A/N: Welcome all, to the Second Reaping of the 75th Hunger Games! Wooo!

I must apologize for it taking so long, I try to write when I can (even if it's just a paragraph or two a day), and I will get these out as fast as possible.

As always, thank you for stopping by and reading my story, and don't be afraid to point out my mistakes! I can't correct them if I don't know they're there! (especially typos… I do way too many typos…) It is currently midnight here, and I'm sure I have made a lot of mistakes.

ALSO! I am trying to use UK spelling for the Capitolites, and American for the Districts, but I don't always catch when I've mixed them up, so if you notice, please point it out!

(also, "Schuyler" is pronounced like "Skyler", I know I always try to pronounce it "Shoo-ler" and the joke makes no sense that way, lol)

Thanks a bunch, and on with the chapter!


Oph Neptune, District 2

The sun, casts long shadows before me as it begins to rise, barely peeking above the horizon. My lungs burn with the cold air, but it doesn't bother me. I keep putting one foot in front of the other, determined to go as fast and far as I can, and then to go faster and farther. The only way to improve yourself is to push yourself past your limits, and I always make is my main goal in life to be the best. I already have near-perfect speed and endurance, but near-perfect is just a sugar-coated way of saying imperfect.

On any normal Reaping Day, I would be pacing myself instead, moving at a good jog but not straining myself. In District Two, we always have dozens of volunteers, and whoever makes it to the stage first wins. I can't afford to be tired from overexertion during the most important race of my life. I furrow my brows and let out a frustrated growl under my breath. Unfortunately, this isn't a normal Reaping, and the annual race of potential tributes means nothing this year. With no volunteering, it won't matter how tired I am from my morning run.

I shake my head and force my legs to move faster. I don't have to worry about that, I'm sure. I have it taken care of, and I will be in this year's Games no matter what. After all, I am eighteen, and this is the last chance I have. I have been training for and excitedly anticipating this my whole life, or at least close enough to it, and I am ready. There is no way I am letting my life's work come undone because of a stupid Capitol rule, and I have already done everything to ensure that my name will be announced.

I smile as I picture the scene, crisp and clear in my mind. I'll be standing there impatiently with the rest of the eighteen-year-old boys, all of which will be shuffling from foot-to-foot nervously and sweating through their clothes. Then, our stupid Capitol escort with pull out the slip of paper and say my name, and then I'll walk up to the stage- no, strut up to the stage, while everyone else yells in surprise as the district's Academy prodigy is Reaped, and then they will all look on in jealousy and awe as I stand on the stage, pride and confidence radiating off of me.

I break myself out of my fantasy just in time to dodge out of the way of a rock in my path. My fate may not be decided by a race today, but it still would not be any good to have a twisted ankle. I need to be in top shape when I enter the Games and do my district proud. And be a better victor than my mother. I frown at this last thought; my mother may have given me life, but she didn't give me much else. She is weak and frightened, apparently inevitably scarred by her Games 23 years ago. I clench my teeth as I recall all the times she has "warned" me, insisting that the Games are worse than I understand and that it will destroy me.

But just because she's weak doesn't mean I am! I am stronger than her, braver than her, fiercer than her. She doesn't even like to squash a bug, for Cassius' sake! It's no wonder she was messed up from squashing kids, even though the fact that she could makes it pretty obvious that they weren't worthy anyway. At least her fame and riches are useful, though. It would be really frustrating to have a weak mother and be poor!

My run carries me by the quarry nearest the city, and I look in abhorrence at the small shanty town set up there. In our district, the poor people that work in the rock quarries live in places like this, near their places of work. The better-off live in the city; merchants and craftsmen and Peacekeepers. Then, there are those like my mother and me; the rich, who live in Victor's Village just outside the City.

We are the elite, the best of the best. We are the most important citizens of District Two, the ones that make this district everything that it is. I smile, boiling over with pride at the thought. And soon, soon I will be another Victor making District Two worth existing. Then, I'll start my own training gym, as all proper victors do.

My mother never started the Antla Neptune Training Gym, as she had every right to do after winning the Fifty-Second Hunger Games, but I don't really hold that against her. She was trained by Cassius Spire, the first District Two victor and the first Hunger Games victor. When he won, he started his gym and continued it well into his sixties. However, he knew he wasn't going to live forever (in fact, several of his fellow Victors from early years had already passed), and he wanted to ensure that his legacy would live on. Rumor is, he looked for years for the right candidate, and when my mother won, he knew she was it.

So, instead of building her a new gym, Cassius offered her his. It was a great honor, being hand-picked by the greatest person in all of Panem's history to take over after their death, and everyone wished it had been them. Naturally, my mother accepted. Cassius mentored her in the fine art of training victors, and in only a few short years she was running the Cassius Spire Training Gym by herself. She has single-handedly trained two of our seven victors since taking over, and all of the seventeen tributes she's sent into the Games have made it into the final eight.

Despite all that, she has never pressured me to train. It's definitely odd here in District Two, where even the poorest kids will put in at least a couple years of training before they start working in the quarries alongside their parents. I don't begrudge her that at all, though. In fact, I think it's better this way. I motivated myself, and once I'm in the Arena my own motivation is all that there will be. I have pushed myself to my limits because I wanted to, and that will make me better than every other potential in all the districts.

