Rated Adult for Language Violence, Physical/Implied Sexual Assault

004A

Brenton

The stone formed to make the hallway walls, seem to leach the chill into the air making the temperature ten degrees lower inside than the atmosphere is out. The coarse material of the pants rubs up against the inside of my legs and it's difficult not to want to pull them off entirely.

My hands keep absentmindedly traveling there to readjust, the fabric but I'm sure of extra eyes watching my every move. I can't help but take in my surroundings, and paranoia is already taking priority over any other emotion. The shuffling of ill fitted boots echo over the stones, and the loose boot strings fling pebbles at the back of each other's legs.

There's an armed guard at each end of the huddled mass of boys, I take notice the ages range from twelve to eighteen. We're all dressed in the same stiff uniform of muted shirts and pants, and some have the same haircut as I do, our naked scalps covered in thread bare winter caps. I move against the wall before one of the armed guards has the opportunity to steer me back with their weapon.

As if on cue, or it's out of habit, every boy moves back in synch. The cold air hits my face, the above awning not covering the wall.

I have to protect my back from the scraping of the stones, as my body is pushed back due to the crowd. An armed guard ushers us past the stone walls to an exit, where another is posted at the door, holding what I assume is a device to scan the markings on our arms. The hall is silent, not what I would expect when at least a hundred young boys are forced together.

There's no laughter or altercations, everything is completely silent, this place is the death of childhood, and I already feel as though I am marching to my grave. I try to clear my head, aware of how radical I sound. I can see one of the guards out of the corner of my eye; I chance a glance to my left, when I see a similar crowd of girls across to the next hallway.

There's sections of the wall which leaves about ten inches of void, and I watch them for a few seconds. Most of them are younger like the boys surrounding me, and I can't help the sadness which starts to well up in me.

There's a soft spot in my heart for women, it must come from being raised by an independent female. My mind goes directly to my mother, and the sadness quickly turns to guilt.

I'm being pushed by behind, as a little boy who can't be more than twelve, braces himself with the lower half of my back. I look behind, and he's already staring up at me. His eyes are light colored, similar to mine, and his round face is blistered by weather exposure. He ducks his head, dropping his hands to his sides to eventually bury them in his torn pockets.

I crack a slight smile and turn forward again, as the pace of the line accelerates. Out of curiosity, I sneak another glance over, as I approach another group of openings, and its then I catch a glimpse of her dark waves. I almost stop walking when I first see her, although the insistency of the others behind me doesn't allow it.

She's even more striking in the dim lit hallway than she was before, and I'm taken over by the heat rising up my body. I can't seem to take my eyes off of her, as I watch her escort many of the smaller girls forward. A few are hanging onto her shirt, and tore belt loops, as she smoothes the hair of another. I have to fight the urge to go over and find her, almost desperate to be inches away from her.

It's puzzling how she's making me feel, and I want to blame my attraction to her on the stress of the situation, but I can't entirely bring myself to do so.

I lose sight of her for a few minutes, as the wall separating us becomes solid again. I'm anxious to find her in the crowd again, and I can't help feeling a little bit hopeful, when I notice another small group of openings. The boys in front of me have been stopped, the amount of all of us has caused the lines to bottleneck, and the guards now have to thin out the number of those approaching the exit.

I'm forced to stop, and when I look over to start my search for her again, my breath catches in my throat. I'm met with the intense green eyes from before, and I can't help but feel unnerved under her stare. A little girl with braids is pulling on the hem of her shirt, trying to gain her attention, but she ignores her.

She keeps her gaze on me, her expression unreadable, and it starts to trouble me how much I can't quite figure her out. The wave of her hair falls into her eyes, as she shifts her feet, half of her face is hidden from me, and I want to brush the hair aside. Its seconds until she turns away from me, and she walks past the separation of the walls.

I try to wet my mouth which has now gone dry, and we're once again ushered forward. I lean to the left to watch the guard posted up to the front of the line. He's using the device in his hand to scan the inside of the other boy's arms; I run my fingers over mine, the swelling still slightly present.

I'm about five boys back, the line moves quickly and before I can register anything, the guard pulls my arm from my side and twists it upward. Some heat comes from the scanner, and I'm a bit annoyed by the pain. It takes seconds before, he looks up from the device to me.

He looks confused, and I swear he almost takes a double take of the screen before his expression become unreadable once again.

"323 is assigned to wash duty. 323 is to check in with 193, for further instruction."

I roll my eyes," I have a name, it's-"

"Not anymore you don't. And we all know who you are. Get moving 323."

I'm taken aback by his comment, frozen in my place, the barrel of a firearm pushes my left shoulder and I'm pushed through the door. My eyes are blurry, when I'm met with the bright light of a small courtyard. I follow a group of young boys, figuring they may know more what's going on than I do. As I make my way across the sunken ground, I can't help but notice the glances towards my way and the quiet exchanges between the other children.

Out of my left eye I can see a crowd of girls mixing in with the boys, and I scan the crowd for the girl. I finally see the little girl with braids but she's walking alone, and I'm more than disappointed. I notice a steel warehouse, where most of the children are walking into, and I follow suit. When I enter through the tall metal door, the humidity makes me want to step out, but I'm pushed forward by the mass of people behind me.

I notice at least a dozen doors facing the entrance, and above each one a sign is nailed to the wall. I scan the wall for the washroom, and finally find it at the end of the wall. Most of the children filing into the room are younger, and I'd be surprised if any of them were older than fourteen. I have to push through the crowd, and I have to use my weight advantage over the younger kids, to ensure I'm not pushed to the ground by the force of there being so many of them.

When I finally reach the room, it's even more humid than it is in the main entrance of the warehouse. The motors of the machines rattle on and the sting of bleach, and soap waft through the air. The humidity is so high, I observe most of the boys, and the few girls here, already have sweated through the fabric of their shirts. I have to wipe my own brow, the air heavy and uncomfortable.

Sweat is pouring from under my cap and I take it off tucking it in the waist line of my pants. I scan the room looking for a familiar face; the stacks of folded linen obscure my line of sight. I can hear yelling over the loud humming of the industrial dryers, the need to cringe comes over me when I immediately notice the voice.

"No, butthead starch is not supposed to be used all the time. If it was then we'd all be walking around like we had a damn pole up our asses. This shit they pass as clothes, itches my nuts bad enough."

I see the lanky boy round the corner by the washers, as he slaps the younger boy upside the back of his head. I stand there watching him, waiting for him to notice me, but he's too busy moving on to his next victim. His volume isn't to the extreme as before, but I see a few boys snicker who are in listening range. Reluctantly, I navigate around the bustle of children, who are emptying machines, and separating materials.

With much skill, I usually reserve for hunting, I weave through the hysteria of the washroom. He notices me before I can make it a few feet on the other side of the table he's leaning against. I still my breath, which is hard due to the heat, my back stiffening.

A smirk crosses over his face, and the lines at the corner of his green eyes deepen. The two younger boys take notice of me and once again I'm the topic of conversation behind their cupped hands. Carr seems annoyed by their whispers, causing him to pick up the stack of towels; they had just finished folding, and tossing them behind his head. The boys look at him with their mouths agape, and both are stunned as they are stuck in place.

