District One buzzed with excitement as the reaping candidates assembled in the decorated town hall. The pre-selected careers strode through the crowd, met with applause and congratulations. One youthful auburn haired man watched them pass from a distance. No one paid him much mind as he shuffled into the hall alongside to watch the reaping. His normally bright eyes were downcast, thin fingers picking anxiously with his clothes.
He was too old to be selected this year, and the careers had already been chosen, but it didn't stop the tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. A few disdainful glances were shot in his direction as he sniffled miserably, he didn't want to be here. He never did.
At least, he didn't think he ever did. His thin eyebrows scrunched together as he racked his brain for memories, an action he did often since he woke up in an alleyway five years ago.

"And now an announcement from our esteemed President Snow!" The young man jumped as the voice blared out over the loud-speakers and was greeted with a raucous applause. On the screens above him, the capital coat-of-arms faded out to reveal Snow's face. He smiled down upon the crowd and raised his hand.
The hall fell dead silent.

"Greeting people of Panem, and welcome to the one hundredth annual Hunger Games," Snow's voice echoed through the hall, "As you may well know, this year marks a very special anniversary for the games and we intend to mark it as such."
There was no applause; all eyes were drawn to the screens in a silent awe.

"For this fourth quarter quell, we have two special conditions for contestants in the games," Snow continued.
The young man shivered, he couldn't help but feel that Snow's piercing blue eyes were staring right at him now. But that couldn't be right, could it?
"Our first special condition," a pause, "There will be no volunteering for the games this year."
Shock settled over all the people watching, then outrage. The hall broke into a cacophony of shouted protests. Peacekeepers surged forward to quell the crowd. The young man covered his ears and whimpered in some sort of attempt to protect himself from the onslaught of noise.

A shot rang out.

Silence

The peacekeeper who had fired his gun into the air calmly returned it to his side. The crowd slowly returned their attentions to the screen. The young man was now trembling in fear, he had a very bad feeling about this.
"Our second special condition," Snow's pleasant smile morphed into a sneer, "Our tributes this year will be picked out from anyone, bar our previous victors of course, between the ages of twelve and thirty-five."

There a single cry of shock, but it was quickly silenced. The young man's blood ran cold. No no no no, he was supposed be safe, over the maximum age for the games. People around him began to mutter in frantic, hushed tones, all the while Snow's face smiled down upon them.
"Now I believe I have delayed you enough, we will move onto the reaping," he said calmly, "Happy Hunger Games and may the odds, ever be in your favour."
His face faded out as the screen cut to live footage of the District One stage. The young main felt a wail of fear rising from his throat and struggled to keep it down as an extravagantly dressed man stepped out onto the stage.
"Now isn't that a shock," he said, smile as fake as his bright pink hair, "I didn't see that one coming at all."
The crowd remained silent, staring up at him despairingly.
"Oooh, eager to get on with the reaping are we? Very well, ladies first shall we?" a delicately manicured hand dipped into the glass bowl to his left and plucked a piece of paper from the top.
"Sophie Hanson."
The crowd parted to reveal a tough looking woman who looked about thirty years of age. She stepped forward, everyone averting their eyes as she passed.
She stepped onto the stage, staring coldly out at the crowd. Though, the young man couldn't help but notice her trembling hands.
"Sophie congratulations! You will be representing your district in the Hundredth Hunger Games!" the Escort smiled and patted her on the shoulder, "Shall we move on to the men then?"

The young man's heart was hammering in his chest as the Escort crossed the stage to second glass bowl. As if in slow motion, his hand reached into the ball, shuffled the paper around and pulled out the small slip of paper that could be someone's death sentence.
The Escort read the name, smiled, and brought the microphone up to his lips.
"Feliciano Vargas."
The young man burst into tears.

