers. The three of them cried out in agony as their charred flesh began to fall away. Gradually, Peacekeepers threw more wood on the fire, and the flames climbed upwards, catching their clothes, their skin, their hair.

It was almost a full hour before they finally died. And still the flames burned. More wood was added, until the three bodies had been consumed, leaving nothing but ashes and the smell of burning flesh.

"We shouldn't wait," seventeen-year-old Hannah insisted. "We should do something now. This year. People are angry. They're ready to strike."

Brylee, twenty years old, shook her head. "They're not angry. They're scared."

"And they should be," twenty-two-year-old Judah agreed. "We do something rash – we act too soon – and the same thing that happened last year will happen again. We need to wait. To organize—"

"We are organized," Hannah insisted. "We're ready!"

"We're one family," their father pointed out. "In one district. If we're going to have any chance of success, we need contacts in the other districts."

Eloise took a deep breath. "And the Capitol."

Every eye turned to her. "What?" Hannah asked.

Eloise leaned forward. "I know what you're going to say, but listen – please. Misha had the right idea, but he went about everything the wrong way. His plan was focused on derailing the Games, right?"

Brylee nodded. "Right. But the Games aren't the real problem."

"Exactly," Eloise agreed. "They're a symptom of the problem. If we're going to solve the real problem – the Capitol – then we're going to need help from inside. How many people live in the Capitol? Thousands?"

"Tens of thousands," their father offered. "Maybe a hundred thousand."

Eloise nodded. "Okay. Out of that number, how many are actively involved in the government – how many actually keep track of what's going on in the districts? The president, his advisors, the Gamemakers, the Peacekeepers – how many?"

"A couple hundred, maybe, in the government," their mother nodded. "Add in the Peacekeepers … maybe a thousand."

Eloise nodded. They were starting to get it. "And what about the military? What do they really have?"

Their mother shook her head. "No one really knows. It's been decades since the rebellion. Whatever troops they had … they're old, out of practice. Any new recruits have never really seen a battle. Not a real one. A few riots, a few disturbances – but nothing big. Throw them into a real battle … Who knows?"

"Exactly. So what's their advantage? Their real advantage, behind all the smokescreens and the fear and the propaganda. What do they really have?"

Judah cocked an eyebrow. "Resources. Technology. Transportation. They control it all."

"Okay, but what if they didn't?"

"If they didn't," Brylee repeated. "Just like that?"

"Not overnight. But if the rebellion—" Eloise stopped short, surprised at herself. The rebellion. That was what they were really planning, in the end. A rebellion.

It sounded good.

"If the rebellion had contacts in high places – not the government, but among the people in charge of technology, transportation, distribution, manufacturing … If we can sway those people, or move others into those positions – then we'd rob them of that advantage. That's one half of the plan."

The plan. That sounded good, too. It was Tevin who finally spoke up with the obvious question. "What's the other half?"

Eloise leaned forward a little more. "The other half is the other tens of thousands of people who live in the Capitol. The ones who aren't involved in the government. The ones who have no idea what goes on in the districts. The ones who watch the Games not because they want the districts to pay for the rebellion, but just because they're fun. Those people. Average, everyday people – but so many of them. If we can find something – some way to show them the truth…"

"What truth?" Hannah asked. "That they should end the Games?"

Eloise shook her head. "No. No, we need to go farther than that. Think it through. Why don't they think the Games are terrible? Why doesn't it bother them that twenty-three children die every year? Why don't they care?"

Blank looks. Eloise nodded. Of her family, she was the only one who had been to the Capitol. The only one who had seen – the only one who could see – the real problem. Most of the people she had met in the Capitol – the escorts, the stylists, the sponsors, and even the interviewers … They weren't terrible people. They weren't monsters. They were human.

And that was the key.

"They don't see us as human," Eloise said softly, her voice almost a whisper. "Not really. We're faces on their television screens. Voices during the interviews. We're fascinating, certainly – but we're not real to them. Not humans. Not equals. We're different. Less than them, somehow." She shook her head. "If we're going to reach them – all those people – they need to see us as equals. But, in order for that to happen, we need to see them the same way. They aren't 'the Capitol.' They aren't 'the enemy' – not most of them, at least. They aren't monsters. And neither are we."