I ponder the thought while I direct my route back towards the city. Maybe that's why my mother is as terrible a victor as she is. I know that she trained and entered the Games because my grandparents pushed her to, even resorting to threatening to kick her out if she didn't participate in the race. I have seen the tapes of her Games, and I saw the look on her face as she stood on the stage at the Reaping; she was surprised. I don't think she expected to actually make it to the platform first.

She went on to win as any Neptune should, but she never was quite right after that. As I think back on the other Victors I've seen, I think that that is the common thread between them. The ones like me, eager and strong and willing, we come out from the Games better. The ones unwilling to volunteer (or even Reaped) that manage to win usually come out more unstable, like my mother with her panic attacks and bouts of depression. I shake my head sadly. I love my mother, but she really is pathetic as a Victor. She had no place in the Games at all, let alone winning.

At least she has redeemed herself with me. Or, at least she will after this year. I draw near the outskirts of the city, passing by several small groups of children who are out doing the same thing I am. Most gyms require their students to have daily runs, but they do tend to stagger them throughout the day to try to keep the entire district from being overwhelmed with children all at once. They also tend to have them go at more inconvenient times, either really early or during the hottest or coldest times, to try and instill discipline.

I, personally, prefer to run twice a day; once early in the morning, before the sun has risen, and once in the evening before heading to bed.

By the time I reach my mother's gym, my lungs are burning and I am gasping for oxygen. I slip in the door and grab a bottle of water out of the fridge she always keeps stocked with our workout essentials; water, energy bars, and protein shakes. After downing half the bottle, I take an energy bar and tear into it while I make my way over to one of the many weapons racks lining the wall. Selecting a machete from a blade rack, I quickly finish the rest of my water before heading over to the section of gym where dozens of dummies are set up, waiting for me to dismember them.

After all, the Reapings are in only four hours, and the Games are in only one week, and I can't afford any weakness. I must be prepared, even if (and I smirk at the thought) I'm going to be the only well-trained tribute there.


Demtria Ragbone, District 2

The sounds of yells and a crash wake me and I jump out of bed, bleary-eyed and confused.

"Skye! Skye, you're dreaming, wake up!" A male voice yells, and through my half-asleep delirium I am able to recognize it as Ayden Bunker's, the twelve-year-old that follows me and my friends around like a stalker puppy. I rub my eyes and look toward the source of the noise: my best friend in the world's bed, where she has apparently fallen to the floor in the midst of a nightmare, and Ayden is now shaking her while yelling. He means well, really he does!

I promptly head over, putting a hand on his shoulder to pull him back and crouching down next to Skye, rubbing her back gently as she whimpers and speaking in a soft voice. "Skye, it's all right. It's just a dream, it's not real. Wake up now." I brush her light brown bangs from her eyes as she cracks them open.

"D-Demi?" She looks up at me, tears shimmering in her eyes. "I… it was us! We were Reaped!" She lets out a choked sob and I stare at her for a moment before rolling my eyes.

"How is that supposed to work, Skye? We're both girls, and only one girl gets Reaped." I wipe the tears from her eyes where they have begun to leak out. "We're going to be fine." Skye bites her lip as she sits up and wipes her eyes herself.

"I don't know, Demi." She starts hesitantly. "I mean, we have a better chance that anyone else, right? With all our entries, I mean…" she trails off and looks down at her hands, obviously just trying not to look at me. I rush to comfort her, of course, tell her that there are plenty of kids with odds just as bad or worse than ours. I don't believe it myself, though. How could I? Growing up in the Schuyler Group Home has ensured that. There are a lot of kids here, orphans and kids whose parents couldn't afford them or just plain didn't want them. We all have to take tesserae for ourselves once we turn twelve, unless we don't plan on eating. But we are also required to take enough tesserae for the younger kids to eat, too.

Skye and I have both been taking out five tesserae for six of our seventeen years of life; our names will each be in the Reaping Bowl thirty-six times. I have never cared before, nor has anyone else in the Group Home or the caretakers that run it. In District Two, Reapings really mean nothing. No one who gets Reaped actually goes into the Games, since there are dozens of volunteers each year. Half the time we don't even hear the kid's name over the torrent of eager young warriors charging the stage. This year, though, there will be no wave of saviors if one of us gets Reaped.

I shake my head as if that will shake the negative thoughts away; there's no point dwelling on it. Besides, I wasn't completely lying to Skye, there really are kids with worse odds than us. Mainly the eighteen-year-olds in the Group Home that have their names in forty-two times.

"Okay," Skye concedes after some thought. "Okay, maybe that's true. But then there's twelve-year-olds with their names in once that get picked every year. If they can get picked, we can get picked." She crosses her arms, her intense hazel eyes almost daring me to challenge her. Naturally, I just roll my own eyes and stand, offering my hand to help pull her up.

"No matter what, Skye, we will not be going in. At least one of us is guaranteed to be safe. And even if one of us does get Reaped, it's not like we're helpless outlier district kids; we know how to fight." Another rule in Schuyler Group Home is that we have to begin training once we turn five, the youngest age most of the Training Gyms will accept. They want us to be ready to go into the Games and earn some money, but mostly to get us out of their hair for several hours a day while we train.

