A man can tell a thousand lies,

I've learnt my lesson well,

Hope I live to tell the secret I have learnt, until then,

It will burn inside of me.

– Madonna.

Delilah Fauve, District 11, 15

"Delilah, why did you go back home?" My mother said angrily as we stormed past the communal orchards of District Eleven. My father could only follow behind us silently, tears streaming down his face. My mother sobbed through her words too, but I refused to allow the tears to slip, I only kept a face of determination and ensured that my hood was held over my face so that any Peacekeepers who entered wouldn't see my long tresses.

In the fields some of the children worked normally, returning back to their work and hard labour as if nothing had happened now that their children, siblings or they themselves had avoided the narrow grasp of the Reapings. The reason we were walking through the sun-strewn streets was because we were making our way to the Justice Building. My parents were crying because their son was the one who had been Reaped this year.

We all dreaded the Reaping day, not because I was at the threat at being Reaped, but because my brother Nathan was. Nate (his nickname) had a rare heart defect. Because of it he couldn't afford to anything remotely strenuous or he was at risk of a heart attack. Without his medication he was always at risk of a heart attack. In the Games he would have no medication, so we knew he'd probably die during the Bloodbath.

"You reply to me young lady!" My mother snapped, her voice getting harsh. She was usually gentle, but the inevitability of losing her son mixed with the fact I had dragged both of my parents home as soon as Nate was Reaped had angered her. Now we were making our way to the Justice Building to visit my brother. "You took us back home for what? To take a screwdriver? To take a knife? As if that is going to do any good!" I continued storming towards the Justice Building. "Delilah, you answer me!"

"My name is Lia," I replied, my voice devoid of any emotion.

Soon the Justice building of District Eleven stuck out like a sore thumb behind the stage which my brother had been dragged to. Though it didn't have Capitolian glamour, the fine marble architecture and the gold which glittered from the District Eleven sun made it much more regal than the barren fields and crumbling buildings that surrounded it.

My mother wailed as she walked, my father holding onto her shoulder and trying to support her as she shook with sobs.

"My son... my only son."

"Gaia, we have to keep strong, for Nate," my father hushed her.

"What if we've missed him? What if he's been dragged out into the train station?" She continued to cry as we approached the Justice Building.

"We haven't," my father stroked her hair and she sobbed into him briefly. "I know we haven't."

My parents' marriage had been under a lot of strain for years. They had blossomed from idealistic teenage lovers and left education and life to be together. Kind of a stupid decision, because they were now both poor and miserable with a disabled son and a daughter who they had usually forgotten because they were preoccupied with their own personal problems.

I had barely seen them kiss in years, and though it didn't compensate for the fact Nate had been Reaped and the fact I was going to do something terribly scary, I couldn't help but feel as if there was at least one positive thing about it; sometimes the only thing that could bring us together was tragedy.

When we reached the grand doors of the Justice Building Nate's friends had flooded out of the room with dismayed expressions. I made sure to give them the briefest, most unsure smiles as they passed. They didn't know it, but Nate would survive.

The Peacekeepers would usually demand I take my hood off, but they could see my facial features and therefore reluctantly let me through into the building as my parents came to the door with blotchy faces. I knew the Justice Building vaguely well, so I didn't need Peacekeepers to point me up a small staircase, to the left into a dim, narrow corridor. In one of the rooms I could hear the sounds of a crying family, and knowing that wasn't my brother I slowly made my way to the adjacent door where my brother would be.

When I walked in I made sure to ignore the crimson curtains they swept to the floor like red waterfalls, where they trailed into a pool of rich-red carpet. I made sure to ignore the chair my crying brother sat on, one which was reminiscent to a golden throne. I also tried to blank out the vivid, rich Capitolian paintings that adorned the beige walls.

"Delilah," Nate shakily managed to get himself up stand up as I glanced around desperately. "I thought that you, mum and dad weren't going to come," tears of gratitude welled up inside him. "I thought-"

He seemed a little shocked when I ignored his words, looking at the security camera above us. I had been to the Justice Building only once in a school politics class field trip, and I remembered it being directly stated that each room had one camera. Each room had the glare of said camera looking down on every move any inhabitant inside made, and I wasn't one of those inhabitants.