Carr stares me down, as I do the same to him, until he realizes neither has moved to pick up the linens. The blonde hair which now sticks to his face, due to sweat is unmoving as he whips his head in their direction. Both are still staring at him when he throws up his hands.

"Go, fold the damn towels again! He's not some freak show, he doesn't need two little shits like you to gossip in front of him. Get moving before I go and tell Guard Cray you're lonely for some company."

Both almost fall over each other as they scatter to collect the forgotten towels. Carr looks back my way, when he's sure each of the two boys is doing as he wants. He swallows heavily and I have to hold back the bile in my throat when sniffs the mucus back up into his nasal cavity.

"Well if it isn't the conquering hero, who gets his ass laid out by rocks."

I fake a smile, the sarcasm in my voice thick," Well if it isn't the letch who has to be bailed out from a fight only to have him run away like a little bitch baby."

Carr straightens his back, and I'm preparing for a fight, when he all of a sudden lets out a full laugh," Keep talking to me like that, and I might start to like you."

I release a sigh, I wasn't aware I was holding," We wouldn't that. Would we?"

Carr shrugs, as he rounds the table, ending up to stand beside me," For what it's worth, the thing with Serkan wasn't about me," he scratches the side of his face, dropping his head slightly," you were set up."

"Why?"

"It's good you're pretty because you're not too bright," I have to roll, my eyes and I know he's resisting to laugh out loud," You're Mellark's kid. You are the fucking jewel of the rebellion. Snow hit the jackpot having you here."

"Alright so say I am his kid. Other than being a bargaining tool for Snow, what am I to him?"

"The arena of course."

"Arena?"

"Really?," he shakes his head at me, and I'm beginning to be acutely irritated with his condescending manner," The arena is where guerillas with weapons, shred the shit out of each other to earn an early pass out of this lovely hole. Snow set you up to see how well you could fight. You my boy are the best advertising stunt, he's ever had."

I can see a few other children staring at us, as Carr notices also, his hands rising up as they scatter. He shakes his head, as he moves over to a stack of sheets, separating a few and tossing them to a small dark skinned girl.

Her thin arms struggle to get a hold of the cumbersome load, as some falls to the floor. I'm ready for him to yell at her, but he only bends down collecting them for her, before he stands up, pats her on the head and sends her on her way. I rush past the still busy crowd to make it to his side.

"If I'm so destined for the blood bath of the arena than why was I assigned here with you, where all the smaller kids work?"

"To keep an eye on you."

"Alright, I get it. But what's your excuse."

He turns to me and his expression is more serious than before," Same reason. Plus it's better than digging holes out back. Sure it's hot as a sweaty ball sack in here, but it's better than most of the work details."

"Then why am I here? Why not just keep me in my cell?"

Carr shakes his head," I don't know."

We both stand there unmoving for a few seconds before; a red headed little boy with freckles comes bounding up to me. I almost hit him due to reflex when he pulls on my sleeve hard. My eyes must be wide; I'm surprised he had such tenacity to come up to me, since most seem to be afraid of me.

"Is it true you're a Mellark?"

I'm not what to say to him, it's as though I'm afraid to admit it to myself, "I-"

Carr sees my hesitation and he throws a sheet on the little boy," Get out of here, you little idiot."

The little boy huffs and throws the sheet back at Carr, who catches it easily," That kid drives me freaking nuts. He's whipped almost every week, and still he has the biggest mouth around here, and that's including me."

"They whip kids who are so small?"

Carr notices my shock, his voice is soft and almost inaudible in the loud room," Yes they do."

I have to swallow the acid rising up into my throat, and the heat of the room is making me dizzy. I breathe in deeply and wipe the back of my hand over my forehead. Sweat which would have been trapped in my thick dark hair is now travelling down to my face. I clear my throat, gaining Carr's attention.

"Why are there mostly boys here? They separate the girls from us?"

"They have hormonal desperate teenagers roaming around. Why do you think?, "Carr tilts his head at me," Are you looking for someone in particular?"

"No."

Carr lets out a sharp laugh," Bullshit!"

I'm about to respond when I can hear a few sharp screams coming from over next to the far wall. A few of the young boys are walking away their heads held down, most trip over their over sized boots. I look around for the guard who I assumed should be posted here, seeing how many of us are in the room. I survey the room quickly not noticing one; I look to Carr who has been doing the same.

"Where's the guard?"

"The guard should be Cray, and he's nowhere to be seen. Which means one thing."

"He's the one who escorted me here," I point up to my swollen eye," he gave me this and a few other gashes to remember him by. Heavensbee mentioned how he was with the young girls here."

"He wasn't wrong."

I can't help the shock on my face, and when I hear the screaming rising over the motors of the machines, I don't have to hesitate. Carr grabs my arm, when I pass him, his eyes dark.

"This isn't your fight."

I narrow my eyes at him, disgusted;" Do you think that matters?"

"All I know is you already have a target on your back. Do you really want to make it worse?"

I pull my arm from his grasp," Let go of me!"

I can hear him call after me, a slur or two is thrown in, but all I have in me pushes me forward, as I barrel through the crowd. I ignore the ones I push over, and my pulse starts to race. There's a metal table to the side of one of the machines. I turn it over and use the heel of my boot to pull the screws loose of each leg.

The metal of the screws and the legs clatter to the floor, the sound bouncing off of the walls. I know exactly what I'm to find when I near the wall and all I feel is rage. I grip the ends of the now broken side table. The end of it hits me in the knees, the humidity clings to me. There's a crowd of boys gathered and I push my way through the crowd.

I see Cray hunched over, he's struggling with the belt at his waist, as legs swing underneath him. Her cries deafen the sounds around me and all I feel is hate. I inhale a deep breath knowing this is the first step to a bullet in the head.

He still has his firearm swung over his shoulder, and I debate if using the gun is a better idea, but I know who I am, and it's not at the end of a gun. I step forward, tapping the end of the table at his back. He turns on me, his face red and round. I can see the little girl struggle underneath him, as he has her mouth covered with his grimy hand.

I can see when it registers to him who I am, as he looks down to my hands. We keep this way for a few seconds before, he reaches for his firearm, letting go of the girl. She's stuck in her place against the wall, and I have to yell at her to go before she runs off, the front of her shirt ripped open, revealing more than it should. Before he can fully take hold of his weapon, I send the metal across his face.

I can hear the cracking over the sound of the washroom, his large body hitting the floor. Everything inside of me is surging, and I know I should stop there, when he's defenseless, and the girl is no longer in harm's way.

However, I can't stop myself from approaching him, and bringing down the table on top of his body over and over again. I'm sloppy and careless of how it connects with his body. I hear nothing but his wails and my heavy breathing, the blood pumping in my ears. I want him to suffer, and this alone makes me stop.

I hold the table over my head, drops of blood drip from the edge, landing on the front of my shirt. I finally look onto my damage, his face is swollen and bloody, the gun still attached to his shoulder, but he doesn't take the opportunity to reach for it. I throw the table to my left, it spins and flips to the floor, the sound of metal hitting cement resonates.

I'm breathing hard, as I spit on his body, my anger starting to ebb only a bit. I'm shaking, while I look to the other faces that have now stopped what they were doing to watch me. I must look like a monster to everyone, and I know the hype towards me will only rise.