Skye opens her mouth as if to protest while she takes my hand, hauling herself to her feet by it, but then she closes it and nods, apparently unable to come up with another point to scare herself with. She nods, then smiles a little. "You're right. We're better off than anyone else that'll get Reaped, aren't we?" She chuckles as she begins to make her bed, per Schuyler Group Home regulation. "I bet all the serious trainees are kicking themselves for not taking out five tesserae a year, now!"

Ayden, who has been silently watching us while shifting from one foot to the other and running a hand nervously through his eternally-messy blonde hair thus far (he isn't very good with tears and girl emotions, he always tells us), pipes up now. "I bet they're going to start from now on! Just in case this happens again!" I shake my head at him.

"I doubt it, Ayd. The next Quell isn't gonna happen for twenty-five years, and that's the only time this could happen." His face falls a little, and I can't help but try to make him feel better; he is our puppy, after all. "But you're right, I'm sure they will when it gets closer." He brightens immediately, as always exhilarated to have any approval from me. I head over to my own bed to make it and notice that it's only just getting light outside, turning to him and frowning, crossing my arms. "And what exactly are you doing in here anyway, Ayden? You know the rules."

Ayden looks down at his feet abashedly and scuffs the toes of his scruffy dress shoes on the floor lightly. "I know… but I couldn't sleep, and I just wanted to, you know, talk to you. But then Skye started yelling and fell out of bed, and I had to help her, and…" he keeps rambling for a bit, and I just let him. Like a lot of Schuyler kids this year, he obviously had some bad dreams, so I completely understand his breaking the rules this time. Not that I care anyway; the rule states that boys are only allowed in girls' dorms (and vice versa) during daytime hours, but honestly! He's twelve, and we're seventeen; what do they think he's going to do?

Finally, after he keeps talking the whole time I'm fixing my bed and picking out my clothes for the day, I take pity on him and interrupt him. "It's all right, Ayd. We're not upset, and we're certainly not going to snitch." He falls silent and smiles gratefully. "You are going to have to step out, though, because we need to get dressed." Being naked with a boy in the room, no matter how young, is not a rule I'm willing to break no matter what. His normally fair cheeks turn bright red as he nods emphatically and steps outside, shutting the door behind him. I sigh and quickly change, noting Skye and a few other girls doing the same now that our puppy has left.

I allow myself a small smile as I quickly throw on my clothes. Ayden is a sweet kid, and everyone here loves the innocent twelve-year-old. My smile darkens, though, when I remember that he is twelve now, and that innocent little kid could very well be going to his death this year. I hope, at the very least, it isn't him.


Ayden Bunker, District 2

I lean against the wall outside the seventeen-year-old girls' room, idly playing with the hem of my off-white (I've been told it used to be white-white) dress shirt. I know it's supposed to be tucked in, but I hate the feel of a tucked-in shirt. I have plenty of time before the Reapings, and I can tuck it in real quick on the way over in a couple of hours, right? I sigh and kick at the floor softly.

I don't wanna go! What if they call my name? I really don't want to be in the Games. At least not yet. I know I'll have to try, once I turn fourteen; Schuyler Group Home makes us try to get in the Games once we're "old enough", but that's not for two more years! And I don't think I'll want to even then. I don't want to hurt anyone, and I really don't want to kill anyone! I sigh again, trying to stop the tears from welling up in my eyes.

"It's not fair…"

"Nothing's fair, Ayd." I jump at the sudden voice to my right and look to see Demi and Skye standing fully-dressed in the doorway to their room, Demi now dressed in her Reaping Day jeans and white blouse, her dark curls pulled back into a messy ponytail, and Skye wearing a sift blue knee-length dress with her own light brown hair braided. Skye promptly pulls me into a hug, and I find myself hating that I'm so small that I don't even go up to her chest. If I get Reaped, I won't stand a chance if even the girls are all bigger than me! I cling to Skye tightly, as if she can actually protect me from the Reapings. Demi puts a hand on my shoulder and speaks softly.

"Don't worry too much, Ayden. Your name is in there six times, yes, but there are so many boys with more, and so many boys who went out and took so many more this year to try to get picked. So, your name is really only in a few times out of thousands and thousands."

"Primrose Everdeen's was only in once, last year. She said so when they talked to Katniss's family, remember? She got picked!" I'm starting to make myself hysterical, tears running down my cheeks, but I don't really care. I don't want to die!

Skye releases me from her hug and instead kneels down, a little more eye-level with me now. "I know. We aren't going to lie to you, you could get picked, but you probably won't." She wipes at the tears on my face. "And if you do, you'll be fine. Everyone loves you, you know." She smiles that amazingly sweet smile of hers. "You'll have so many sponsors, your mentors won't know what to do with all that money! And you can fight, you're really good with those quarterstaffs, right?"

I sniff and nod. I am the best in my class with staff-weapons, after all. Fighting with a staff isn't like fighting with a sword; you can't just wave it around and expect someone to die. It takes… finesse, that's what my teacher Hortensia calls it. I don't know, I guess I just like the complexity. I can get lost in it, forget where I am for a while.

At my nod, Demi chimes in. "You even took out those older boys, remember? You would have this easily." I smile at the memory, when two fifteen-year-olds from our Gym thought they'd pick on the little kid, so I grabbed my quarterstaff and dared them to insult me again. Of course, they didn't think for one second that I could take them, so they charged me with their swords. With only a few deft moves, I had them both disarmed and lying on the ground, one dizzy from a blow to the head and one clutching his testicular region for all he was worth.