I quickly gripped onto the rich curtains that fell beside the camera, tugging them experimentally and noting that they didn't fall. Knowing they could probably take my small weight, I gripped onto the material tightly and hoisted my feet against the wall. It was almost as if I were abseiling up, the curtains seemed to be able to manage my weight and I could too as I slowly ascended up the strained curtain, my shocked brother demanding I come down.

Eventually my sniffling parents entered the Justice Building with a look of shock on their faces as I slowly ascended, reaching into my shoulder and shakily removing a somewhat bent, screwdriver. The camera was arm's length beside me, held in place by two tight screws. I slotted the screwdriver between one of the screws and slowly began to twist it.

"Delilah what are you doing?" My mother demanded as she strolled in. "Your brother is being taken to the Hunger Games and you're acting like this! Tell me what's going on!"

"He's not going into the Games," I said, gritting my teeth as I struggled to remain upright. If I were to fall it would be an unpleasant experience, and the slow tearing of material told me that I was treading on thin ice. Slowly I managed to remove one screw, watching it fall at my parents' feet. I ignored the pleads of my family as I continued to remove the other, hoping that it would finally fall.

It eventually fell and so did the camera, smashing into fragments of glass and plastic beside my parent's feet. A tear began to mar the curtain, slowly spreading, but before I was sent plummeting down I let go, crashing to the ground and sprawling across the floor. My parents were shocked by my actions, and watched me stand up and brush myself off.

"Thank god getting a job at those stupid orchards actually taught me something useful," I grumbled.

"Delilah... We're begging you," my mother's voice wavered. "Tell us what is going on, please..."

"It's simple," I paused, looking at all the confused members of my family. "Nate can't go into the Games. He just can't, mum. You and I know that both. And considering I'm a girl I couldn't have volunteered for him. But I need to go in somehow, and I thought-"

"You're not doing that," my father scolded. I carried on talking regardless.

"Nathan and I look almost identical. Even you two mistake us or fail to tell us apart," I turned to each of my parents, hoping that they'd understand my reasoning. It didn't matter if they comprehended what I was trying to do and my motives for doing it: Nate would be walking out of this Justice Building, and as much as it hurt to think about I'd be the one going to the train station and being jettisoned to the Capitol. "The only really telling difference is our hair. I can cut mine short," I removed the knife from my pocket and slid down my hood. "That's why I brought the knife."

"But-"

"The only other difference is height," I frowned. "Nate and I are both incredibly small, his heart defect has stunted his growth and he's only really an inch taller than me. It's not even noticeable." That was a harsh truth. I had always hated my small body, my small, boyish breasts and the way I had barely developed a figure. For once in my life it could prove useful.

"Delilah," my mother pleaded, more tears brewing. "This isn't making any sense, please consider this carefully."

"I have," I said defensively. "I've been considering this the moment he was reaped. I knew I could replace him and considered all the options – the Justice Building is the only place we could stop. The rooms had weak surveillance which I could exploit, I remembered the cameras and conjectured that they were weakly held into place, that's why I got the screwdriver. I brought the door to conceal my face, only showing my features so the Peacekeepers weren't too suspicious. That way Nate could go out when I cut my hair and I stay in."

"And then what?" My father said, challenging me. "There's multiple styling processes, and I very much doubt that when those moments strike you can do very little to hide your gender." He held my confused, overwhelmed mother as she sobbed. "Delilah-"

"I don't know what to do," I admitted. My voice had suddenly turned vulnerable and I lowered my hood, holding the knife against a tress of hair. "But I know there has to be something or some way I can avoid my stylists or bribe them. I might not be strong, or smart, or particularly likeable but I can climb... I-I'm not stupid, I know how to use a knife and when it comes to getting home I will not hesitate to kill."

"But you're my daughter," my mother managed to say, temporarily ceasing her cries. To see the pain I was inflicting on both my parents was awful, but one of us had to be taken away and as much as I hated it I knew it had to be me. "And your chances will be so slim-"

"I'm not at risk of cardiac arresting," I replied bluntly. "If I run my heart won't be strained by the tiniest bit of exercise. I know I can't – maybe won't win-" The tears had really started to stream. "But I have a way better chance than Nate."