I find Carr's face in the crowd and he looks even more perplexed then the others. I start to walk towards the center of the crowd, but I'm pushed to the ground hard. The air in my lungs escapes my body as I'm held down by heels of boots and the barrel of a gun at the back of my skull. I close my eyes, ready for the inevitable, but I'm grately surprised when I'm pulled up to my feet.

Each one of my arms is held up by a guard, while another walks behind us with his rifle still pointed at me. The crowd of children parts easily, and I keep my eyes forward, my back straight.

I'm escorted out into the courtyard, my boots sinking into the mud. I can feel my adrenaline from before weaning and the soreness of my body sinking in. I chance a glance over, and I see her again. Her face is serious but beautiful as ever, while her dark hair frames her face; a few thin hairs brush her face.

She keeps her body still, and I'm thankful I was able to see her one last time, whoever she is. It's not a long walk inside the building across the way, and when we take a right turn instead of left which leads to my cell, I'm more than worried.

I'm dragged down another corridor, as the white walls blend into deep purple and it's now I know where we're headed. I'm being taken into the belly of the beast, and I know only death awaits me there.

004B.

Snow leaned back into his chair, the movement causing the metal to squeak beneath the leather. When the video feed ended he once again pressed the button for replay. He couldn't help the smile which curved up the corners of his full lips. With his mouth halfway open he breathed in through his lips, the sweet scent of roses mixing with the metallic taste of blood.

He reached down into his suite pocket for the handkerchief he had been using. Tiny spots of blood covered the embroidered fabric, as he held it to his mouth. The sores at the sides inside of his mouth had started to seep again, and he was finding it hard swallow. However, the discovery he had made was enough to set him into a positive mood.

He had been correct in thinking this young boy would be the leverage he had needed. The boy had definite skill and the older man could only guess to the extent he had been trained.

The vases of flowers shook a bit, causing Snow to look over to his right. He followed the movement of the slightly younger man as he walked over to the screen. Snow didn't object when he stood in his line of sight. The dark haired man tilted his head to the side, studying the boy in the video. He cleared his throat, as he stepped back, the back of his legs touching the edge of the desk.

"He's his son alright, sir. See the way he positions his feet when he's ready to attack? Exactly like Mellark, it's almost uncanny."

Snow folded his hands, bringing them to his chin," Excellent. Than it won't be difficult for others to recognize the similarities. The question is, will the boy participate?"

The man kept his back to him," It's hard to say, sir. But there are ways of motivating him."

"Thread I need this boy to compete. It is imperative."

Thread turned around, the scars on his face catching the light," He will sir. Leave it to me."

Snow tipped his chair forward," Speaking of, Lucious. This concerns me, given the history you have with the boy's father. Are you entirely clear in the matter?"

Lucious straightened his back," Yes, sir. I will get you results."

Snow dabbed the side of his mouth," I'm sure you will," he reached to the left of him pressing a button encased in the desk, the screen lifted up into the ceiling," The boy is being brought to me this minute. Apparently he almost killed Guard Cray with a metal stand."

"Pardon me, Elective Snow, but Guard Cray being removed from life wouldn't be the worst."

Snow chuckled, the petals of the rose pinned to his lapel shook," No, it wouldn't," Snow reached over behind him and picked up the thin piece of plastic, handing it over to Thread," Here's the boys read outs. His codec is 323."

A loud knock sounded through the office as Thread took the tablet, studying it. Snow waited for him to finish, earning a nod from Thread when he was prepared. Elective Snow pressed another button, causing the doors to open slowly.

The tall wooden doors creaked, revealing two guards at each arm of the young boy in question. His shoulders were hunched slightly, and his shirt was speckled with blood. The lines in his face were visible and his blue eyes were a bit glassy. Snow waved the guards in, as Thread joined him behind the desk.

The guards pushed the boy forward, making him almost tip forward; he stumbled for a second before gaining his composure. Thread studied him, observing his every movement. The boy kept his back straight, only looking forward. He reminded Lucious of Luka Mellark, which only irritated him more.

Snow cleared his throat,"323, I'm positive you know why you're standing before me?"

"Yes, sir. I imagine its death sentence to injure a guard."

Snow laughed," 323, you did more than injure."

"Pardon me, sir. I regret to the extent I went to, but I do not regret striking him. I've become rather fond of it."

"Tell me 323, is it difficult for you to hold your tongue?"

"No, sir. Although I don't see the point given I'm sure I won't see the next day."

"323 we have so much more in store for you than a bullet."

"Can I be so bold to ask what it may be, sir?"

"I'm sure with your lacking up bringing you know nothing of the arena,"Brenton kept his eyes on the wall," The arena is where a chosen few are able to show their skill and participate in mortal combat. I would be pleased to have you as a contender."

"I have to decline. I'd rather be shot."

Snow stands up from his desk, walking past Thread who he gives a sharp look to, the dark haired man nods. Brenton watches the white haired man walk to the front of the desk, the boy falters lowering his shoulders just a bit before finding his composure. Brenton can't help but miss his long dark hair; it would have been useful now, giving him something to shield his face with.

"Why are you so opposed to competing?"

"It's funny. You make it sound like game, when in reality you're forcing children to kill each other for your own entertainment."

"Your mother taught you something, eh?"

Brenton narrows his eyes," She taught me enough."

"Is this right?"

"Yes. And I'm not going to play into your little games just because you're bored. So you might as well just kill me now."

"Oh boy, not quite yet. I have plans for you."

Snow looks behind Brenton to see Master Heavensbee walk up behind the boy.

"Master Heavensbee, have you begun preparations on the new plans for the boy here?"

Brenton sneaks a look at the tall man, whose suit is now a rich pink color. His hair is still slicked back, and groomed perfectly, a hair not out of place.

"I have to agree don't I, or all you have is a corpse in the first minute."

Snow looks over to Thread who has started to join him in the middle of the room next to the young boy.

"Is this so?"

"It must pain you not having control over how I think. The mind is something you can never possess, and it must piss you off."

"Child there are ways to persuade you, and showing you to your place."

Brenton squares his shoulder, closing the gap between him and Snow," Try me, old man."

Snow smiles and Brenton is almost knocked over by the stench of blood," I don't get my hands dirty. Head Guard Thread deals with these types of situations," Snow turns to the man beside him, waving his hand in the air as he makes his way back behind his desk with Heavensbee at his heels," Take care of it, Lucious."

Brenton barely has time, to look to his left before he's met with a fist to the jaw line, knocking him to the ground. The carpet is as unforgiving as the ground outside, and his body aches. He lays his hands flat to prop himself up, aware of Thread standing over him, but the dizziness takes over and he falls back onto the ground, face first. He barely has time to take a breath before everything goes black.

004C.

Daria

The rain has begun to fall, and I imagine the freedom it must feel, being able to touch everything and affect it, if only it did have feelings. The cold stone's of the wall burn the frigid touch through my shirt, and I revel in the ability to still feel at all. I try to keep parts of me hidden, at first it was a sense of survival, but now all it has become is habit. I'm afraid if I keep chipping away at myself, someday there might be nothing to recover. I shake my head trying to clear it, I always become reflective after my fittings with Cinna.