I chuckle at the memory, allowing it to wipe away my fear. "You're right." I roll my eyes a little. "As always, huh?" I wipe my eyes and give them both a cheery smile, even though I don't totally one-hundred percent feel it. I think Demi can tell, though, because she takes my hand and starts pulling me down the hallway toward the stairs.

"Come on, I bet we can find us some good matches to watch before the Reapings begin." Skye bounds behind us, running briefly to catch up, and we all head downstairs together. We have to stop at Mrs. Hardwick's front desk and pass inspection (Mrs. Hardwick runs the group home, and she won't stand for any of us Schuyler kids embarrassing her at the Reapings by looking like slobs). After fussing over my un-tucked shirt for a few minutes, Demi and Skye convince her that they'll make sure I tuck it in before the cameras arrive, and she lets us go.

Naturally, we run as fast as we can to get away from the troll.


Oph Neptune, District 2

Once I have savagely destroy all the dummies, then set them up again to do the same with a dozen other weapons, I finally decide it's time to call it a day. After all, I'll have all week to prepare for the Games, and I'm going to be the only real threat there anyway. I head to the showers just as other trainees start trickling in. The lazy bastards couldn't even be bothered to show up at a decent pre-dawn hour to train on the day of the Reapings!

I shake my head as I clean the sweat and grime from my body. None of them are worthy of being Tributes, not with those attitudes. I am. I scrub furiously at my skin, glowering at the tile walls. I know my name is going to be called, but that doesn't stop the anger. None of them had better get picked. Even that Cato kid from last year who had had so much promise was ultimately an embarrassment to District Two. I am clearly the only one that can bring glory to our district!

I force myself from my bitter thought and rinse the soap from my body before quickly drying off and throwing on a spare pair of clean shorts and a shirt. I glance at my watch as I head out the door. I have just enough time to get home, dress, eat breakfast, and get to the square. Nodding briefly, I set out at a brisk jog that won't even make me break into a sweat and arrive at my home in Victor's Village in only a couple of minutes.

I walk in the door, yelling to my mother to start my breakfast as I run up the stairs to my room. I have already laid my Reaping clothes out and it doesn't take much time to slip into the simple gray pants and black shirt. I run a brush through my hair, carefully styling it, and look at myself in my full-length mirror. I take in my strong jawline and high cheekbones, my tanned skin, my ash-blonde hair. Sure, my nose is a bit more crooked than I'd like, and my eyes a bit more deep-set and squinted, but really I look every inch a proper Tribute from District Two.

I practice smiling a bit, ranging from a genuine smile to cocky to menacing. I conclude that cocky works best, but I'll probably get farther using mostly an intimidating glower. I practice that for a little while as well, then give my reflection a satisfied nod. I am ready for this.

I turn to leave, but a flash of gold on my desk catches my attention. Hesitantly, I pick up the ancient Roman coin that was the source, holding the cold metal in my suddenly-clammy hand. A keepsake, from a friend.

The Seventy-Third Hunger Games plays on the television, the morning of the fourth day. I sit at the edge of my seat, enthralled. Chrim was doing so well! I've been telling everybody, "That's my buddy! My best friend, Chrim! He's gonna win, then me and Kiwan are gonna win, and we're all going to have huge parties at our houses in Victor's Village!" I've been saying that since he volunteered, and I grew even more proud with my words after he did so well in the Bloodbath. Four deaths from him alone, and he didn't even get a scratch from it!

And when he killed the girl from Seven yesterday, this little thirteen-year-old that just kept glaring at him defiantly, refusing to even run? He didn't back down, he didn't hesitate! Oh, he was amazing, decapitating her with one blow from his dual-swords! I let out a cheer.

Then… then everything went wrong…

I shake my head, forcing the memory and the tears that come with it to retreat back into the recesses of my mind. I clench my hand around the coin, Chrim's coin. Then, I drop it back onto the desk and turn and walk out.

I hurry downstairs and grab the breakfast my mother has made me; she knows me well enough to make me something portable: bacon and eggs and cheese between toasted bread, my favorite sandwich. I kiss her on her cheek absently as I grab it and head out the door. I've taken more time than I intended, and now I have to hurry to get to the square. I can't be late on my special day!

I wolf down my breakfast as I go and I arrive just as I finish the last bite. Perfect. I head over to check in and take my place in front of the stage, with the nervous-looking eighteen-year-olds. They should be nervous, I tell myself mostly in an attempt to keep my mind of Chrim. After all, they're not going to end up in the Hunger Games this year.


Skye Schuyler, District 2

Ayden had obviously still been upset, so Demi and I distracted him with the Reaping Day matches. While the workers were busy getting the stage ready, eager young trainees entertained themselves and the crowd, facing off against each other in a roped-off section on the other side of the Square. They were quick matches, one round each, and some of the Gym leaders acted as judges every year.

I never had much interest in the fights myself; we fight in training every day, what's so special about this one? So, while Ayden and the other onlookers cheered and booed the contestants, I allowed my attention to wander over the crowd. People-watching is so much more fun.