With that, to symbolise my certainty and my dedication to my brother, I tightened my grip on my dark hair. With a few choppy swings of a knife I was clutching onto some of my hair, making sure it didn't fall to the ground and stuffing it into my large pockets clumsily. My parents didn't do anything, they only watched me cut the rest of my hair up and hacking away at it bit by bit with surprise. In the reflection of a gold ornament behind me I could see what looked like Nate – the hairstyle a bit more choppy, granted, but I didn't feel as if I was looking at myself anymore. In the Hunger Games, I couldn't be myself anymore.

There was a moment of silence. My parents didn't cry, but there were tears streaming down both of their faces as they had observed my act with a compound of admiration and devastation on their faces. I couldn't even see how Nathan was reacting behind me, but I assumed that it wasn't positive.

"And anyway, Nate has always been the sibling you guys adored more," I said, my voice growing vulnerable as I admitted a long withheld truth. I loved my brother – why else would I volunteer for him? But I couldn't deny the nagging resentment that had built over the years, for draining our money and the attention of my parents. No matter how hard I worked to help pay for Nate's medication, even if I dropped out of education, I never felt the affection Nate had. I was the other sibling. Maybe going into the Games would show my parents I could do or be something.

"Don't you believe that for a second," my mother said, speaking out in the silence. She moved closer towards me and I wrapped my arms around her, her arms also finding their way around my body as we sobbed into each other. There had been so many tears leaked today the glands around my eyes throbbed and I dreaded to think how sore my mother's were. "You're my daughter, Delilah. Never think I don't love you, ever."

"I love you too," I sniffled. "And for the millionth time call me Lia.

She chuckled a little. "Okay then. Your hair looks awful, Lia."

My mother pulled away and my father finally spoke out: "So, Delilah, if we're going ahead with this plan Nate needs to wear that coat."

I heard Nate speak behind me, looking a little shocked for the first time. "You're going ahead with this?"

"She has a point," my father ruffled my newly chopped hair and sighed miserably. "I want you to promise me you'll fight Delilah. You're going in there to stop us from losing a child – promise we're not going to lose a child. Not you, not Nate, not anyone."

"I promise," I wiped the tears from my eyes. I needed to find a way to get home, but when only twenty-four people come in and one comes out it way a pretty hard promise to fulfil. Especially when you added Careers into the occasion, but they didn't win every year, and I was pretty certain that they had weaknesses too.

I pulled the coat off my body. Luckily for Nate and I my mother had dressed us basically identically for the Reaping, a cute tradition she loved. When Nate approached me and I slipped him into the coat I couldn't help but admire how much we looked alike. How much we were alike. And I realised why I volunteered.

Nate was my other half. I would rather be shattered than have to live with seeing myself die on that screen and feeling responsible for it. I never got the Capitol's desire for the innocent blood of children spilt, but I dealt with it. But when it came to Nate I wasn't going to just deal with it. I would fight to keep Nate alive and if dying was the consequence so be it.

"I wore this at the reaping," Nate tore a silver necklace from his neck and pushed it into my palm. When he raised his hood his hairdo was concealed, his features barely noticeable. "You'll need it too."

"Thank you," I said, closing my hand on the necklace. It was a necklace that held a piece of paper in, it was a slip of paper filled with information on Nate's heart disease, the symptoms, potential allergies and life saving instructions just in case he wasn't at home and he had an accident. "I'll keep it as my token."

"Mum and dad may accept you doing it," Nate said. "But I want you to know you're incredibly stupid." He moved in and hugged me close. "But I love you for it, Lia, I really do love you for it..."

"I love you too Nate," I pulled away and smiled weakly. "Now you have to go. I need to prepare for this whole thing."

My parents left the room with my brother, who was slightly concealed by the hood. When I watched them go I shakily stumbled over to the chair Nate had sat in only moments ago and forced myself to slump into it, shaking with sobs. There was an inner relief that my brother had survived, that I could rest assured he'd be okay, but all of a sudden it was drowning in the certainty that I would be sent into the Hunger Games.

I could only hope that there was some kind of miracle and that the Careers had decided to not volunteer this year. But a Career had won last year, and that usually meant that there'd be a new wave of more optimistic and therefore more brutal Careers. If the rest of the tributes were scrawny, malnourished District kids I could approach the Games with confident. But there were Careers who had unbelievable strength, who had trained with weapons their whole lives. Even without those Careers in the equation there'd probably be extremely smart, cunning or knowledgeable tributes. The District Seven tributes may be great with an axe, District Twelve tributes may be strong from shovelling so much coal and the tributes in District Three may have the ability to create a contraption which would end in me being fried.