I curse him for it, but he's one of the few people who talk to me as an actual person. I try to keep to myself even with him but he refuses to take notice. We had to go through a few fittings and preparation for the next few excursions to the Capitol. He had been taking my measurements when he looked up to me, the bangs of his dark hair falling into his face.

"Daria, darling have you been eating? You've lost at least three inches at her sides, since the last time I saw you?"

"Eating isn't really much of a priority here, Cinna. Besides whatever I have, it goes to one of the little ones."

"You're not their mother."

"And you're not mine. I thought you were a stylist not a nurse maid."

Cinna lays down his measuring tape, and stands up to face me. Even with the chair I'm standing upon, he still towers over me. His honey golden eyes lock with mine and I find genuine concern there.

"Daria, you have to take care of yourself. You know what happens to courtesans when the interest of the Capitol becomes thin," he lays his hands on my face and I'm comforted by my friend," I do not want to see it happen to you."

"They're getting younger, it's as though they don't even bother to reap anymore."

I move my head to the side, dark curls cover his hands," You have to keep going. We mustn't ever quit."

"I feel like I don't have any fight left."

Cinna scoffed," You? Of course you do child. You have a light inside of you; don't allow them to take it away."

"They have Cinna. I'm just a whore who's only a number. 128 is all I am now."

Cinna lets go of my face and pulls me into a hug, the force sends me forward slightly. I wrap my arms around him, comfortable with this type of affection.

I can hear him talk into my hair, "If this is truly true, than what is the point of waking up every morning?"

I had drawn back from him and watched as he resumed his work. Neither of us spoke, except to say goodbye when it was time for him to return to the Capitol, and myself to the far side of the compound. I think of Cinna as a friend, and I know thinking of him this way can only get him killed. T

he wind has picked up and I cross my arms to rub some warmth into them. I look to my left where I can see a few older codes rushing into the walkway which leads to the center courtyard. Oddly enough I can't stop my mind from going back to this morning, when I saw the boy again.

He looked confused to see me at first, and to my dismay I couldn't stop from searching for him, when the wall parted.

I had dreamt about him last night, he had taken my hand and we walked through the empty courtyard. Hand in hand we made our way to a door, it seemed to span up into the sky breaking the clouds. I had looked up to see the rain start to fall; I couldn't help but laugh and revel in the cool water. He had taken my face in his hands, lowering it to his.

For a few seconds his bright blue eyes connected with my green ones, and became lost in him. When his mouth landed on mine, the heat almost made me go limp. His tongue was insistent and passionate and I couldn't help but fall into the same rhythm. I placed my hands on his chest, the feel of it wet, and plastered to his muscular chest. I pulled back a smile on my lips, which is when I tasted it, the metallic palate of blood.

I opened my eyes to see it streaming down his olive skin; it had seemed to have coated him, his features becoming buried in it. I reached up to his face frantically trying to wash it free with my fingers. When I tried it was though I couldn't touch any of it, my own body oddly clean and untouched. I had started to cry, while he began to melt into the bloody puddle at his feet. I had woken with a jolt, laying the remainder of the night in my bed awake.

The fact his father is the face of the resistance is enough to make me want to keep my distance, but the way he looks at me, draws me in, and it upsets me completely. I raise my hands to my face covering my eyes, the little bit of energy I had this morning is now gone. I breathe in slowly, a yawn escapes my mouth, and I have to look around me, hoping no one noticed.

Even the smallest infraction can result in a beating or worse. I'm startled when I'm almost knocked back further by a group of codes, who I recognize from the thirteenth group. When the straggler of the group passes me, I grab her arm forcing her back in front of me.

"What's happening?"

She's panting as she leans in, struggling to catch her breath," Thread has someone at the whipping post."

"He has before, why is it so important now?"

"Because of who it is."

My voice is a whisper; it's meant more for me than her," No."

I release her arm, as I race up the corridor; my head feels cloudy as I suck in the cool air. I almost run out of my oversized boots, the laces whipping about. The wind's rough against my cheeks, and my hair wraps around my face obscuring my vision. I slap the strands away, as I run down the walkway. I push a group of codes to the side, a few falling to the cold stones.

The archway is just before me, and I rush to make it into the courtyard, the crowd has become thick and it takes all of my strength to push them aside. The rain has become a down pour and I am instantly drenched, the dirt has now become thick mud, and I almost lose one of my boots in the process of moving forward. The cold rain stings my warm cheeks and I can feel my skin heat up, my pulse has started to race, the only thought in my mind is to find him.

I need to see him, prove myself wrong, because in this moment I would rather someone else to be in between the whipping posts, than a boy I've only seen twice, and this troubles me.

I finally reach the top of the hill; I lose my footing, while making my way down. There are a few other codes who have joined me to get a better look, I want to push them aside, but I'm too preoccupied with my own venture. I can see the posts first, the sheets of rain blur my vision and I have to blink the drops away from my eyelashes.

I force my feet to move forward, when I notice the codes from before have seen exactly what I have, and they have now stopped in their tracks. Head Keeper Thread is latching the boys wrists to each post using the leather bindings screwed to the wood. Two of the other keepers are having to hold him up, and from where I'm standing the boy appears to half awake.

His lower half is completely limp, as his hips dip down. Thread is grinning, and from here I can see how the facial expression magnifies the markings.

When the boy is secured, the keeper on Thread's right hands him a long thick piece of leather, his large hand curls over it slowly, reveling in the feel. My heart drops into my stomach, because it's a rare occasion when Thread is the one to do the actual whipping. His specialties are more covert, he's much more comfortable behind closed doors. The broken fingers I had when I was thirteen can attest to such a thing.

The boy has started to come to fully, as he starts to struggle against his binds. Thread notices this, as he curls his free hand over the top of the boy's skull, with a jerk he brings his head back, the boy being forced to look up into the down pour. Thread bends down whispering something into the boy's face, which results in him thrashing his body wildly.

This only makes Thread laugh, and this chills me more than the weather. The boys head is thrown down, and he lurches his body forward the leather straps cutting into his wrists, he turns each to the side trying to lessen the contact of the leather to his skin.

The Head Keeper pulls a blade from his pocket raising it up to the boys back; I stop myself from gasping, as he cuts the stiff fabric from his back. The rest of the shirt falls to the ground, the mud and water seeping into the threading. I chance a few more steps forward, there had been a few others to join me before, and I want to be away from their stares, even with the heavy rain I'm terrified they may see may pained expression. I can feel the mud climbing up my ankles, as my toes curl in the thin white socks; the rain has soaked them, causing the feeling in my toes to flee.

My hair is now formed to my face, and I try not to shiver from the feel of cold rain seeping into my body. I can see Thread preparing, and I close my eyes to will the situation away. I can feel the rain roll down my eyelids, and over my nose to lie on my lips.

When I finally open my eyes I'm met with bright blue ones, which seem to burn through me. I can see the fear in his eyes, and I will myself to keep his eye contact. I can see his shoulders tense, and he swallows hard, before Thread raises his hand, the long piece of leather rides into the air, striking back.

I can see the agony in his face before the crack of the whip announces itself. His shoulders slump forward, but he quickly finds his composure, attempting to solidify his balance. The rain rushes down his body, and I imagine the pressure of the rain hitting his open wound can't be pleasant. He keeps his eyes on mine unflinching, until another takes comes on followed by another.