Most of the younger kids, the ones who aren't yet eligible for the Games, are wearing their Gym's colors around their arms or wrists or necks. They're going to have a lot of fun causing trouble for the older trainees in the weeks to come (hopefully myself included). It's something we do every year, a big game that lasts as long as the Hunger Games. Each gym splits their eligible-aged students into groups of seven or eight, the average size of the Alliance in the Games, led by an older Captain and an opposite-sexed Lieutenant. Then, everyone competes in matches and competitions, and at the end of the Hunger Games, the points are added up for each gym and the winning gym gets the year engraved on their statue in the Square (each Victor has a statue, after all, and each Gym has a Victor founder). It's this huge honor, and they get all the bragging rights and extra funding and host the Victor's Feast and all sorts of other things.

I think the whole thing is silly, but I guess I'm just the oddball in District Two. And of course I'm an oddball, my parents named me Skye Schuyler. Imagine the teasings I've endured for that one! Anyway, before leaving for the Capitol, the leaders of each gym choose who will make up each team, (along with a backup Captain and Lieutenant for each, in case they get into the Games), and after the Tributes and the cameras leave, the assistant leaders of each gym gets up and announces the teams, giving everyone their colors (each gym has colors, like a banner, and they'll put everyone's team number on the banners for them to wear).

After that, it's up to the Captains of each team to decide what to do for the next few weeks. It's an exercise to get them ready in case they get in the Games next year, because once we're in the Games you can't rely on your mentors and trainers to make your decisions anymore. District Two is always in charge of the Alliance because, unlike the prissy District One tributes, we actually learn leadership and tactics, not just looking pretty. These games get our tributes ready for that responsibility.

Each team has a flag, and getting your flag captured loses you points. Capturing another team's flag gains you points. Then there's the challenges set up during the day and night, smaller competitions that can earn you points as well. The Captains decide who goes to each competition, who guards the flag when, and everything else. School is always cancelled for these weeks, of course.

The only time it's not allowed to steal a flag is during the end-of-day ceremony. Everyone gathers in the square to watch the day's Hunger Game's highlights, then the scores are tallied up and whichever team earned the least points that day has to have an elimination match; the whole team gets up in front of everyone and has a massive free-for-all battle. Whoever gets a "fatal injury" first is out, and is considered "dead" for the rest of the games. They no longer participate in the challenges, they have to wear these long black cloaks and white face makeup, and no one "alive" is allowed to talk to the "dead" kids.

I always do my best to "die" early on so I don't have to do the stupid games.

The younger kids represent the outer districts, the one's that aren't in the Alliance, and they get to do whatever they want. They can team up with a few of their friends, they can steal everyone's flags, they can participate in the challenges (though they're younger and inexperienced, so really they just make it more annoying than difficult to win the challenges). Ayden always had fun doing this, since he's small enough he's been pretty good and sneaking in and stealing flags. This is going to be his first year in an actual team, and if the Captain knows what's good for him, he'll send him out to steal all the flags at all times.

If he's still here…

Getting a Tribute in the Games earns your gym an automatic one-hundred points, and winning gets five-hundred. But I think I'd much rather have Ayden earn points the old-fashioned way than really fighting for his life. I look at him worriedly, glad that his attention is on the current match and not on my overly-agonized features. The Games would destroy Ayden.

Demi nudges me with her elbow and offers me a comforting smile when I look at her. She knows I'm worried about Ayden, and about myself (oh, Cassius! What if Ayden and I both get Reaped! I can't kill Ayden!). I know Demi doesn't show it to the rest of the world so much, but she really is a sweet, caring person. Even if usually she acts like a cold, distant ice queen.

I smile back at her, even though I know neither of us believes the smile. Really, we're just being strong for Ayden's sake. Or, at least, I am.

I really, really hope none of us is Reaped.


Ayden Bunker, District 2

After only an hour of watching the matches, it's time for the Reaping to begin and all my nerves come rushing back at me. I almost forget to tuck my shirt in, I'm so distracted. I don't want to die! I take steady calming breaths as Demi and Skye usher me towards the lines to check in. It's a simple process, really. I give the Peacekeeper my name and age, they check it against a list on an electronic pad, then direct me to the twelve-year-old section near the back of the square. Nothing to sweat over.

But Demi and Skye have to leave me now to go to the seventeen-year-old section, all the way near the front of our giant City Square, and I'm back to thinking how it just isn't fair. Why can't I stand with my friends? It's not like it's going to make me any harder to find if my name is called; everyone's gonna stare at me anyway, right?

I sigh and fidget with the buttons on my shirt (and I find that one is missing. How did I miss that when I put it on?). It's not too much longer now, I keep telling myself. I swear it's slower this year than any other year, though! It's probably because I'm actually in it now, though.

Finally, after what I'm certain is hours and hours of uncomfortable waiting, our mayor takes to the microphone and starts his speech. I pay very close attention, even though it's been the same every year and there's no reason to think that it'll change this year. But I'm so scared, and it gives me something to focus on. He talks about the forming of Panem, and he talks about the Rebellion and the Dark Days, and he talks about the Capitol's victory and the Glory of the Hunger Games.

