Ellison Abel, 18, District Three Female

March 4th, 19 ADD, 5:17pm - Three months until Reaping Day


You have to be brilliant to be successful in Three.

It's a mantra oft repeated within the classrooms, out on the streets, even within her own head from time to time. So often, in fact, that Ellison Abel was, quite frankly, sick and tired of it.

It doesn't help that there are stark reminders of it everywhere she turns. Neon posters on school hallways popping with the latest news for yet another robotics competition, eye-catching advertisements on the television at night featuring the latest child prodigy to have invented some doohicky or another that can pinpoint the accuracy of tomorrow's weather with a margin of error of point zero three seven eight percent, even the stark reminders of five of her six professors each and every day at school.

"Remember, Abel," they chastise, as if she hasn't heard the same thing over and over again since she was capable of sentient, independent thought. "To be successful in District Three, you cannot be anything-"

"Less than brilliant, I know," she'd snark back. Or at least, she would have, if the very idea of confrontation didn't scare her to death. To even think it within her head unnerved her (one could never be too careful that her peers hadn't somehow figured out a way to invent a device that could effectively read minds), let alone say it aloud.

So she stayed silent, meekly dipping her head each and every time. Because a truth so obvious it was practically burnt into her eyelids did not change the fact that it was a truth nonetheless. It was the brilliant that made Three tick, after all. The brilliant were the ones who maintained relevance with the Capitol, the ones who gave the entire population a reason for existence. Without them, of course, Three would cease to exist, its population split amongst the other eleven districts to eventually fade into obscurity and poverty.

Or so the old wive's tales went, anyway.

Regardless, the fact of the matter was this: brilliance was the currency of Three the same way luxuries, wood, and coal kept the economies of One, Seven, and Twelve running. Brilliance was how the district had lost their brightest minds either during or in the immediate aftermath of the Dark Days and yet was able to maintain their exports within three years of the grand defeat. Brilliance was how a family could go from poverty one generation to unfathomable riches the next and back to poverty by the third. It was a tried and tested system that worked for the population before the Hunger Games were so much as a twinkle in President Dominus's eye, and thus far had worked over the last eighteen and a bit years.

You have to be brilliant to be successful in Three.

And yet, as she grew older and learned more about the world around her, Ellison began to believe that less and less. Sure, the statement technically rang true even today - there were very few times across history that a fluke had led to the discovery of a life-changing invention, after all - yet for her, it was naught but a hollow truth. Yes, brilliance would equal success in Three - but only if you met the other, unspoken criteria before being flung into the world of comfort and riches.

Case in point: Her mother, smart as a whip, particularly gifted in biology, anatomy, and psychology, who in any other world would have been set for a lucrative career as a doctor of some sort. Alas, in this one, she'd been born at the bottom of a barrel to a family so poor that learning sign language was a more convenient way of circumnavigating her deafness instead of splurging on cochlear implants.

Case in point: Her father, dry, witty, and the best organizer she'd ever met in her life, with a fascination for hovercraft engineering that ran so deep he could talk for nearly three hours about all of its functions and inner workings (and Ellison knew - she'd kept track). Yet an adulthood diagnosis of autism came too late to solve years of habits and behaviors that fell outside of the rigid structures that propelled Three's youth into success, destroying any chance of society's definition of 'brilliance' from the very beginning.

In another world, Ellison Abel would be proud of her parents, living a comfortable life without the weight of three peoples' individual dreams of success resting on her shoulders. In this one, however?

Well, she's torn. On the one hand, she deeply loves her parents, her mother's conditionless affection, her father's dry sense of humor, the way that the three of them have made the most of a life that started with little in creative and unique ways. And on the other, well, there's a part of her that never grew out of the shame she felt in her first years of schooling when the kids would tease her, a part of her that never quite learned to be proud of them when asked what sort of background she came from.

In her parents she sees love and brilliance, in the way her father's latest habit to make her mom laugh is to create increasingly whacky puns out of signs, in the way her mother finds a new way to make the tesserae rations appealing beyond the basic necessities of sustenance. And in her parents she sees pain and heartbreak, in the way that society picks and chooses their geniuses with arbitrary factors in mind, designed to keep any who might be deemed by the Capitol as 'imperfect' out of the contention.

Brilliance, like many things in Three, is subjective. And Ellison? She's caught on by now.

So it doesn't matter how many times that that accursed mantra of 'You have to be brilliant to be successful in Three,' is whispered in her ear. Because every time, potential mind reading devices be damned, she thinks just one pair of words in response;

Yeah, right.


Chase Desmond, 16, District Three Male

April 29th, 19 ADD, 3:04pm - Just over two months until Reaping Day


"That's the new idea that's going to become the next big hit in the Capitol? Yeah, right!"