His eyes falter some, as he shudders, and I can see the muscles in his shoulders spasm. I can tell he's starting to break and I want nothing more than to go over to him. Thread turns his weapon back onto the boy, this time he awarded with a guttural scream, and I can't stop the tears rushing down my face.

The boy has now bared his nails into his hands, and I can see blood rushing down his palms and wrists, from the leather straps, being carried down to his arm pits by the rain water. His knees buckle and he falls down enough before the straps hold him up, tearing into the flesh even more.

Thread wraps the whip around his hand, the rain washes over his dark eyes, and I believe with the lighting fire behind him in the background he's even more terrifying than usual. Although the truly horrific fact is, he's only the attack dog.

The real danger is watching from a far in an office of deep colored tapestries and carpets surrounded by the floral scent of roses. I let my body relax just enough to breathe; thankful it's at least over for now.

Thread's voice booms over the rain," Are you going to compete now?"

The boys eyes are now closed, and his head is downcasted,"No."

Thread shakes his head, dark strands fall into his face due to the rain pushing his hair forward. He opens up his hand to unwind the leather from his palm. I want to rush to the boy shield his battered body with my own, but I'm ashamed of how much of a coward I am, instead I merely stand there, hoping for him to look up at me once again so I can give him the little amount of strength I have left.

As if on cue, his blue eyes look through me, and I try not to wince when I see the whip rise into the cloudy sky, cracking against his once smooth skin. Blood has started to mix with the rain to run down the length of his body and puddle beneath him. His body slumps even more, as his fingers unclench and fall free. Where he's hanging is on a small hill and some of his blood travels down to where I'm standing.

Some of the codes have been pushed into the corridor up the hill, where being shielded from the rain is possible. I can hear one of the Keepers telling me to come out of the rain, but I ignore him. I don't dare leave the boy alone, I'm afraid of severing the connection we have in this moment.

His face has noticeably fell, and even with the downpour rushing over my face I can see he's lost quite a bit of color. Thread wraps the whip around the back of his shoulder, as he leans in to the battered body of the boy in front of him.

"How about now?," the boy keep silent and I see him struggle to keep his screams in," Do you think you're some kind of hero, for holding out like this? Let me tell you about heroes kid. They're just another side of the coin. Deep down we're all killers; there is no good and evil, just the side that's smart enough to work within the system."

The boy uses all his strength to rise himself up, his body shakes uncontrollably, and a bit of saliva mixes with the rain on his lips. He keeps eye contact with me, the dark circles around his eyes only magnified by the startling blue of his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out, his jaw line clenches as he struggles to speak.

Thread's patience becomes thin, as he once again strikes against the skin of his back. The boy lets out a scream so haunting I begin to shake myself, it's so raw, almost animalistic, and everything in me breaks. The tears rush down my pale skin, the salt mixes with the rain, dripping off of my jaw line. The boy slumps once again, further than before, his body broken like my spirit. I can hear him repeat one word over and over again; it comes out as a whisper, "no".

I mouth for him to stop, my eyes pleading with his, when the onslaught of attacks takes over once again. His throat is so raw by this time; all he does is groan, before repeating his mantra once again, "nononononononono".

Thread fumes with anger, as he throws the whip to the ground, his hands go to the boy's bloody back, pressing his thumbs into the wounds. The boy's body jerks forward and his face twists with agony. I look around, the rain has lessened some but still pounds into the earth, and the boy's blood waits to be spread along the ground. The Keeper from before looks on, his brow furrowed, his bright red hair has darkened from the rain collecting there.

Darius is the one of the few Keepers here I still see as human. I can see the concern on his face, but he knows as well as anyone, tangling with Thread is a death sentence, especially when it's so personal for him. I search the grounds for anyone to help, but mostly all I see are codes who are as worthless as I am, or Keepers who couldn't care less, only wanting to earn their worth of coin.

I can hear the whip crack once more, as I spot him standing three feet from me, his pink velvet suit clinging to his slender body due to the rain. His dark hair is still slicked back, and I wonder why he would be standing out in the rain and mud watching a whipping of all things.

I push back my curiosity, as I rush over to him, my legs sinking into the mud. I try to not appear desperate, reminding myself to use my skills as I would when I'm forced to conduct business in the Capitol. I square my shoulders, and erase the worry etched into my expression. I reach him quickly, and it takes a few seconds before he looks to me acknowledging my presence. It feels like forever before he speaks to me addressing me as 128.

I clear my throat, and hope he mistakes the tear tracks on my face for rain water," Master Heavensbee, this seems as such a waste to me."

He raises a thin eyebrow in my direction," Why is this dear?"

I lower my voice," Sir, I'm aware of the boy's lineage. It merely seems counterproductive to kill off an asset because one man is far too zealous in his punishments. It is true Head Keeper Thread is skilled in things of brute force, but diplomacy and politics are far beyond his reach. Surely a man of vision such as you can see the value of keeping Peeta Mellarks son at the Capitol's disposal."

Plutarch nods slowly, his eyes going to where Thread bends down to the boy speaking into his ear," What would you have me to do?"

"As the Master of the camp? Stop this… please."

I worry my last statement had too much of my desperation seeping through, but he steps forward with giving me a second glance to finally be standing in front of where the boy is, who now from my vantage point seems to be unconscious. I can't quite hear what is being said between the two men, but when Thread looks to me, I quickly avert my eyes to the sunken ground.

Heavensbee stands in front of the larger man to block his view of me and I let out a quiet sigh. I tense when I see Threads hand raise up, a blade gripped in his palm. With little thought he cuts the leather straps holding the boy up, first the left one, his body falling to one side, and finally the right one which sends him face first into the puddle of mud, blood, most likely some of his urine.

I hope the rain has washed most of it down the small hill, his naked upper half sinking into the ground. I'm concerned with him drowning in the small collection of water, but I wait for Thread to trudge off in the opposite direction before I rush over to the boy, where Heavensbee is standing over him. My knees crash into the wet soil, sinking a few inches before I slip my right hand under his face turning it to the side to face me, his nose and mouth no longer buried in the water.

I take the boys face in both hands and try to clear his air ways.

I can see the angry tears of flesh on his back; some of the blood has already dried along the edges of the gashes, even with the falling rain. I try to plant my feet to raise the boy up but I can't seem to gain any leverage either because of my size or the slippery ground. I struggle a few minutes before I feel the tug of the other side of his body. I try not to smile when Carr raises his eye brow at me, taking the boy's other side.

"What is it with you and lost causes?"

"I have no idea, but it's the only reason who and I are friends?"

"Good point."

I shake my head at him while we successfully get to our feet, the boy's body hanging forward. I struggle under the weight, as Carr takes the brunt of it. Mater Heavensbee instructs us to take the boy to the cell he was at before and agree with my request to clean up his wounds. Carr and I trek up the steep muddy hill, both of us almost losing our balance more than once. We make it halfway up the hill, before Carr leans over to look at me.

"This basterd better be the second coming, because he's heavy as hell and I am not built for manual labor."

I struggle under the weight, my ankle twisting to the side, "Aren't you from an agricultural background?"

"Yes, but it doesn't mean I'm qualified to carry his ass around."