Then, he announces proudly that it's time to introduce our victors. He calls them one-by-one, as he does every year, and I cheer along with everyone else just to keep my mind busy. Hortensia, Brutus, Antla, Seraphina, Enobaria, and so many more. There are all too many names for me to keep track of, and I always do terrible at this subject in school. I mix their names up and make up new ones (but they're always close!), so I figure I might want to pay attention now and maybe then I can remember them better.

Finally, after much whooping and stomping and clapping that is starting to make my head ring, the mayor raises his hands in a "silence" motion and we quiet down. Once he's satisfied that we're not going to continue yelling, he introduces Lucretia Underford, the same shrill-voiced bouncy escort we've had for seven years now.

She practically springs up to take her place at the podium, her giant curly golden wig swaying so that I think this year it'll finally fall off in front of all of Panem. It doesn't though, as she brings a silver-painted hand up to steady it. He entire body is painted silver, or maybe it's dyed, and she sparkles in the sun as if she were coated in the actual metal. Her suit is a shiny gold, and I wonder if she's wearing real gold or if it's just some Capitol trickery that makes it seem that way. And how can she walk in those giant heels (also gold!), let alone prance around like she does?

I realize with a start that while I've been critiquing her dubious Capitol fashion choices, she's been talking this whole time. I haven't been paying attention! What if she already drew the name? What if it was me, and I didn't even notice!

I look around frantically and notice that everyone else looks bored or anxious, not curiously looking around for a new Tribute, and I let out a sigh of relief. I need to stop working myself up like this! Quickly, I force myself to tune in to what she's saying.


Lucretia Underford, Capitol Escort

Standing in front of all these lovely children is the highlight of my year! Except, of course, for when one of these lovely children wins, then the crowning ceremony is the highlight of my year! And District Two does provide me with a lot of these highlights. My district brings home more Victors than any other, a fact that I like to brag about every chance I get (especially to Althea Rose, that perky bimbo for District One). In fact, they had to expand their Victor's Village several years back, because there were too many Victors and not enough houses! Oh, I was just so excited when I was assigned to District Two!

Even if they are a bunch of barbarians! I mean, really, they don't even wait until the proper time to volunteer, like the civilised people in District One (don't tell Althea!), and half the time the little mongrels are running up to the stage before I can finish my sentence. Didn't their mothers ever teach them that interrupting is rude? Brutes!

Don't get me wrong, of course, I am so very honoured to be District Two's escort (which I am telling them all right now) and I would certainly never wish to leave them (unless Althea Rose would have a big fat heart attack and die already and I could be promoted, of course). Even if they do shove and push each other to get to the stage first like a pack of boorish ruffians. At least I won't have to deal with that bestial behaviour this year!

I notice everyone is starting to space off (while I am talking about how wonderful they are, no less!), so I quickly wrap up my speech and move on to the most important part of my job: the Reaping!

"Now, let's see what brave young gentleman will represent your wonderful district this year!" You see, how much I complement them? And they all have the nerve to act anything other than admiring toward me! They even look scared and nervous. This is supposed to be the best district (until Althea's fat heart gives out), and they should not look so inferior!

Of course, I am quite nervous myself as I approach the large bowl with all the boys' names. But, I am a professional, and I will power through it! Because unlike these uncivilised monsters, I have manners. I pull the piece of paper from the bowl and move back to the podium, carefully unfolding it whilst I force my hands not to shake (silly hands, you'd think that I wasn't entirely used to this. I do this all the time! This is no different, I say!). I read the name carefully, swallowing slightly.

Ayden Bunker.

Entirely not the name I was hoping for. But I must push on! I cannot let a silly little name on a slip of paper ruin everything, after all!

"Oph Neptune." I say in a steady voice before quickly shoving the offending paper into my pocket, where no one can see it. Because this is a perfectly normal Reaping, and there is nothing for anyone to see!

I allow myself a glance behind me at Antla Neptune, the woman who insisted just three hours ago that if her son's name is not called, I shall experience the worst pain of my life. She even twisted my arm! District Two is so rude! I hope Althea Rose has a stroke soon, and I can get out of here!


Ayden Bunker, District 2

It wasn't my name! The most wonderful thing in the world, the most wonderful name ever! I think I'm going to name all my children Oph Neptune! I smile, tears of relief and joy springing to my eyes. Demi and Skye were right, after all! It wasn't my name!


Demetria Ragbone, District 2

I let out an unconscious sigh of relief as the wiry teen makes his way up to the stage. I had been so worried about Ayden, and it's good to know he's safe. I study Oph Neptune, who looks a little too self-satisfied right now. He must have been dying to enter the Games this year.

Of course! He's Antla Neptune's son, the Victor of the Fifty-Second Hunger Games! He's one of the toughest trainees in his gym, in the toughest gym in the district. Well, good on him, then. Maybe we'll have a real Victor this year, after all. Once he's up on the stage, and glowering at everyone while looking menacing, Lucretia claps her hands excitedly.

"Well! Isn't this a wonderful specimen! We will have ourselves a good Tribute this year, won't we!" Cassius, she's so perky it hurts sometimes. "Righty-ho, then, on to the ladies! Let's find out which one of you lovely darlings is going to stand beside this dashing young man!" And with that, she plunges her hand into the second bowl, fishing it around for a moment before pulling out a single slip of paper.

It's hard to believe that tiny, insignificant piece of paper is going to seal someone's fate. She unfolds it carefully and reads it out in a crisp, clear voice.