I wiped a small tear away as a Peacekeeper came into the room.

"Hey, kid," his voice was relatively gentle underneath his helmet. "It's-"

He looked at the broken, shattered camera stretched out on the patch of floor in front of the door hesitantly before casting me another glance. "What happened?"

"It just fell," I shrugged, feeling relatively nervous.

"Shit, it's the only camera in this place," he removed a device from his belt and upon pressing a button I heard the familiar cracking you'd expect from a faulty radio. "This is MH2, we need an urgent camera replacement in the Justice Building boy's goodbye room." He waited for a reply, and eventually he got one:

"Over."

I didn't understand their language and I was curious as to how the device the Peacekeeper possessed worked, but at least he wasn't suspicious of me. He just saw me as a little boy – he was me as Nate. So, with a heavy heart and a tightening around my throat, I followed the Peacekeeper through.

Our escort was an orange skinned, tall blonde by the name of Magellan LaMonte. She led my District partner and I from the Justice Building where we were situated to the train station. Flanking us were four Peacekeepers, all holding bulking, intimidating guns as they marched alongside. Though the Capitol didn't value our lives, they followed through with every safety procedure to ensure that we made it into the arena unharmed, and then we would be tortured.

I wondered if they would blow my brains out if I attempted to escape. I had managed to sneak Nate out, but instead of exchanging his life for mine was there something else I could have done? A way to get everybody out? I reflected on every single action I took, on every single potential route and glumly concluded if I tried anything like that the whole family would have been killed. Somebody had to be taken into the Games, and sadly that was me.

"Well, why are we so miserable?" Magellan held a startling umbrella that glittered with luxury diamonds. In this District only the richest could have diamonds, and that was the occasional diamond in a ring or ruby that they treasured in their house. But something as trivial as an umbrella possessed an array of glittering gems which gave off an iridescent air. "Nathan... Willow," she glanced at my younger, slightly taller District partner. "Surely we can be a little happy?"

"Call me Will, please," my District partner replied emptily, nervously running her hand through her boyish hair. She was only a kid, thirteen at oldest, so the fact she had handled being reaped so well was almost inspiring. It made me feel crap for crying earlier while she, a kid, had managed to stay strong.

"Well Will, you'll be absolutely happy to know that the Capitol is to die for," Magellan smiled. "Literally! Our champagne glasses look as if they've been crafted from crystals, in everything imaginable we have luxury woods, gems and commodities. The food is absolutely wonderful, and it never runs out. You can simply eat and eat until your stomach explodes, and if you want to you can just chuck it all out and eat again!"

"Isn't that a waste?" I asked, hearing the sounds of horses' hooves.

"Not when the supply is running out," Magellan smiled.

The horses' hooves became more prominent and the empty eyes residents in the streets turned to look at the grand, white horses who carried a golden carriage. This was where we'd be led to the train station. I stood there, watching in awe. I musn't have been the only impressed one as the citizens of District Eleven had formed crowds around us, only being blocked off by threatening Peacekeepers. Children and even some adults would jump and stand on tip-toes in order to observe the Capitolian marvel.

"Ah, here it is, our ride," Magellan handed me the umbrella. "Strong men can hold the ladies dainty things," she smiled. I was shocked when Willow yanked the umbrella from my palms.

"I'm capable of carrying stuff."

Magellan looked a little shocked, stepping up into the carriage and peering at both of us with a degree of confusion.

"Well... yes, of course."

I followed in the carriage after them, turning to smile at Willow.

"I'm L-Nate, by the way," I paused. "My name is Nate."

Willow gave a weak smile. She was still trying to adjust with the fact she was being carted to her death, but I couldn't help but admire how well the small, youthful tomboy had adjusted to her fate.

"My name is Will," she grinned "And if you call me anything else I won't hesitate to kill you."

I looked at District Eleven start to roll by when the horse pulled into motion. Inside the carriage the silken sheets, the trays of food and the golden diamonds and the rich, ancient décor had probably cost more than my house put together. But I wasn't interested in Capitol luxuries; I instead thought about Will's words, knowing that when you were in a battle to the death the usually sarcastic comments about killing could be pretty damn serious.