"Shut up, Carr. Keep walking."

Carr snickers, as we make it closer to the stone corridor. I pull on the back of the boy's pants, trying to not lose my grasp on him as we reach the archway. We place him on a wheeled bed, Heavensbee must have placed here, and wheel him down the hallway to where his cell will be. I can't help but rush, the mud sloshing into the cracks of the stones.

I force myself to find the strength to move faster, I see Carr at my heels, and he seems just as worried as I am. Codes have lines some of the walls and it almost seems to be as a vidual, but I refuse to allow him to die now. If I have to save him myself I will, because when he was being harmed it was the first time in a while I wanted to actually kiss a man, and this both excites me and terrifies me. Because in a place like this, the most dangerous emotion is hope, and I can't help feel it about this one boy.

004D.

Brenton

The branches above sway within the rhythm of the wind while the leaves are forced to rustle flit about. I try not to trip over the lifted roots of the trees again, chasing off the game and ensuring we don't have anything for a meal tonight. The bow is cumbersome in my small hands, and the bottom of the nock keeps hitting me in the knees and I can't stop the groan.

Strands of her dark hair fly up in the air, escaping her tight braid, which is lying down her back. She turns to me smiling, as she shakes her head walking over to me. My own hair has started to grow over my eyes, and she kneels down placing her own bow gently onto the ground. She reaches up brushing the hair out of my eyes and over to the side of my forehead.

Her dark eyes are warm, and I feel safe when she's near. I fidget, my fingers tap along the riser, and I scrunch up my face impatience to go back to our small dwelling on the outskirts of the district. I had found some old paints in my mother's things, which was curious to me seeing she never showed any interest in art.

They had been in an old tan satchel; the vials had fallen out when I unlatched the flap. I didn't have any time to further investigate before she walked in, upset by my snooping. To be honest I had been searching for things about my father. She rarely spoke of him, and I was nearly ten wanting to have any sense of a connection to the man, instead all I found were dried up paints.

Although I had been able to save one small vile of orange, it wasn't assaulting or obnoxious, but warm and inviting like the color of sunset. I would trace the color up my arms, the rich oils blending into my olive skin.

My mother stilled my hands with hers, her face serious but as always warm.

"Brenton, learning to hunt is a birth right you have which was given to me by my father, and now I pass it down to you. There is honor and strength in the ability, and I need you to understand this. Can you?"

I nod my head slowly, ashamed of my behavior," Yes, mother."

She runs her finger through my dark hair, and for a split second I think I see sadness. She easily covers the emotion, as she stands up before me picking up her bow from the ground. She places her free hand on my shoulder and we press on.

It feels like hours before we finally spot a small buck, I had been secretly wishing we wouldn't. Tracking had come natural to me, and I was happy to excel at something for my mother. The truth was, the thought of killing something was frightening to me.

Not so much the actual action of it, I knew the mechanics of the bow and what was the accurate approach and stance, but I was afraid of what came after the animal ceased to exist.

Would I change? Lose a part of myself?

My mother stood behind me, helping me position my body, when she was happy with my stance she instructed me to release. I hesitated for a second, before I let go the arrow flying through the air, barely missing the buck. The animal's muscles tensed, as it fled, however its attempt was in vain as an arrow struck its heart sending it to the mossy ground.

My eyes widened as I looked to my mother who was still holding her bow out, ready to strike. I was jealous of her skill and accuracy, wanting to pout. She lowered her weapon, hooking her arm through my as we approached the animal.

My legs feel like lead, as I drag my feet slightly. The animal has already expired, my mother bends down, taking my hand as she settles down into the dirt. I follow her suite, placing my free hand on my thigh. I want to avert my eyes, I've seen the carcasses after she's cleaned them, but now it's all too real, and I'm terrified. My mother looks over to me, most likely picking up on my hesitation. She gives me a long look before she looks the animal over.

"You have died so I may live, thank you for your noble sacrifice," I watched her with curiousity, "Brenton, there's a difference between killing to survive and murdering for the pleasure of self gratification."

"How will I know the difference?"

"I can show you the technique to hunt, to be skilled, but I cannot tell you how to think. It's something you have to discover for yourself."

"Why?"

"There's things a man, a person has to believe on their own. There also may come a day when you may be on your own, and I want to be sure you'll remember to listen to your heart."

I'm confused and the anxiety of everything is rushing over me," I don't know if I can do everything you're expecting."

She drops her bow and takes my face in her hands," You have a fire in you Brenton. Don't ever doubt the power of your spirit."

I nod slowly at her, the sun shows behind her which sets off the raven of her hair. The light begins to brighten and I have to cover my eyes. I move some but a sharp pain in my back earns a moan to come from my lips.

I open my eyes, but I'm no longer ten years old in the woods with my mother. My body aches, and I'm acutely aware of an intense burning sensation coming from my back. My eyes have started to focus revealing the grey brick cell I had awoke in the last time I had passed out.

Then everything comes flooding back to me, the conversation with Snow, the whipping. I remember hanging there, the rain washing over me, and wishing I could somehow leave my body, become someone else, and then I saw her. She looked so beautiful, her dark hair was pushed against her face by the rain, and her eyes seemed to look straight into me.

I was close to breaking, more than once, but I just concentrated on her. When she started to cry I was confused, shocked even, because I wouldn't have guessed she saw me as someone to cry over.

When she had told me to stop, I wanted to reach out to her, or in the very least be beside her. I try to move but my body is stiff, and I feel like vomiting, which wouldn't be wise seeing I'm lying on my stomach. I have to let out a small moan as the bile in my throat threatens to spill out. In moments I'm met with her green eyes, as she hunches down beside my bed.

I try to smile; my voice comes out raw and quiet," Hey."

The side of her full lips twitch up for a second, her eyes looking worried," Hey."

"If I keep waking up with my shirt off and have you hovering over me, I may get used to it. To be fair, you can be shirtless next time."

She shakes her head, causing her dark hair fall over her face, framing it," You're half dead, but it doesn't stop you from being an ass. Does it?"

"Half dead, huh?"

She nods and I can see tears starting to fill up her green eyes," Yes. Thank the spirits I was able to get you some morphling and some other medication, because I don't think my natural remedies would have worked this time."

"Don't underestimate the power of animal piss."

She lets out a soft laugh, and I feel almost happy," True."

"How did you manage to get drugs pass Snow?"

She places her long fingers on my arm closest to her, I'm acutely aware of her skin on mine, the tingling of my nerve endings under her hand, are firing off and I feel like jumping out of my skin. She moves her hand up to my cheek; her fingers are cool on my warm skin, trailing her fingers down to my jaw.

"Don't worry about it. Just concentrate on healing."

I'm lost in her touch and I curse myself for being too immobile to reach out to her," You keep taking care of me. Why?"

"I don't know."

Her green eyes search my face, and I let my mind wonder what exactly she sees.

004E.

Daria

I'm stuck in place kneeling beside him; he keeps his eyes on me, as I glide my hand down the structure of his face. He confuses me so much, I feel as though I don't have a concept of my own truths anymore. I know it's an accurate possibility we're being watched right now, and the close proximity between us is something forbidden.