"So how do we…?" Brylee started.

Eloise smiled a little. "The Games. They're the key. Because they're our only platform – the only time they really see us. Any time a tribute in the Games – Career or not, older or younger – any time they do something human, something real, something that reminds people that we're the same … those are our moments. We need to take them. We need more of them."

"I suppose that's mostly your job," Judah pointed out.

Eloise nodded. Most of this was her job. Contacts in the Capitol. Coaching the tributes. She was in a position to help. Part of her hadn't wanted to involve her family at all, but they had a right to know. If anything went wrong, they were the ones the Capitol would execute. Slowly. Painfully.

Was it worth it?

Eloise held Tevin's hand tightly. That fear – the threat of retribution – was exactly why she hadn't spoken to Crispin about any of this. Not yet. He had a wife. Two children. They were expecting their third. She couldn't ask him to take that risk. Not yet.

Not until she was sure it could work.

But there were others. Other victors she was sure she could trust. Some who had nothing left to lose. Some with so much anger that they wouldn't realize what they could lose. These next few weeks could change everything…

At last, Eloise got to her feet. The rest of her family, sensing the meeting was over, followed her back to Victors' Village, where they were surprised to find Crispin waiting at the door. Eloise motioned her family inside as Crispin cocked an eyebrow. "I was looking for you."

"Family outing," Eloise explained. "We wanted to spend some time together before the reaping. Tevin and Hannah are still…"

Crispin nodded. Still of reaping age. Still in danger. Officially, relatives of victors had the same chance of being reaped as any other teenager in the district. But everyone knew otherwise. Vernon's son. Elijah's sister, though Tamsin had stepped in to take her place. Jade's son, Jasper and Harakuise's daughter, Camden – although both of them had volunteered. It was no secret that the Capitol loved to see victors' relatives in the Games.

Crispin placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. His own children weren't old enough for the reaping yet, but it was only a matter of time. "I was looking for you because Nicodemus called."

Eloise's heart leapt. If anyone had a reason to oppose the Capitol – and very little left to lose – it was Nicodemus. "What did he say?"

"He wanted to warn us – about the reaping. There are going to be extra tributes. Two extra tributes for everyone who rebelled during the last Games. So for us—"

"—two extra girls," Eloise finished, fighting back the lump in her throat. Four tributes. Two more girls than usual. Two more chances that Hannah…

Eloise took a deep breath. Okay. Okay. If the Capitol wanted Hannah reaped, it would happen whether there was one female tribute or three. There was nothing she could do about it right now. "Who else knows?"

Crispin shook his head. "My wife. Tobiah. Whoever he's told – which is probably no one. Amari and I thought it best to keep it quiet. We don't want everyone to panic if—"

"—if only two families really need to," Eloise nodded. Crispin was such a familiar figure in the district, such a father to everyone, that it was easy to forget he was the victor who had won the longest Games on record. That, during his time in the arena, he had grown stronger rather than being worn down. That he had gone out of his way to attack mutts because he had thought it would be good practice. He knew how to pick his battles. He knew nothing would be accomplished by warning people ahead of time. Nothing but a lot of panic and anxiety – most of it wasted.

"All right, then," Eloise nodded. "Keep it quiet it is, then. I'll see you in a little while."

Soon, she and her family were on their way to the square. Silent. Shuffling along like any other family whose children were of reaping age. Eloise hugged both Tevin and Hannah tightly before taking her place onstage, hoping they wouldn't be among the teenagers who joined her there in the next few minutes.

Crispin was already there, nodding warmly as she took her seat beside him. Tobiah stumbled onstage last of all, his right hand and the stump of his left arm clapped tightly over his ears as if trying to block out some sound – a sound that didn't exist, aside from the quiet murmur of the crowd and the whisper of the wind. Hungover or drunk or high, Eloise wasn't sure. But at least he was here. He'd made it to the reaping on his own, which was rare enough.

As gently but firmly as he could, Crispin helped Tobiah to his seat, then turned to the escort, Sibyl Mahone, and nodded. Sibyl sighed, but put on a smile as she turned back to the crowd. She was new to District Nine; she'd been moved up from District Ten only two years ago. She was young. Eager. Waiting to be bumped up another district or two.