Skye Schuyler, District 2

Please don't be me, please don't be me, please don't be me.

"Demetria Ragbone."

It's not me! I almost laugh with relief before the words sink in and I look at Demi, horrified.

"D-Demi…" I can barely choke the words out. My best friend is going to go into the Hunger Games? But she doesn't want to! Why can't one of the other girls volunteer! They're all looking at her with such envy anyway, what harm could it really do?

"It's fine, Skye. I've got this." She seems so calm and collected, and it's just not fair because I know I would be sobbing if it were me. I'm almost sobbing, and it's not me! She walks calmly up to the stage, head held high and refusing to make eye contact with any of the jealous girls. As she mounts the steps gracefully, I notice sobbing behind me in the crowd. I turn around to see poor little Ayden bawling his eyes out. He was right, after all; it's not fair.

Lucretia has Demi and Oph shake hands, then the anthem plays before they are ushered into the Justice Building. Without wasting a moment, I rush forward to join them and say goodbye to my best friend, possibly forever.


Oph Neptune, District 2

My mother is the first one in, of course. I stand from the plush armchair and accept her embrace, even though I don't need the comforting. She does, though, and weak as she is, she's still my mother.

"Oph, I'm so sorry, I—"

"Don't." I promptly interrupt her and pull back to look her in the eye. "This is exactly what I wanted, remember?" I smile a little and I swear I can almost see the memory bouncing in her head. "You don't have any reason to worry, anyway. I've told you before, I am going to win this." I kiss her forehead. "All right?"

"All… All right, Oph. Just… be careful, for me?" She looks at me with her big, pleading eyes, and I sigh and nod, despite knowing that there is no careful in the Hunger Games. What she doesn't know won't hurt her, though. A relieved smile stretches across her face and she hugs me again, then jumps back. "Oh! Oph, you left this in your room. Isn't it your token?"

She's holding out Chrim's Roman coin.

Then… then everything went wrong…

He went back to the camp, bragging about his sixth kill, and it seemed everything was fine. But night fell, and he didn't sleep, just sat and stared into the flames of their campfire, growing quieter and more solemn. I remember staying up later than I planned to, watching the shadows play across my friend's face. What was wrong with him? He didn't even touch the fish the boy from Four had caught and cooked up for them all. He didn't do anything else, though, just stared. So, finally, I went to bed. He must have just been deep in thought, planning his next moves.

When I woke up this morning and turned on the television, though, he was on the screen again, and it was clear he hadn't slept at all. Dark circles were under his bloodshot eyes, and his lips kept moving as if he was mumbling, but the cameras weren't picking up any sound. The rest of the Alliance were all looking at him, staring at him, sidelong. They seemed… unnerved. Since when did we get unnerved? We're the professionals, the ones that prepare for this. We fear nothing!

Nothing but Chrim, apparently. Chrim and his scary haunted eyes, and his hands clutching his blades so tight they were ghost-white.

And then he stood, and I thought, "Good! You get up, Chrim! Go hunt some Tributes, that'll snap you out of it!" Obviously, my friend was just homesick, and there's no way to get home faster than killing Tributes!

The others didn't agree, though, and they all tensed, clutching their own weapons tighter. What was going on? Being only a few days in, it was far too soon for the Alliance to break up! Why is everyone acting so… wrong?

I think everyone in all of Panem is watching, now, bated breath. Which is ridiculous, because that would mean something is going to happen, and all that's going to happen is that Chrim is going to go and kill some worthless Tributes and come home to me, and we're going to live it up in his new house next to my mother's.

Chrim looked at the others, and his face didn't show any of the cheer and laid-back arrogance I was used to. Just a blank, hollow… emptiness.

"We're all… monsters." What? Why would Chrim say that? We're not monsters, we're Victors! "I am covered in blood… covered… and it won't wash off! I cleaned it, but it's still there! We're all covered in blood!" He was growing agitated now, hysterically pacing back and forth, gesturing emphatically with his swords. Spittle was forming in the corners of his mouth, flying out as his voice rose to a yell. "I must cleanse us all! We are all… dirty! Sick! TAINTED!"

The others are shifting nervously, clearly debating between backing away and raising their weapons to fight him. Then… then he really snaps. He points at Nicola, his own district partner, with his left-hand blade. "YOU! You are…! I can see the dead clinging to you! Ghosts! They're trying to drag you with them! They're taking you, they're taking you, they're taking you!" He is pacing back and forth rapidly, only taking two steps in either direction. My hands are shaking and I'm clinging to my seat, as if it is the only thing holding me to this plane of existence. Why is Chrim acting like this? He's so calm and collected, so sane. He's not a ranting lunatic!

"ABOMINATION!" Chrim is screaming at her now, and he must have bit his tongue at some point during his raving because the spittle that flies from his mouth is shot through with red. "I WILL END YOU, YOU CREATURE OF DARKNESS!" And then he's flying at her, screaming unintelligible curses.

The others respond immediately, they've been expecting this all morning. Nicola throws herself out of the way; she's seen him train, she knows how deadly he is with those twin blades. Boy-from-Four goes after him with his trident while Girl-from-One comes at him from the other side with her halberd. I know they're going to be useless, because Chrim is the best at taking down multiple combatants with his blades. He's never been bested!