True there are those few who participate in sorted affairs, but if found out the penalty is always death, and I don't see getting a little action on the side worth my life. However, I can't seem to stop touching his face, his skin warm under my touch. The fear of infection is still a reality; I had bandaged his back and administered the medication, an anti-inflammatory.

The morphling had ceased his shaking; the spasms had subsided almost immediately after administering the dosage. I had waited against the wall, concerned if he would be able to gain consciousness again. When he had started to stir, I was relieved to hear the groan escape his lips, because if you feel pain, it means you're alive, and being alive is the first step to recovery. I'm broke out of my reverie when he catches me off guard, something he's become an expert at, with a question. " You keep taking care of me. Why?" I give him a cowards answer, "I don't know", and I'm immediately ashamed of myself not being able to tell him why I feel this need to take care of him.

"I feel a connection to you and it bugs the hell out of me" or "I'm amazed by your strength", but instead I keep my defenses up as usual.

I search his face, the half not obscured by the mattress, his jaw line is strong and his olive skin sets off the striking blue of his eyes. There's no doubt he's handsome, but there's more to him than his looks, and this threatens me.

I can see myself falling for him, and this terrifies me. I've grown accustomed to sex and what it entails, but love is foreign to me, and I intend to keep it such. He sighs quietly, and I draw my hand back, setting it in my lap along with the other. I brush his hand on the way down, as it dangles off of the bed.

I shiver from the slight contact, and I'm desperate for him not to notice. He looks over my head, his options of scenery are limited and his blue eyes land on me again.

He clears his throat when his voice comes out strangled," What's your name. Seeing you already know mine."

I shift on my knees, the pressure of the stones underneath them hurting,"128."

He exhales a sigh, the action intensifying the pain of his back," No, your name. What they called you before you came here."

I reach up to his back smoothing the bandages, as some of the edges have started to curl, I keep my eyes on my task, trying to keep my voice detached," My mother called me Daria."

I glance down to his face to see if I'm hurting him further by reapplying the cloth and tape, a small smile forms at his lips," It's nice to meet you,Daria."

I shake my head, taking my spot back down beside him, at his eye level," Why is it so important for you to know everyone's birth names and not their designation, their code names?"

He raises an eyebrow at me, I shrug," 193 told me of how insistent you are about names," his eyes wander a bit," Carr."

"Oh yes, him."

I gather my hair to one side, smoothing it down, he watches my movement," So, why is it so important to you to know our names?"

"This place takes everything from us. Our choices of what to wear, eat, sleep. A name can be your identity; it can be an extension of who you are. Refusing to give u something so minimal means you still have a grasp on who you are, it's something they can't touch. And with holding something so small can lead to regaining other things which hold more value."

I tilt my head, my brow rising this time," You get all that from refusing to use designations?"

"Yes, I do."

I look down to his wrist, and see the deep lacerations there. The gauze and medications had been pushed under the bed along with the bowl of water and wash cloth. I reach forward, having to lay my cheek on his arm to reach it.

My fingers stretch for the things, when one by one I pull them free. The water in the bowl has become a bit cold by now; it's a light pink color from the blood before. I wring out the cloth, and press it to his wrist, whipping the dried blood free. He keeps silent, watching me closely. I want to shrink under his gaze, but I have to hold my ground not letting his effect me.

I have to press hard to rid the skin of blood, and he flexes his fingers out. I mumble an apology, which earns me a small grin. I hate how distracting he is, but I try not to let him detect this.

I clear my throat trying to take my mind off of my hand once again against his skin," So, what earned you a position between the whipping posts so soon? Was it because of what you did to Cray?"

He narrows his eyes, "How do you know about that?"

A smirk comes to my lips, a small laugh escaping," Are you kidding? The whole farm knows about it. It was noble what you did, but I'm afraid it was an empty gesture. He'll be back at it again, once his jaw isn't wired shut."

"Then next time I'll have to hit him harder. Perhaps aim lower?"

"Maybe."

"It wasn't because of Cray," he swallows his eyes looking above my head once again," Snow wants me to compete in the arena. I refused."

"Why?"

His eyes find mine; they're blazing with anger, "Because I'm not his damn attack dog! I won't murder someone because he's bored!"

I still my hands, placing them on his arm," You need to settle down or you'll tear your stitches. And you will fight because no one around here denies Elective Snow of what he wants. We all have things we'd rather not do, but doing them is how we survive. And if you really have a death wish by denying him, then maybe I should have left you out in the mud to drown."

"I can't think that way."

"Of course," I nod my own anger rushing out, I go back to my job at hand, moving my face close to his," because you're so much more honorable and noble than the rest of us trash."

"Does this have to do with Mellark? Because since I've arrived here, I cease to exist and everything I am is about being his son. I don't know the man, I've never met him. I just found out he's my birth father a few years ago."

I back up to where I was, placing the cloth into the water, reaching for the gauze. I unwind it, tearing off a long piece, before lifting his wrist up, wrapping it quickly.

"I'm sorry. It was rude of me to lash out at you."

"It's fine."

I finish wrapping and secure the gauze with a piece of tape. His face is flushed, and I smooth the bandage down with my thumbs.

"So you must not know what Thread took it so hard on you then?"

Brenton closes his eyes," I have no idea. It's safe to say he and I won't be braiding each other's hair soon."

"The scars on his face?"

"Yh, those are pretty gross."

"Your father, umm Peeta, gave them to him."

His eyes open quickly," What?"

I nod," Yes. The story goes he encountered Thread while smuggling some codes through a district. It was the first time anyone tangled with Thread and got away to live another day. Thread lost his post over it; Snow demoted him and made him his personal attack dog. There's a lot of bad blood between him and Peeta Mellark. And I'm afraid you're the closest thing to-"

"I'm the closest thing to releasing his revenge. If you can't punish the father go for the son. Nice I'm paying for things I've never knew happened and a man I've never met."

Brenton closes his eyes, I move my hand up to the side of his head, running my fingers over his scalp, and he opens his eyes to watch me, as I watch my fingers trace the light scars I find on his skin. We stay like this for hours before I have to go to my own bed in the girl's barracks. I ask Keeper Darius to watch him, while he sleeps. I walk down the hallway, wishing I could have stayed.

004F.

The brick wall is slick from the rain, causing her to almost lose her footing. She stops her ascent, gaining her footing more securely, before starting again, the last thing she needs is to fall twenty feet to the ground. She places her hands up the length they'll go to the full extent, willing her legs to continuing climbing.

She finally reaches the top, swinging her legs over to scale down the other side. It doesn't take her long to slide down half of it; her boots hit the ground with a quiet thud. She keeps hunched down, reaching behind her to pull her black blade from the waist line of her paints. The woman scans the area for the guard shifts she knows to be present.

She's grateful for the cover of night, the cool air whips around her body, her dark hair tickling the side of her face. She's glad she had begun wearing her hair shorter than she had when she was younger. Her dark thick hair sets on her shoulders, blending into the black turtle neck she has on. She looks to each side before running to the nearest wall to secure her chance of not being seen.

Half crouched she reaches the wall, placing her hands flat on the brick. She leans to the side to get a view of what's ahead. The crackling of radios gets her attention, as two heavily armed guards in black, circle the perimeter. She can see them walk toward where she's hiding behind the wall, she quickly moves to the far side, walking on only the tips of her toes.