"No, I'm serious!" Chase waved his arms around wildly, as if to accentuate his point, narrowly avoiding smacking a poster advertising the next North Sector High School Robotics Competition right off the wall. "Everything thinks that Capitol Warrior 3 is going to be the hit of the year since 1 and 2 did so well, right? But I'm telling you, it's gonna be the franchise's first flop, and it's going to flop hard, dudes!"

"You said that about Mutt Mutt: Fuchsia and Burgundy too, dude." Even to this day, even after nearly a decade of friendship with the boy, it never quite failed to astound Chase just how much dry sarcasm could come pouring out of Sergey's mouth. Like, the kid was a beanpole for Dominus's sake, where could he hide it all? "Something something, oh, how a game with no violence and a completely linear storyline where the sole objective is to collect weird cutesy animal hybrids would never find an audience, right? And now here we are, one year later, and guess which pair of games about collecting weird little pair of games about cutesy animal hybrids became the biggest hit amongst little kids in the Capitol?"

"Hey, even a working clock can be a few minutes off every now and then," Chase grumbled, but there was no venom behind the words or the action alike. This was a long familiar dance between him and his two best friends - one of them would make an ambitious at best and outlandish at worst declaration about some upcoming game (usually him or Sergey), someone else would be a contrarian and roast them in an effort to defend their pick (usually Sergey or him) while the third person would do their best to keep the conversation on track.

"Uh, Sergey, Chase hasn't actually elaborated on his argument yet." Leo, the third member of their group, always managed to look out of place in their competitive high school classes, hiding behind oversized glasses and a frame that had yet to hit its growth spurt, but Chase liked him nonetheless. Definitely more conciliatory than Sergey was, most of the time. (Emphasis on most; they did not need to revisit the great three hour debate covering Panem Builder's release five months ago anytime soon).

"Does he have to?" Sergey asked incredulously. "Like, come on, you don't need to be a genius to be able to tell that Voiceless is going to be an even bigger flop than-"

"It's not going to be a flop!" Chase interrupted, voice cracking in his desperation to prove his point. "Look, yeah, it's not gonna be as flashy or as violent as Capitol Warrior 3, but not everyone likes that type of game. Just look at Mutt Mutt - and yes, Sergey, I can admit when I'm wrong sometimes, okay?"

Sergey's singular raised eyebrow said more than any words would have. Which, okay, point. Chase had vehemently been the biggest Mutt Mutt detractor in the months leading up to its explosive popularity, and for a good deal of months afterwards too. But still.

Undeterred, he continued. "Like yeah, Capitol Warrior has the franchise backing behind it, but so far we've seen nothing that shows it's going to bring anything new and exciting to the table aside from some new weapons and a reimagining of District Thirteen. Which, lame, they've already shown District Thirteen twice, who needs to see it a third time? Voiceless, on the other hand, is new and exciting! Remember Life is Weird and how its narrative storytelling and character interactions were hugely popular? It's like that, but even cooler! Like, come on, Sergey, tell me what's cooler than playing a secret agent thriller about someone pretending to be an escaped Avox to infiltrate and destroy a rebel cell without resorting to shoulder cannons? Like, there's supposedly eight different endings depending on the choices you can make, and a sophisticated interaction system with hundreds of NPCs that remember your actions and-"

"Dominus Almighty, Desmond, pipe up a little more, will ya? We can only barely hear you from the cafeteria."

All three boys whipped their heads around as one towards the source of the voice, Chase's heart already sinking with recognition. Dammit, he'd gotten too excited again, and of course Bolton freaking Calculia just so happened to have been in earshot. Great.

"No, please, do go on," the aforementioned twat smirked. "Something about 'oh, I'm the biggest nerd this side of the Capitol, and twice as talkative, even though I only say things that are worth saying about a quarter of the time?' By all means, don't let me stop you."

He can feel Sergey bristling on his behalf before Chase can so much as form a coherent thought. Never mind that they'd just been arguing about this very game mere seconds ago - if there was one thing kids like Bolton taught him, it was that true friendships transcended things such as different tastes in video games, and Sergey, the only one of the three to actually possess a frame that wasn't 'thin and spindly', wouldn't hesitate to knock Bolton's lights out if given the opportunity. Which, Dominus Almighty, was it tempting.

"Guys, just ignore him," Leo muttered, just loud enough for him to hear, and Chase's heart couldn't help but lurch in the opposite direction just as fast - soft, mild Leo always disliked conflict outside of their little debates, and had the most to lose if things did go south. Glasses weren't exactly inexpensive even in Three, and he was practically blind as a worm without them.