Giovanni Bescari, District 9, 17

There were two volunteers in District Nine this year.

People in the outer Districts did, on a rare occasion, volunteer. Sometimes they'd been struggling for money and the Hunger Games was a desperate shot to get it, sometimes they'd be near starving to death and the Capitol's gourmet would keep them alive for another few days before they'd be slaughtered in the arena, sometimes they'd volunteer for somebody they loved – it could be a sibling, a lover, an extremely close friend. Sometimes people in the Districts volunteered, but it was extremely rare.

This year in District Nine there were two volunteers. The first time two tributes from the same District (excluding District One, Two and Four) had volunteered in thirty-five years, and the first time in District Nine history when there had been two tributes who had went up to the stage not by the escort calling out their name, but by choice.

I stayed in my thought as I was led through a dimly lit but imperial corridor filled with towering, thick slabs of wood for doors and surrounded by armies of finely crafted marble statues, all seemingly looking in my direction miserably, almost apologetically. The only light in the room as the Peacekeeper pulled me through was the light that had been filtered into a rose-red shade by the grand stained glass windows.

"In here kid," the Peacekeeper forced me into the room and the door was slammed shut. In my silence I observed the surrounding room: plush armchair where I was supposed to sit, pretty painting and vases. I observed the standard lower-District luxuries in the room briefly before moving to the chair and forcing myself down.

I had volunteered, but it was all that I could do. In the next room I could hear sobs and cries of my District partner who had also volunteered. I could tell from the arguments that seeped through the plaster of the walls that my District partner had volunteered for the girl who had been called in at the Reaping. I used my rusty memory to recall the name, Rita Boulder? Something like that. Was it a sibling? I wondered...

I wish my reasons for volunteering were so straightforward. But they weren't. The reasons behind me volunteering were complex, long winded and had been brewing for the past year, though I had no idea it would lead to this. In fact I wasn't certain myself why I had volunteered. I was always passionate about knowing, about knowing how the human psyche functioned or how things happened the way they did – but here I was, lounging miserably in the Justice Building and waiting for my upset family to greet me and bid me goodbye before sending me off to an inevitable death.

My knees found themselves instinctively curling up at my chest. Before I had been Reaped I was stoic and indifferent, but now a dam had been broken and I was finding emotions flooding through my head in a way I, a keen student of psychology, couldn't really understand. I wanted to scream, to cry, to remain strong and indifferent. I wanted to do something, but I didn't know what.

When the door opened slightly I was dreading the thought of my father or my brother coming into my room and praying to a deity that didn't exist that it was my mother. A mixture of relief and disappointment hit me when I could see my short, slightly gawky neighbour, Francisco. I had always been silent and reserved, never able to make friends when forced into awkward situations or in school. But Francisco was different – I knew the cues of a boy who was loyal, passive and relatively kind. Sure, he worked at my dad's 'pharmacy' and sold 'goods,' but I worked with my dad too, and he didn't really know what he was doing.

I guess in order to explain how Francisco came into my life and how my dad set up a fake medicine store in the first place required my own history: unlike a lot of children in District Nine I was raised in a moderately wealthy family. My mother worked as a psychologist and counsellor, making lots of money by helping those in the Districts with mental illnesses (about half the District) with the money to afford alleviating their mental illness (about a minuscule fraction of the District). My father, however, had always thought of himself as a businessman. For the first ten years of my life everything ran smoothly, granted I had an older brother who had stolen all my parents' attention for being a mathematical genius while I couldn't do the most basic of sums, but everything had all been catalysed when my parents had divorced.

Long, grim story short – my mother discovered that my dad's business didn't exactly fill the ethos standards of your regular shop, inn or pharmacy. The divorce was blunt and messy, with my parents both remarking that they had always regretted marrying each other. Though I denied it, I think I had definitely repressed feelings of worthlessness every time my parents had made such a statement, because it made me feel like they regretted having me; they didn't regret having my brother, Leon, had always harboured feelings of hatred for my mother because he was a textbook narcissist who felt she didn't give him as much attention as my father did. But still, despite everything, she adored him.