She reaches the far side before one of the guards rounds the corner. She knows if she's spotted here, she's as good as dead.

She backs up against the corner of the wall, looking to her left to where an entry door is located. It's about a hundred yards from her, and she knows the likely hood of not being seen is minimal. The odds are against her, but her determination has carried her this far, so what would be the point to stop now? If she can't bring her son back home, there's no reason for her to go anyway. She knows the repercussions of approaching the building.

Everything she had feared for the last thirteen years was about to hit her head on, and she wasn't completely sure she was ready for it. She gripped the blade in her hand, pushing off the wall with her heels. She ran, her breathing quicken as she zig zagged through the maze of walls, stopping at each corner to wait for the guard rotation.

The quiver at her back rocked side to side with each motion, and her bow slinged over her shoulder knocked into her sides. Her hair blew forward as she stopped quickly; gravel lurched forward as she skidded slightly. One of the guards must have doubled back, his footsteps alarming her. She knew she had to at least get out of the maze of walls, seeing there would be difficulties towards her defending herself when she needed to.

The walls were far too close together, and she would be on an on far advantage, not that she wasn't to begin with. The sounds of the radio were beginning to become louder and she could guess his approximate distance from her by how many of the clicks she was able to hear, a trick she had learned from her father and passed on to her son, which was another reason why the predicament they were in was even more ludicrous.

She breathed in deep before she slinked around another corner of the wall, backing up against the stones before she was positive the guard was pass her. The clicking sounds have started to wean, as she listens for any another noises. When she comfortable with the silence around her, she makes a dash for the far wall, there's less cover and she knows she's going to be out in the open.

Her hands reach the wall before the rest of her body, and the steel of the blade dings against the stone. This alarms her and she scans the area around her to see if she alerted anyone around her. She mentally kicks herself for being so careless, and tucks the blade against the skin of her wrist, her fingers wrapping around the handle. This one wall is longer than the others, and she knows she has less time between the intervals of when the guards make their check points.

The amount of movement by the men, and how much they have been making their rounds, assures her of the heightened security the grounds have. She sighs, being careful not to be too loud, more aggressive security means paranoia, which is the last thing she needs when encountering a base full of men and women who are at least if not better equipped at defending theme selves.

She brushes her hair from her face, the wind has picked up and the whistling rides through the area, this may actually be in her favor, the wind hiding some of her sounds. She paces her blade hand on her wall, jogging to the far end, as footsteps come closer to her. She wills herself to stay calm, becoming frantic only clouds the mind and ensures you'll end up dead.

It seconds after she rounds the wall, before the next guard walks on the other end. She's grateful she never allowed herself to become out of shape, and she wonders for a second if she knew this would happen someday. She pushes the thought from her mind, knowing now isn't the time to start down such a path, right now she's trying not to get shot. She surveys her surroundings, there's a group of trees about forty yards in front of her, the maze cluster of walls now behind her.

There's no time to hesitate now, now when she's come so far. She moves her head to the side, working out the muscles in her neck and shoulders, she breathes in deep knowing her chance to make it to the trees for cover is already fleeting.

With a push off from her heels she runs the forty yards, willing herself not to look back, to only keep her attention on the space in front of her. She finally makes it to the trees, hiding behind one, as she peers over the side to ensure none of the guards had spotted her. She leans her head against the trunk, her breathing starting to become erratic, as she closes her eyes, telling herself to calm down.

When her pulse starts to steady as much as it will, based on the heightened doses of adrenaline flowing through her now, she straightens her back, the bark flaking off onto her shirt. The blade presses into her skin, and it's a reminder for her to press forward.

She releases a deep breath through slightly open lips, before she releases from the tree, weaving through the cluster of trees. It takes her a few minutes of stopping at each one, scanning the area for guard patrols, before she moves on to the next. She notes how strange it is, that the easily shielded wooded area isn't flanked with patrols, and this is when it hits her, they're waiting for her to fully show herself. It's a trap and it's laid for her, she curls her fingers over the handle of her blade.

She breaths in through her nostrils, exhaling through her mouth. She knows she has to move forward, making it to the front is the only way she will be seen fully, and if she doesn't get his attention, she may be shot. She doesn't blame him for his diligence, if her death was Snows number one priority, she too would be as zealous about security.

Her free hand pressed into the trunk, her nails scraping the bark. She breathed once more, releasing the tree, preparing herself for an attack. It was now or never, as she pushed away from the tree, leaving the shelter of the trees. She was now running in the clearing in front of the building and she was acutely aware of how exposed she was. She could see the back door from where she was, her legs picked up the speed as she neared the building.

She can almost see the light casted down from the over head grounds lights, and she knows as soon as she can be seen the better, because if she knows Haymitch at all, she knows he trains others to be vigilant about their surroundings and anyone who tries to enter it.

She can almost feel a sigh of relief coming from her lips when she's knocked over to the side, her body rolling into a summersault before she makes it back to her feet, the blade at her wrists now poised out in front of her. She can barely make out her opponent, but the gleam from the axe is more than recognizable.

Her bow is still slung around her body, but she doesn't have enough time to load the arrow before the figure lunges forward swinging the axe to her face, the women bends back, the sharp blade sweeping just in front of the tip of her nose. She can barely see the wielder of the axe, as she bares her heel down on their foot earning a loud yelp, before she punches their jaw with her left hand to slash their cheek with the blade in her right.

The contact of the blade to skin is deep enough to cause a slight sound, as the figure rears back and kicks her square in the stomach. She doubles over, as she flies back, her body landing in the light.

She jumps to her feet, as the figure comes barreling into the light their weapon rose. A women with short dark hair, cut to the scalp almost, rushes to her, pure anger surging. She steps to the side grabbing her weapon arm, forcing the arm down as she pushed the edge of the weapon to collide with the women's face, her body falling to the ground.

She takes this advantage to pull her bow from her body, and reach back to perch an arrow against the nock, her blade tossed to the side. The women springs up, fully intending to attack before she sees the point of the arrow, a short distance from her throat.

She feels at ease only a bit before she hears the clicking of the safety latch of at least five rifles. The short haired woman stands up wiping the saliva from her mouth, but the arrow is still pointed to strike. The men behind the guns order for her to stand down, but she keeps her composure.

Her voice is hoarse from the running and altercation," I need to see Peeta Mellark."

"Who?"

"I know he's here."

A few more guns begin to click, and she acutely aware of a few snipers perched up on the ledge of the building. She sighs, lowering her weapon, the arrow relaxing, as she places the bow along with it on the ground. She short haired woman picks up the weapon walking behind her, the woman is ready for at least a knock upside the head but she's surprised with nothing happens. Her sense of relief flees when she feels the barrel of a gun against her back.

His voice comes out deeper than she remembered, but she couldn't ever forget the tones of his voice," Who are you?"

The woman puts her hands up turning slowly around," Honestly, I'm hurt you don't recognize me, even from the back."

His blue eyes are wide, his voice comes out huskier than before," Katniss?"

Katniss lets out a breath of relief," Hi, Peeta."

A/N: I'm continuing to post the chapters, I hope to have the entire story posted by tonight. I hope everyone is enjoying it, and as always Reviews are Love!

-Stace