Two, probably. Samarin would be in District Eight until he died. He was one of the few escorts who had grown attached to a single district, rather than the Games themselves. Not that anyone else wanted Eight, anyway, especially after last year. Eight, Six, Three, and even Four would be regarded as more rebellious than the others for a good long while.

But Nine…

Seven, Nine, Ten, and Eleven were different. Their tributes had rebelled, yes, but it hadn't been planned. It had been a spontaneous choice – a choice, in one instance, made at swordpoint. Join the rebels or be killed by them. They were just children, in the end. What would anyone else have done?

What would she have done?

Eloise didn't have to think very hard about that one. There was no doubt in her mind that she would have joined the rebels. They had been persuasive. Charismatic. People had wanted to believe.

She had wanted to believe.

Eloise clenched her teeth as Sibyl took her place by the first reaping bowl. Not Hannah. Not Hannah. Sibyl reached in, drew a slip of paper, and unfolded it. Not Hannah.

"Sariya Charsley!"

The sixteen-year-old section parted around a girl in a white blouse and knee-length black skirt. For a moment, the girl stood there, shocked, staring up at Sibyl as if perhaps she had misheard. But, finally, she took a step forward. Then another. Shaking, her steps still hesitant, she made her way to the stage.

The girl was about average height, rather slender and well-tanned, her wavy blonde hair pulled neatly back in a ponytail. There were tears in her eyes as she raised her head towards the crowd, but none fell. Eloise swallowed hard. She'd been the same at her reaping. Trying not to cry. Not to feel. Trying to be strong.

In some ways, nothing had changed. She was still onstage, trying not to be afraid, trying to pretend that her little brother and sister weren't in danger. Trying to be strong for them as Sibyl made her way to the boys' bowl. Not Tevin. Not Tevin.

"Thane Hayer!"

The seventeen-year-old section parted around a boy in a dark blue button-down shirt and khaki pants. For a moment, the boy stared, shocked, but then he let out a laugh – a sudden, bitter laugh that made a few of the teenagers near him step back. Shaking his head, the boy made his way to the stage. By the time he took his place next to Sariya, any trace of a smile was gone, replaced with a cold, hard look.

He was a few inches taller than Sariya, with well-tanned skin and black hair. There was no hint of tears in his dark brown eyes as he turned towards Sibyl, waiting. But instead of telling them to shake hands, as he had probably been expecting, Sibyl turned back to the girls' reaping bowl. Eloise gripped the arms of her chair as Sibyl reached in again. Tevin was safe for another year, but Hannah … Not Hannah. Not Hannah.

"As the first replacement for Denice Akaishi … Melody Anson!"

The fifteen-year-old section parted around a girl in a pink singlet and a short black skirt. The girl looked around, confused. Putting the pieces together. At last, she stepped forward, fiddling with her hands as she made her way towards the stage. The girl swallowed hard as she took her place beside the two tributes already onstage.

She was shorter than both of them and quite slim, with light skin and blonde hair that reached the middle of her back. Her dark blue eyes were damp with tears, but, to Eloise's surprise, none of them fell. She simply stood there, clenching and unclenching her fists, as Sibyl reached in and drew one more name. Eloise braced herself. Not Hannah. Not Hannah.

"As the second replacement for Denice Akaishi … Myrah Lanhart!"

Eloise struggled not to look relieved as the fourteen-year-old section parted for the last tribute, a girl in a knee-length lavender dress, white long-sleeved shirt, and a well-worn pair of jeans. For a moment, she simply stood there, frozen in place. But then, with a sudden burst of energy, the girl sprinted. Peacekeepers stepped forward for a moment, startled, before realizing the girl was running towards the stage, grinning as she took her place beside Melody.

She was about Melody's height, with long, dark red hair and green eyes that shone brightly as she turned her grin towards Eloise and her fellow victors. Eloise smiled back encouragingly and Crispin nodded, but both of them saw through her smile. Saw her fists clenched tightly at her side. Saw her turn towards Sibyl, waiting, silently begging for the reaping to be over so she could leave the stage. So she could stop pretending.