Meanwhile my parents had stuck with me and I was divided between them – I stayed in my mother's overly clean, asylum like house on weekdays. Living with just my mum had led to me learn about psychology, the brain, our motivations and what made us act the way we did. I knew micro expressions, symptoms to mental illnesses and other miscellaneous psychological talents such as cryptography and found myself reading people like I had read psychology books. Even when Francisco approached me I noticed the brewing pot of emotion subtly simmering beneath his seemingly indifferent face; fear, sadness, worry... and anxiety? I wondered why he would be anxious.

"Hey," Francisco hugged me lightly and quickly. I wasn't one for physical affection, and my mind was still playing through my brief, short life. "I didn't expect you to volunteer. Will I see you again?"

I didn't respond. I thought of the weekends I spent with my father, when I didn't stay with my mother. My mother knew how to be kind to me, she knew how I felt and was relatively cordial. My father had always shown a façade of affection, though I knew he always had eyes for my brother. I was taught the ways of business, of loyalty, of the illegal trades such as human trafficking, drug trafficking, thievery, conning, assassination, murder, printing fake money, pimping – and though I enjoyed the expensive antiques and the glamorous life surrounding my father I didn't enjoy what he stood for. Compared to my cold, sociopathic brother I wasn't good at it. He had lived with my father and continued sapping every inch of attention from him with his intelligence, which he used to help further my father's business economically and calculate certain probabilities.

One of the many con schemes my father had set up was a pharmacy shop that helped sell illicit drugs. Franscisco had innocently worked here because the illegal trade meant working there gave him a good wage. I had often spent Saturday afternoons with him, talking about memories and psychology. Francisco wasn't intelligent but he had an ability that nobody seemed to have nowadays – the ability to listen.

"I'm going to die," I said matter of factly. My face remained indifferent as always. If there was anything I had to learn through my childhood, it was that indifference was best. " You know that, right?"

"Don't say that..." Francisco frowned, still puzzled. "Vinnie, why did you volunteer? You know that's stupid right?"

"Of course it's stupid, you idiot," I slumped back into my chair, moving my gaze to the luxury carpets beneath and keeping it there. I was just told to volunteer, I was told if I didn't I would surely die.

"Are you angry at me?"

"No, but you're easy to insult," Francisco frowned, always the golden retriever of a friend. "I wish that you'd leave me alone like everyone else."

"You're my friend..." Francisco glanced at me and I felt a flicker of self-worth and gratitude. "After all those conversations at your dad's, after all the times you helped me with my Psych homework... You know I'd always visit you no matter what. You're my friend and I couldn't not say goodbye. But I don't really have long." He smiled up at me lightly. "Left pocket or right pocket?"

Left pocket, right pocket was a game Francisco and I had always played – Francisco had fit into my dad's little gang because he had a mild gambling addiction (every symptom, actually), and would often play poker with candies and chocolate, which he often gave to me. We sometimes asked each other 'left pocket or right pocket?' and gave a candy to the other person depending on their answer before ruffling each other's hair. I had never been one for affection, but that was certainly one of the few affectionate things I had done.

"I'll miss you, imbecile," I smiled lightly.

A Peacekeeper trooped into the room with an official air. "Excuse me Sir," he looked at Francisco. "It's time for you to leave."

Francisco gave me a quick look. "Do you think your parents will give you a token?"

"No," I responded quickly. I knew they wouldn't; my mother was never one for sentimentality, my father was, and often hoarded beautiful, expensive antiques. But he wouldn't hand any of those antiques over, maybe he would if I was Leon, but I was incompetent Vinnie.

"Take this," Francisco handed me a cord, at the end of it was a tooth.

It was his tooth, I almost chuckled at the memory behind the token; several months ago the business had once lost a good bit of money due to a miscalculation my brother had made. Instead of blaming himself or my father, who was also responsible for the stock loss, Leon had taken it out on Francisco by grabbing his head and smashing it into the cash register. Francisco had never held a grudge over it, believing my brother's insipid story that he had tripped even though I knew that wasn't the case and my brother was just a malicious person. After that day Franscisco had kept his tooth on a cord, hoping that one day he'd have the money to get it implanted back in.

"Thanks," I responded, knowing Francisco's tooth should have been in his mouth, not in my palm. Looking at it in my hand almost symbolised the kind of person my father and brother were. "I'll keep it close."

The Peacekeeper gave Francisco a stern look and my friend eventually left, leaving me in relative silence again. Who else could I expect to visit? My mother, my father, my brother... I at least hoped my father would visit. After all, he was the one who had made me volunteer, and I had unanswered questions.