As for Chase? Well, his overactive imagination did what it always did in stressful situations - it placed him back in the virtual reality role playing games that he always found comfort and excitement in, overlaying its choice system onto his real life. Call it stupid, but it helped him keep control. And right now, there were four obvious choices ahead of him.

A: Unleash Sergey and join him in teaching Bolton some manners the hard way. Bolton might be bigger and meaner than any of them, but right now he was alone - a prime opportunity not often given. Raises opinion with Sergey, lowers it with Leo.

B: Listen to Leo and back down. Few things satisfied bullies more than provoking a reaction, and ignoring him would be a moral victory if not a literal one - though in a world where academic records mattered, that would likely be the safer choice. Raises opinion with Leo, lowers it with Sergey.

C: Go with his speciality - deflection and humor, pretend that what Bolton said didn't bother him and roast him back. Could work out well, or could blow up in his face. Risk of failure.

D: Cry. Would garner sympathy, but would be seen as a loss and a humiliation and, quite frankly, overkill for a single insult. Nope.

Like many games, he had but a few seconds to make a choice and follow his gut. And right now, his gut said C - no need to indulge or alienate either of his friends, while giving him a chance to disengage peacefully.

"Thanks, Calculia! I'll keep that in mind for next time!" Chase responds, even louder than he had been before. A few chuckles reached his ears, and Bolton's smile flickered just a moment. Score: Chase, 1, Bolton, 0.

Nice.

"Come on guys, let's go." Plastering the grin back on his face, Chase turned away from Bolton, wrapping an arm around each of his friends in turn - slightly awkwardly, as Sergey was noticeably taller and Leo even more significantly shorter - and began walking away. "So, Voiceless, right? Big old sprawling world, over a hundred unique interactable NPCs, eight different endings already confirmed…"


Jaeyoon Kim, Victor of the Fifth Annual Hunger Games

July 4th, 19 ADD, 9:57am - Three minutes before Reaping Day


Every year on this day, he followed the same routine. Wake up promptly at five thirty in the morning, just in time to make a cup of coffee and watch the sunrise over his home one last time for a few weeks. Make a nice simple breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast, knowing full well that he'll be surrounded in nothing but opulence and extravagance in a mere few hours, and eat it slowly, savoring each bite in its delicious simplicity. Get dressed in the same simple T-shirt, jeans, and jacket that he wore to each Reaping Day, knowing that while Three might be hot and dry, the weather of the Capitol on top of its giant mountain was never set in stone this time of year and that the train and each and every building he'd reside in would be air conditioned so severely it could cool down hell itself. Walk to the local graveyard, first to the special section closed off to the fallen tributes, now thirty five strong, then deeper, where victims of the war and their families lay in rest. Then, at last, he'd head towards the town square, setting his pace so that he'd arrive precisely five minutes before the mayor began their speech.

If he was lucky, he'd complete the entire trip without seeing another soul until he set foot on the main stage. But if there was one thing that Jaeyoon Kim had found in the last decade, it was that luck rarely showed its favor on him these days.

Today, he'd almost made it. He'd watched the sun, masked only in a thin haze of smog, rise from his rooftop uninterrupted. He'd made his breakfast quickly and uneventfully, quietly grateful that his aging oven had not burst into flames like it had three years ago. He'd made his way to the tribute's graveyard uninterrupted, seeing no mourning kin sobbing openly over the graves of one of his charges like six years past.

It wasn't until he'd made his way to where his family lay - mother, father, aunt, uncle, and two cousins - that he happened upon someone else. A woman, younger than himself, and a small girl who couldn't have been more than three or four, standing in front of a fresh grave only a few lots away. That by itself wasn't strange - he didn't make his yearly trip so early that the graveyard was deserted - so much as it was that said woman acknowledged him.

If inhaling so sharply Jaeyoon heard it from twenty yards away, grabbing her daughter by the hand, and all but speed walking away in the opposite direction counted as acknowledgement, anyway. It was nothing new, given his reputation, even if it'd been long enough that such interactions were few and far in between.

After all, the Capitol had all but ensured it - he'd never be known as anything but the victor who'd taken after Icarus, overreaching his capabilities by flying too close to the sun and crashing back down into the sea as payment for his own hubris. He had, after all, been the first person in five years to make the Capitol bleed - and for that, they made sure he'd forever be known as cursed for the rest of his life.

It didn't bother him now as much as it used to, age and time blunting even the sharpest of criticisms flung his way. Yet it'd been the first time in eight years that it'd happened on Reaping day, and the first time in eleven that it'd occurred away from the Reaping Stage or the Capitol itself. And Jaeyoon didn't believe in coincidences, not after, well, everything, but for something like that to happen on a day like this? That unnerved him nonetheless.