After a few quick handshakes, the cameras were switched off, and the tributes were led away. Crispin turned to Tobiah. "Joining us this year?"

"Joining you for drinks – yes. Joining you for prolonging their inevitable deaths a little – no thank you. Enjoy your fun."

Eloise shook her head. This year, more than ever, they were doing more than just prolonging the inevitable. This year, mentoring was more important than ever. Crispin shrugged and turned to her, deferring. As the more experienced mentor, he certainly had the right to choose first, but he always let her have her choice, instead. Eloise thought for a moment. "I'll take Sariya and Thane."

Crispin nodded his understanding. Denice had been one of the younger tributes – only fourteen years old. Eloise couldn't go through that again – not so soon. She needed someone older. Someone who might listen.

Someone ready to do anything they had to do.

Thane Hayer, 17

He was ready for anything.

Thane glanced up as the door opened again. His parents had already come and gone; there was only one other person he was expecting. Only one other person who might come to bid him farewell. Thane nodded, satisfied, as Joachim entered.

"You didn't seem particularly surprised," Joachim noted.

Thane shrugged. It wasn't that he'd been expecting them to call his name. But he wasn't really surprised. Not anymore. Nothing surprised him anymore.

It was just his luck.

"Just bad luck, I guess," Thane offered as Joachim settled into the chair opposite him.

Just bad luck. That was what he had told himself four years ago, when, on their way home one night, he and his friend Kayla had had stumbled across a group of older men, drunk out of their wits. Thane and Kayla had accidentally bumped into one of them, and the five older men, thinking the teens meant to pick a fight, had given chase and quickly caught the pair.

What happened next was a blur of pain and blood. By the time Joachim had happened along and stepped in to break up the fight, both Thane and Kayla were nearly dead. Despite the local healer's best efforts, Kayla had succumbed to her injuries.

But he was still alive. Just luck.

Just bad luck.

Joachim leaned forward a little. "You've already got an advantage, you know."

Thane cocked an eyebrow. "Really? Do tell."

Joachim shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You've been close to death. That pain, that fear – you already know what to expect."

"I'm not sure that helps," Thane admitted. "Knowing what to expect … If anything, it makes it worse – the anticipation, the waiting. I know what's coming, but if there's nothing I can do about it … What's the point?"

Joachim shook his head, unsure. Thane looked away. Joachim was trying to be kind, trying to find something positive to say. But the simple truth was, there was nothing positive about the situation. Nothing he could say that would help. Nothing he could do.

But, for the moment, it was enough for him to be there. Enough that the man who had saved his life all those years ago cared enough to come and say goodbye. So they sat there, silent, soaking in each other's company one last time.

It was the only thing they could do.

Melody Anson, 15

She had thought she was ready for anything.

Melody finally broke down in tears as her father and four brothers entered the room. She had thought she was ready to see them. Ready to say goodbye. That, after hearing her name called at the reaping, nothing could possibly be worse.

This was worse. She wasn't ready. Wasn't ready to say goodbye to them. To her district. To everything and everyone she knew.

She didn't want to leave.

Her twin brother Arren was at her side in an instant, where he'd always been. Where he belonged. They rarely left each other's side. And now they were about to be torn apart forever.

No. Not forever. Not if she won. Not if she came home.

But that was a big 'if' – this year more than ever. This year, there would be even more tributes than normal. Older, stronger tributes. Tributes who already knew how to kill. Tributes who would be able to choke the life out of her or run her through with a spear without a second thought.

Melody buried her face in Arren's shoulder as the others formed a circle around the two of them. She didn't want to leave. She didn't want to fight, to kill.

She didn't want to die.

Arren held Melody a little tighter. "I wish I was going with you."

Melody forced down the lump in her throat. He'd said it without thinking it through, she was sure, but the thought still made her sick. If he had been chosen to go with her – if his name had been called, too – then only one of them could survive. That would be worse. Much worse.

Melody swallowed hard. It could always be worse. It was better this way – better that it was just her. She wouldn't have to worry about anyone but herself.