When the door opened again there was a rush of sobs. I stood up, watching my mother struggle to rush towards me in her classy, professional heels. When she collided with me she pulled me into a tight embrace and I held back tears as I held her close, taking in her scent, brushing my hands through her hair briefly and feeling pained knowing I probably won't ever see her again.

"My baby," she pulled away. She wasn't usually so affectionate, so to see her so tearful, to see her act so affectionately towards me was a strange but emotional experience. It's often said families with highly emotional environments increase the likelihood of schizophrenia, but my family were the opposite and this sudden wave of emotion was warm and pleasant. It almost made me wonder how different I'd be if I were raised that way.

"Mum."

Her hand stroked my face, tears tracking down her eyes. "Why would you do that? Why w-would you volunteer and leave me?"

I didn't even have to answer. My mother was perceptive, and when my face faltered there seemed to be this anger the flashed in her wet eyes.

"No..." She paused, trying to comprehend it. "You d-didn't do this for your father, did you? You didn't?" She chewed her bottom lip lightly. "He made you volunteer, didn't he?" Her voice grew louder. "Tell me now Giovanni!"

"Yes, I did."

My mother turned around slowly to see what I had seen. My father stood there, cigar in mouth, his stubble-lined strong jaw clenched. The silver fox looked so nonchalant for someone who was supposed to lose his son – I searched his face for any emotion: distress, distraught, pain, but there was only cool and calm. Beside him two bulky bodyguards strolled forward at his tempo, one of them cracking their muscles in a bored manner.

"Dion," my mother greeted him coldly. "This is all your fault, isn't it?"

"It's not my fault," my father exhaled some smoke. "This is my attempt to save Vinnie's life, sweetheart."

My mother inhaled, trying to use calming techniques she had been taught and had applied to other people throughout her career as my father approached. When she moved towards him swiftly it didn't work, and I heard her scream of angst as she approached him.

"Saved his life?" She snarled, sending a slap across his face. "That's a pretty stupid way to do it, you bastard!"

I stood paralysed, unable to help as she went to launch another, more solid attack at my father's face. One of the body guards had barely managed to intercept her hand, and managed to hold her back from my father. Still, she fought hard to hurt him even when the other body guard had tried holding her arm behind her back. She pounded at my father's chest, screaming profanities. When the bodyguards dragged her across the carpet and out of the Justice Building I felt my insides slowly compress myself into nothingness, especially when I could hear her scream my name in the far background.

My father cupped his reddened cheek carelessly once her screams had faltered. I was alone with him, still searching for any signs of emotions, even the most brief microexpressions.

"Now I know why I married her," he said, letting a cigar fall to the floor and lighting another up quickly. After inhaling the first blow of tobacco he continued: "They clean this place, right?"

I didn't respond. I watched him walk up to me, clapping a hand on my shoulder with a hint of affection. But I remained standing, paralysed, not knowing quite what to feel or to think about what I had seen.

"I wanted to say goodbye to my mother."

"You probably will," my father grunted. "Leon made some estimates and-"

"Leon always makes estimates," I said, stiffly, withdrawing from my father's touch finally. My father had always been a figure who had protected me, even after the divorce he had always seemed there, always seemed ready to help me and always preparing to involve me in his affairs (even if Leon did get top priority). But since Reaping morning had happened as every second went by I only felt more and more seconds of disillusionment sink into my neurons like sodium ions. "It was his estimates that had got me here in the first place, wasn't it? Where is my brother? Not visiting his sibling before he's sent off to die by his father?"

My father's expression flared up, though he remained collected. "Son, you know business comes first."

"You always told me family comes first," I sat down, looking at my feet. When it came to my dad it seemed money did come first.

"They do, but," my father frowned. It was the first proper sign of sadness he had shown, and it was genuine. "I told you why you had to volunteer this year son – I did it to protect you."

"I don't understand how sending me off in the Hunger Games can protect me."

My father knelt down, looking me in the eyes. He reeked of cigarettes and whiskey, and there was an urge to slap him like my mother had previously as he put on that charismatic, fake kindness: "I ought'a do some explaining, right?"

"Right."