Not that he'd let it show, of course. He'd had fourteen years to learn how to stifle his emotions and paste on a carefully blank expression for the world to see. He was, after all, the boring, weary, unlucky victor from Three - anything else risked being seen as inflammatory.

And sure, he had nothing left to lose. But that didn't mean he had to abandon all common sense in the fires of youthful passion and righteous anger like he once had.

Besides, there were his tributes to consider. It'd been less than a decade - nine years, to be exact - since he'd first gotten one of his charges out of the Bloodbath alive, a number that he knew full well was no coincidence. And while the Capitol might not be able to touch him directly, not like they once had, there were no such restrictions when it came to the poor boys and girls that were plucked from ordinary lives into the arenas against their will.

And, well, Jaeyoon had twenty six marks tattooed on his back for a reason. He'd damned his first ten charges with his hubris; he'd be damned if he ever did it again.

Never again would he sit in the train, watching helplessly as two kids sat across from him, each of them knowing full well that they were doomed to die pointless, horrible deaths because of his own actions. Never again would he consider nothing but the greater good when moving forward. Staying out of the spotlight on his off months was a good start; now he just had to maintain that for the month he spent in the Capitol year in and year out.

Otherwise, the poor girl and the poor boy that Three's escort, Hypatia, were as good as dead from the second their names were pulled. And jaded as Jaeyoon might be, but he'd be damned if the Capitol took away his heart like it had everything else.

That's why, when his first charge is revealed to be "Ellison Abel!" he doesn't think about how the tall, jumpsuit-laden girl shrinks into herself as she shakily walks to the stage, doesn't think about how the tears flow when a woman screeches something unintelligible from the background. He'll find her strengths, figure out what she's good at, and work together with her from there.

That's why, when his second charge is announced as "Chase Desmond!", he refuses to consider that the reason it takes the boy so long to step up to the stage himself is because he's too scared to do what's needed to win, doesn't think about how letting yourself be defeated mentally is the battle lost already. He'll coax out his feelings, work out a way for that angle to work, and set his sights on returning home no matter what.

He'd done the same last year, and the year before, and the year before that, all going back fourteen long, painful years in the Capitol. He'd failed to bring back either charge, each and every time. But he is Three born and raised, and Three is nothing if not logical, calculating, and ever adaptive.

He'll try his hardest to get Ellison or Chase home, same as always. To give up would be to betray each and every person he's escorted to the grave in one way or another for the final time.


Surprise, bitches. I bet y'all thought you'd seen the last of me, given that I pretty much dropped off the face of the earth for, oh, a good four and a bit months there with little to no communication whatsoever LOL. The short version: got a new job, lost my drive to write just about everything, and about 80% of my usual free time, which made progress on this story go excruciatingly slow for far longer than I would have liked. But, as you can see, my life is finally once again approaching something resembling stability, and I am back in business. Updates will likely be a bit slow for the near future, but I don't plan on dipping for four months again. And rest assured, I have no intentions on abandoning this story - I'll make a public announcement if that ever changes, but for now, me not updating in a while =/= me abandoning this story.

Now that that's out of the way - at long last, welcome back to An Illusion of Instability! For this chapter, we're in a district that finds itself in a weird spot as being between the Career Districts and Four numerically, and one of the most rebellious and stubborn districts in the war, the ever technological Three! As always, my thanks both to recklessinparadise for submitting Ellison and to Very New To This for gifting me Chase!

For our third Reapings, the dichotomy of personalities amongst the two tributes continues to show itself. On the one hand, we have the quiet Ellison, who largely keeps to herself and her doting parents as she devotes her full attention and energies towards making life better for the three of them, even as sparks of defiance and hints of jaded cynicism threaten to break free of her rather meek and unassuming persona. While on the other, we have the energetic video game enthusiast Chase, who houses a great passion for certain types of games (and undisguised disdain for others) while navigating a social life with just enough finesse to keep his head down and those he cares about out of trouble. And unlike the Career victors we've seen so far, Three's sole victor in Jaeyoon Kim is a shell of the revolutionary he once was, preferring to live a quiet life out of the public eye during the eleven months away from the Capitol. Yet unlike many victors, he isn't so jaded that he doesn't simply write off each and every kid that he must mentor, and like his two charges, we see sparks of a long-dormant fire burning deep within his core. Will the quiet defiance of Three's victor and his two charges burn into a raging inferno to take the arena by storm? Or will they be snuffed out before ever truly catching light? We shall certainly find out soon now, won't we?

Hope you guys enjoyed meeting our very different yet equally brilliant group of Threes! I'll see y'all again (hopefully soon!) when we travel to a seaside district and its many different denizens...