Her father pressed a star-shaped locket into Melody's hand. "I wasn't sure what you'd want as a token, but I thought this might…"

Melody threw her arms around her father. "It's perfect." The locket was her favorite. One side held her picture, the other side Arren's. "Thank you."

Her father nodded. "You're welcome." There wasn't really much else to say. Nothing he could say that would make their goodbye any easier. Nothing he could do that would ease her fear. No way to ensure that she would come home. So they simply gave each other one last hug before the Peacekeepers came to separate them.

It was the only thing they could do.

Sariya Charsley, 16

She hadn't done anything.

Sariya shook her head, her fists clenched tightly as she paced the room. Her parents had already come and gone, and a few of her friends. But she didn't feel any better. In fact, if anything, their visits had made her feel worse. Because almost all of them had said the same thing: that they couldn't believe this was happening to her.

Sairya closed her eyes. She couldn't quite believe it, either. Especially after what had happened last year, she had figured that the Capitol would make an effort to target rebels. Troublemakers. Or people who were close to them.

But she hadn't done anything. Her father's drug business was a tad illegal, to be sure, but there were surely others who were more rebellious. Others who were more of a threat. None of her friends were rebels. No one she knew had done anything that might have upset the Capitol.

Maybe it was just dumb luck.

Sariya clenched her fists tightly. That was even worse. If she was going to suffer the consequences, it would almost be better if she had actually done something to deserve them. Then she could at least take comfort in knowing that she'd done something worthy of the Capitol's attention. It was a strange sort of satisfaction, but it would have been better than nothing.

But she hadn't done anything.

Sariya opened her hand and glanced down at the links of chain her mother had left her. Four small links of chain – for good luck, she had said. Four was supposed to be a lucky number.

Lucky. Four tributes from District Nine would enter the Games this year. That was far from lucky. Only one of them could come out. One out of … however many tributes there were this year. More than usual. Worse odds than normal.

Sariya closed her hand tightly around the chain. It was never really about the odds, anyway. No one ever had an entirely equal chance of surviving. It wasn't about chance. It wasn't about luck.

It was about strength.

She would have to be strong. Stronger than ever. As strong, as firm, as steady, as the chain in her hand.

And she had to start now.

Quickly, Sariya wiped away the tears that had started to well in her eyes. She couldn't afford to look weak. Not for a second. They were watching her now. All of them. She had to look as strong, as confident, as ready, as she could.

It was the only thing she could do.

Myrah Lanhart, 14

There wasn't anything else she could do.

Myrah took a deep breath and forced a smile as her family entered the room. Immediately, her older brother Kalen threw his arms around her. Myrah returned the gesture without complaint as their parents came over to join them. "It's not fair," her mother whispered quietly.

Myrah wiped the tears from her eyes. Of course it wasn't fair. Recently, it seemed, nothing was fair. The Games last year. The executions. The extra tributes this year.

And she was one of them. One of the extras, chosen to replace one of the tributes who had defied the Capitol. If not for them – if not for Denice – then she wouldn't be here. If not for Denice, she would be safe.

Myrah closed her eyes as her parents and brother held her close. That wasn't fair – blaming Denice. She hadn't known – couldn't have known – what her actions would cause. It wasn't her fault the Capitol had decided to increase the number of tributes.

It wasn't her fault they had overreacted.

Because that was what it seemed like, in the end. A great big, three-year-old-child style overreaction. The rebels had tried to take away the Capitol's favorite toy, so the Capitol was lashing out at everything and everyone who might be the slightest bit involved.

It was stupid. It was childish. She was caught in the middle of the world's biggest tantrum.

And there wasn't a thing she could do about it.

That was the worst part – not being able to do anything about it. Not being able to say what she really thought, how she really felt. Because if she did, then the Capitol would take it out on her family. And she couldn't let them do that.

So she would play along. Be a good little girl. A good little tribute. Because that was what would keep her family alive. That was what would save them from being the next family consumed by flames at the edge of the field.

Myrah held her family close one last time. She could do this for them. She could make sure the Capitol would have no excuse to roast them alive. She could play the part, for their sakes.

It was the only thing she could do.

"You knew that was going to happen, didn't you? Then why didn't you stop it? Why didn't you do anything?"