But he slashes wildly at them, not really paying attention and focusing entirely on Nicola. He knocks the halberd aside, a little, but the trident… the trident goes right through his defences, and right into the side of his chest. He's gasping, wheezing, coughing up blood… and all the while still slashing maniacally, trying to get to Nicola. Boy-from-Four uses his trident, leveraging from above to force Chrim to the ground, stabbing the tines through him and pinning him to the hard earth.

Girl-from-Four approaches, spear in hand. She hefts it up, preparing to throw it. No one wants to get near Chrim and his flailing blades. He tries throwing one at Nicola, but it falls short, flopping to the ground several feet in front of him.

Girl-from-Four throws her spear.

Chrim screams profanities at Nicola.

Girl-from-Four's spear impales Chrim's neck.

I stare in shock as he gurgles, still trying to scream through the blood and gore and… and the giant spear through his body! His movements lessen, though, and the wild eyes grow dark. The blood stops flowing.

For the first time ever, I cry watching the Hunger Games.

I shake my head and push her hand away, almost knocking the coin out of it. His token didn't do him any good, and I don't need that connection to his disastrous end in my Games.

"No. I don't need a token. I can be my own token." I won't end up like Chrim. My mother nods and pockets the coin, then kisses me on my cheek.

"I have to go and get on the train now, sweetie. I'll see you soon." She smiles and leaves the room, and I find myself wondering why she came to say goodbye anyway. I don't have long to ponder it, though, when a burly young man steps cautiously into the room.

"Kiwan." My old friend. We used to hang out and train all the time together, just him and Chrim and me. After Chrim, though, Kiwan decided he was done with the Games. Quit training, refused to volunteer for the Seventy-Fourth Games, and ultimately, we stopped spending any time together. It's not like we hate each other or anything. We still like each other, even. We just…

"Oph." His oddly formal tone and stiff posture says it all. We just grew apart. "I… well," he clears his throat, looking to buy time to think of what to say to his former friend. "Good luck."

I nod. "Thanks."

We stand there awkwardly for a moment before I finally break the silence. "Kiwan, if…" I swallow, my throat suddenly dry even though I always stay hydrated. "If I… you know… lose it…" He looks up at me suddenly, shock covering his features. "If I lose it, like Chrim, would you… take care of my mother? She'd never recover from seeing that." Kiwan nods, then pulls me into a brief hug.

"You… can do this, Oph. I have faith in you. But if you can't… yes, I will take care of your mother."

We stand like that until the Peacekeepers come to take me away.


Demetria Ragbone

As I expected, the first one in is Skye, and she's quickly followed by a sobbing Ayden. I pull them both into a hug and allow them to just cry. I don't allow myself the luxury, though, because I know the cameras in the train station are waiting to catch any moment of weakness and broadcast it all across Panem. After a minute, though, I pull back and sit down, making them sit on either side of me on the small couch.

"Don't cry, all right? I'm going to be fine. I've trained for this, and I'm good enough." I know that no matter what I say, Ayden won't be comforted in the least, but I plow on anyway. "I'm fast, and fierce, and I bet I could rival Katniss Everdeen with a bow and arrow." That got a smile from them, even if just a small one. I ruffle Ayden's messy blonde hair. "I'll be back before you know it, okay?"

"O-okay…" he sniffles and I pull my puppy into another hug, whispering promises to return safe and sound into his hair.

"Demi…" I look at Skye, who is biting her lip. "I… know it won't be of much help… but I'm rooting for you, okay? The whole way, I'll be there for you." She takes in a ragged breath. "And I'll make sure Ayden's all right all the time." That makes me smile.

"Good. I'll kick your ass when I get back if I find you've let him mope around the whole time." And that makes them smile. "Ayden, I want you to have fun these next few weeks, okay? Play the games; it's your first time being on a team, and if you prove yourself now they're all gonna want you next year." He nods emphatically. "I… I love you guys."

Then the Peacekeepers open the door and usher us out. It's time to go face the cameras, and I put on the bravest face I have.


Skye Schuyler, District 2

The Peacekeepers take Demi and Oph away, and Ayden and I trail behind them until they get to the car. After a few minutes to collect myself, I focus my attention on the big screens in the Square, which are currently showing my best friend and her new enemy-ally pushing their way through the crowd of cameramen at the train station. Oph is doing a wonderful job of looking intimidating, and even the cameras shrink back from his glare. Demi looks so calm and cool, like none of this means anything. I'm proud of her, but I'm still so scared.

Ayden is crying again, though not so loud this time, just sniffles. I put an arm around his shoulder and pull him close.

"It's gonna be all right, Ayd. We're all gonna be fine."

As sick as it is, I find myself grateful once again that, at the very least, it's not me.


A/N: whew! That was a long one! At least, it felt like it. Sorry it took me so long to get it up, life is very mean and doesn't want me to write nearly as much as I want to!

Big thanks to "the name is Florine" and "LeviAntonius" for these ones! Hopefully I did them justice...

Anyway, review please! I can't improve if I don't get feedback! Also, still accepting Tributes for the following districts (I need some younger ones too!):

Tributes available: D7 and D10 Males. I NEED YOUNGER TRIBUTES, PLEASE! I will not accept anyone over the age of 13 now.