How the Mentors Won Their Games, Part XVII: There have been five victors from Twelve in the entire history of the Hunger Games: Mandi Iridian, Haymitch Abernathy, Katniss and Peeta Mellark, and Steel Hawthorne, oldest daughter of the tracker-jacked Commander Gale Hawthorne who turned the tide of the Second Rebellion in the Capitol's favor. Steel won the 118th Games due to experience fighting her father in fits of madness, and her story briefly inspired Twelve to become a Career district, a plan that never succeeded.
. . . . .
Jacy "Jace" Faith Latone, District Nine, Victor of the 191st Games
I wake up in complete silence to a white ceiling and an annoyingly bright light, nothing and no one else in sight. No. Wait. There's an IV in my arm. I'm in a hospital bed. No orderlies, no Avoxes. Just Darian beside me.
Darian. My father. His face has transformed from inscrutable to overjoyed in the few seconds it takes to realize I'm awake. "Jace!" He must be ecstatic that I'm alive.
Should I be?
"When did you get to the Capitol?" I mutter. "Where—where is everybody?"
Darian puts a hand on my shoulder. "We're home. Nine." He hesitates a little. "You were comatose for almost two weeks. The Capitol—they postponed all the after-Games stuff—"
The Games. The Games.
I was in the Hunger Games. I won the Hunger Games.
Oh, God.
They're all dead.
Darian's voice fades away, I can't even hear what he's saying. Bri. Caprice. Noaa. Chantelle—Chantelle, who I killed. They were... oh, God.
Maybe I could just—just—
"Jace. Jace, what are you doing?" He puts a hand on my shoulder and wraps his arms around me trapping me oh god stop it stop it now he's going to jump down and be ripped apart by these wolves and oh god he can't hold me like that like caprice—
"Get away from me." I've ripped the IV out and am standing up, fist clenched around itself as if I have a knife in my hand. I slowly force myself to look at him, to calm down. "Darian. I'm sorry."
"It's okay." His face is back to being stoic. Reminds me that I have to be, too. "They postponed the victory ceremonies because all district citizens had to evacuate the Capitol before it got quarantined. No one in, no one out, except for President Shadow."
I furrow my brow. "Why? What happened?"
"A—rebellion—happened." Someone's behind me. My breath starts quickening as I whirl around, imaginary knife still in my hand, as if that would do me any good. It's a purple-haired woman I recognize immediately. I clench my teeth and glare at Amata le Fay, Head Gamemaker who made my life hell starting a month ago.
"Why are you here?" I try not to let my hatred show. I doubt it's working. "No one in, no one out."
"I'm a—district—citizen—you know," she says, raising her eyebrow slightly.
"No."
"Born and—raised—in Nine."
I've beaten her to the ground before I even realize it. I don't need a knife after all, fists work fine if she's not expecting it. "HOW THE HELL COULD YOU DO THAT!" Punch out an eye. "HOW THE HELL COULD YOU WATCH YOUR NEIGHBORS' CHILDREN GO OFF TO DIE AND THEN PLAN HOW TO MAKE THEM SUFFER!" Kick in the abdomen. "WHAT DID YOU EVER DO FOR NINE?! YOU CAN'T DO THIS!" Fingers scratching up the face.
"Jace!" Darian doesn't touch me again, just stepping in between me and le Fay. I back away, but as soon as he leaves she's gonna be dead.
"They—jacked me—Jace," the Gamemaker says after a moment. "The—rebellion—Nine—jacked me like—Gale Hawthorne. To give—the Capitol—its own medicine. Expected—me to—be—controlled." She moves her head a little and starts to stand. "They'll—come for—you too—the rebellion."
"So the Capitol's gonna do the exact same thing to me." I cross my arms. The last thing I need as a goddamn war. "Jack up a strong district kid and send her off to destroy the enemy, General Hawthorne Version 2.0. Except this one's already been through an arena and is too jaded to care?"
"The—victor was—supposed—to be—Yon Trizzle." Her fingers are curling. "There—were ten people—who weren't—supposed to—win these Games—and we—killed all—of them—except—you." She, like me, can't hide her contempt at this point. "We—failed. And—I'll find—a—way to—fix it—or die trying."
"Jace." Darian takes a step toward me. "Jace, think of your mother."
"My mother's fate wasn't her fault, it was this f*cked up world's," I snarl back. "I'm not going to play your game anymore, le Fay. Yours or Shadow's."
And with that, I run like the wolves are behind me.
Outside the fence beyond Oil Rig 42 is a crumbling old rail track that's been grown all over with ivy and moss so you can barely see it anymore. It's not a forest. That's good. I wouldn't be able to do this in a forest. I push past old rusted metal railings and though crushed leaves and twigs, and when I look back and can't see the city anymore, I lie down, close my eyes, and sleep.