Jack sat on the train to the Capital sighing in relief that his reaping had gone off without a hitch. He'd have to (begrudgingly) thank that man when all this was over. That was if he ever saw him again, the guy was almost unpredictable as the weather used to be before everything froze over.
His thoughts drifted back to Christian as he stared anxiously at the rather sizeable television, waiting for the rerun of the reaping. For now, he didn't even know if his brother had made it to the district, let alone be successfully reaped into the games.
"Your name's Jack Brown right?" Jack looked up to see his district partner peering curiously into the carriage.
She was young thing, her thin face framed by short brown hair the same colour as her eyes.
"Yeah, that's me," he grinned, "Good old Jacko."
The young girl squinted at him, "I haven't seen you around before."
"Nah, really?" Jack said, "Guess 'ya haven't been looking hard enough."
The girl frowned a little and took a few hesitant steps towards him, "you don't seem upset about being here."
"Mm, just keepin' up appearances 'ya know?" He reclined into the soft couch, "What's your name?"
"You'd know if you paid attention at the reaping," said the girl irately, "It's Emily. Emily Palmer"
Jack shrugged, "Sorry I missed it Em, guess I got a bit caught up in the moment."

Emily didn't respond, instead opting to stare down at her feet. For a moment they sat in silence like that, Jack alternating between looking out the window and glancing at the television screen. Once again his thoughts turned back to his brother and he worried his bottom lip with his teeth.
"Bloody sheep-shagger better be alright," he muttered under his breath.
"The what better be alright?"
"It's nothin'," Jack sighed, "Got any family Em?"
"Just my mum and my little brother," Emily said quietly, "They're waiting for me back home…"
She turned her face pointedly away from Jack, her hands balled into fists so tightly they began to turn white. Jack cursed internally, maybe that wasn't the most appropriate question to ask right now.

"Hello you two! Getting along well I hope," Both Jack and Emily jumped as a well-dressed, middle-aged man sauntered into the carriage, "Oh, where are my manners, I am Chester Richardson, I'll be doubling as your Escort and your mentor for the games."
Jack and Emily both got to their feet, Jack extending his hand to the newcomer, who took it eagerly.
"'M Jack Brown, and this here's Em-" Jack began.
"I can introduce myself," Emily said, stepping past Jack to shake Chester's hand herself, "Emily Palmer."
Chester clapped his hands together, "Splendid, now that we're all done with introductions, I was thinking perhaps we could go over some basic tips and-"

The Capital anthem cut Chester off, signalling the beginning of the reruns. Jack flashed an apologetic grin before hurrying back to the couch, followed by Emily.
A man with a bleached white smile stared out from the screen. His lavender hair had been swept lazily out of unnaturally cyan eyes.
"Welcome back Panem, I'm Cornelius Rowe, your presenter for the official broadcast of the Hundredth Annual Hunger Games, " He said, Jack swore his eyes were twinkling unnervingly in excitement, "I'm sure you're all eager to get a recap on this year's contestants. We've got a wide range of tributes this year, I'm sure they'll make these games very interesting! Shall we go meet them?"
The camera turned to reveal a large audience, all roaring their approval.
"I'm sorry, I don't think that was quite loud enough," Cornelius said, pouting at the camera, "I said PANEM, ARE YOU READY TO MEET YOUR TRIBUTES?"
The crowd roared again, Jack turned down the volume in an attempt to save his ears.
"I think we have our answer," he said, winking, "let's go down to District One shall we?"

His face faded out, replaced by sweeping shot over the heads of a crowd gathered in a large hall before a stage. Giant screens hung from the ceiling and the walls were adorned with various banners depicting the districts previous victors staring out impassively through painted eyes.
"Now this year's special conditions mean we're going to be seeing a very different tribute to the kind expected from our perhaps most renowned career district," Cornelius finished just at the District One Escort selected the name of the female candidate.
"Sophie Hanson,"
Immediately, the screen depicted a steely eyed woman standing on the stage, "Now here is a woman I can see going home a Victor. Sophie is definitely going to be a favourite to win this year. And now to our male tribute, now if Sophie is the ideal District One candidate, this young man may seem to be the most flawed."