"I told you this was linked to the fact we had killed the son of that crime family, the Tortegas," he frowned. "Because Leon calculated it was the best way for our family to continue functioning whilst weakening their family in the process."

I remembered that boy's murder. He was innocent, and at the time I had witnessed my father drive a bullet through the boy's brain. At the time I thought nothing of it, but now I was filled with disgust. Through the silence I nodded, signalling him to carry on:

"But they caught onto everything, they caught most of our men and held it hostage, threatened to report all of our illegal stores and trades to the Peacekeepers," he rubbed his temples and sighed. "They had no evidence that we murdered the boy, but they knew, we lost the gamble and the odds were against us," he looked up at me and sighed. "Before they destroyed everything I had a meeting with the leader of the Tortegas. I tried everything Vinnie, every compromise before I had to settle for one thing: blood for blood. A son for a son."

"You traded my life," I said. The shock shouldn't have filled my tone. "So why am I in the Justice Building and not being led to some kind of gallow?"

My father grabbed my hand passionately. "Because you're my boy, I wouldn't just let them kill you. I made every loophole I could. They said that instead of killing you directly, they'd accept you going into the Hunger Games as the blood payment. So I told you to volunteer. I know you're scared son," I didn't show my fear, I was stone faced. "But Leon calculated that one in twenty-four was better than no chance at all. You have a chance, and I have faith in you, Leon knows you have a chance."

"Leon's last calculation failed," I glared up at him. "He uses these faulty formulas that can only estimate. He may be a mathematics wizard, dad, but you're stupid for expecting him to calculate real life perfectly." My father's grey eyebrows lifted up a notch. "He can only make guesses. And because of his guesses, I'm going to do."

"No," there was defiance and denial in my father's tone as he clasped my hand. "You're not-"

"I am," I frowned. "Because it isn't as simple as one in twenty four. That girl in my District volunteered, she'd only do that if I had a chance," I paused. "I could die of cold, starvation, dehydration, illness, exposure..." I paused. "There are Careers so brutal they'd make your henchmen tremble. And kids who are probably better and smarter than I am," for someone usually so stoic emotion was reigning my tone, the fear of death we all had. "It's not as simple as one in twenty four. Add those factors and it's much more slim than that. Why didn't you just let me die?"

"Son-"

"Yes?" I said, coldly.

"Don't act like this son, please," my father tried to smile reassuringly. Though he didn't dare cry, I could actually see sadness in his face. I had woken him up to the true realities to the Hunger Games, to his own personal silly games with Leon's silly calculations which had led to the deaths of so many. "I'm your pops, I'm here to protect you."

"It's too late for that," I replied numbly. "It was too late when you shot that boy."

"Grab some food at the cornucopia," my father glanced at me seriously. "I taught you how to handle weapons, guns, knives, you can handle them well son," he tried patting my back, though I only glared at him. "You can use them. Then run, kill anyone in sight, maybe find a clever ally-"

"How many corpses have been told this same old thing?" I interrupted.

My father groaned, leaning forward and burying his head in his hands for a second. I paused, awkwardly watching him sit there in silence, releasing what seemed to be the ghost of a sob. When he withdrew, however, his face did not hold any trace of blotchiness. I watched him fumble around in his pocket for a ring, and when he removed it and held it out I couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt.

"This is your grandfather's, my dad's," he smiled weakly. "I want you to take it with you, and when you win you know I'm always right, and that I'll always protect you."

"I have a token."

My father paused, biting his lip, about to speak before a Peacekeeper came in and disturbed any potentially awkward confrontation.

"Sir, you've got to go now. The District Nine male is to be escorted to the train now."

My father cast me one last look before placing a ring-covered hand on my shoulder and smiling charmignly. "Okay son. You know that I love you, right?"

For the first time I conjured the anger to defy my father, I conjured the bravery to be angry at him in the first place. And holding back tears I glanced up at him defiantly.

"No."

I usually hate Justice Building chapters, but these tributes were so interesting to me that I actually enjoyed writing this one! The problem was Lia's chapter, because I honestly struggled to understand how her family would comprehend that, I hope it didn't seem stunted.

I think this is the last reminder about my story: My story is T, though it borders on M. I'm not afraid to explore pretty dark themes. And being the Hunger Games, there's gore, swearing and sexual references. Oh, and drink and drugs, lots of that.

~Toxic