"Feliciano Vargas."
Jack froze. That name was… No, it had to be a coincidence, there was no way that he could possibly still be-
A young man was hauled up onto the stage by the peacekeepers, and all doubt vanished from Jack's mind. He was exactly as Jack remembered him, from the frantic hand-gestures to the stray curl of hair bobbing beside his left ear.
"...so yes, you 'ought to keep an eye on him," Jack vaguely became aware of the fact that Chester was speaking, but he couldn't tear his eyes from the screen.
He was alive, despite all of the odds stacked against him, Feliciano was bloody alive!

"Now we'll be moving on to district two," Cornelius' voice pulled Jack from his stupor and Feliciano's face faded from the screen.
"Jack, are you alright?" With Emily's question Jack suddenly became aware of the wetness around his eyes and flushed red.
"I uh.… "He couldn't exactly tell them about Feliciano, it'd put the whole mission at risk, "I guess watching the reaping hah. I didn't seem real before and now..."
Emily looked away with a muttered 'oh', the same realisation probably coming to her now. Chester cleared his throat and gestured to the screen, where the female district two tribute was already standing on the stage.
"Now this next young man, just over the age limit of the normal games, he seems rather glad for this year's special conditions I think."
"Alfred Jones."

Hope flowed through Jack like a river and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from whooping. First Feliciano and now Alfred? If they were still alive, then maybe others were too. He struggled to supress a grin as Alfred bounded up onto the stage and waved to the crowd, large goofy grin stretched across his face.
"He's shaking," Emily commented beside him.
Jack blinked, it was true. Though barely noticeable, Alfred's hands were definitely trembling as he reached out to shake hands with his district partner.
"Yes, though with a smile like that," Chester shrugged, "He could prove a dangerous enemy in the race for sponsors."
That wasn't right, why would he be shaking? He couldn't be scared, he was the big brave hero who rushed in with little to no thought of the consequences.
Jack put it aside, he could always ask him when he got to the capital. That brought back his good mood, he could actually talk to Alfred again.

The next few districts continued like this, Jack mentally cheering as he discovered the survival of Kiku Honda in district three, Gilbert Beilschmidt and Natalia Arlovskaya in district four, Lovino Vargas in district five (his similarity to Feliciano not going unnoticed by Cornelius), and both Vash and Erika Zwingli ("siblings! What are the chances?") in district six.

When district seven came up on the screen, Jack stared at the screen with rapt attention, Emily and Chester's conversation going right over his head.
"And now district seven's male candidate, and would you look at those brows, he's going to give his stylists a heart attack."
Jack's heart stopped, considering the trend, there was no way it could be anyone else.
"Arthur Kirkland!"
A small, high pitched noise escaped his throat, drawing confused glances from both Emily and Chester. Jack didn't care, Green eyes, achingly familiar, were scowling out under bushy brows as he was led onto the stage. Jack idly wondered if Christian was seeing this, wondered how he felt.
He wouldn't have to wait long, Arthur's scowl was replaced by district eight
"Christian Wilson," Jack let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding as his brother's name was called. Christian made a big show of being distraught, Jack made a mental note to tease him about his crying face when all this was over.

The last few districts reaping continued in much the same manner of those prior, Ivan Braginski for nine, Ludwig Erdmann and Elizabeta Hederavy for ten, Antonio Carriedo and Irunya Chernenko for eleven. Chester turned off the television before twelve's reaping and began talking tactics.
Jack wasn't listening, all these people he'd thought were dead, living and breathing and on their way to the same destination. After all those cold years spent with only Christian for company, he was finally going to see them again!
So why was it then, that he felt so uneasy?

Thanks for the feedback guys! The plot's starting to get underway!
Also, in answer to pileofcards;
It's not a dumb question, though I have to admit the answer is kinda dodgy. As it were, both Australia and New Zealand are no longer 'nation nations' however there are still people in their country who still identify as Australian or a New Zealander. Because of this, I'd say Jack and Christian could still die, but they're still a bit more durable than the average person with somewhat (not ridiculously so) elevated healing rates. I hope that makes sense ^^;

Anyway, the next Chapter will be up some time next week, feedback really is appreciated too!