Johanna Mason

Victor of the 71st Hunger Games

They called her crazy, but as far as Johanna was concerned, the world lost its marbles long ago. How else could you explain the Hunger Games? How else could she explain the reason for her family's murder?

Johanna would never admit it, but that night still haunted her. A few weeks after her Victory Tour, he appeared. The fat whale was a big shoot in the Department of Transportation. He was the man in charge of the Tribute Trains. He had the nerve to brag about it in front of her.

The bastard was lucky she didn't put an axe in him right then. If he knew any better, the fatass would have turned around and walked away.

He was under the mistaken impression that he bought her virginity. So he stuck around and pulled his dick out in front of her. He wanted to do it right there on the coach. In the backdoor, he said with glee.

Johanna refused, and he made threats. It was a mistake to threaten her family. She was a victor. She was supposed to be untouchable. So when the bastard grabbed her ass, she grabbed the axe she always had at arm's length.

Johanna cut it off right in front of her laughing little brother. He bleed out before the doctors could save him. That would be the last time anyone tried to fuck her without permission.

She was right. It was the last time. A week later, her family was in an accident. Not even her boyfriend hadn't been spared. Everyone she gave a fuck about was dead.

President Snow called her and expressed his condolences. The president didn't say it, but he didn't have to. Johanna understood: it was her fault.

She disobeyed Snow, and her family paid the price. He would never send someone to her door again, but it was a hollow victory. Johanna was left with no one.

She made the mistake of trying to befriend the girl who delivered mail to Victor's Village. The girl died three days later.

The message was clear: any friend in District 7 Johanna made was in danger. She had to keep everyone at arm's length, or they'd get caught in the crossfire.

Almost everyone. Victor's Village had two other residents: Blight Redfern, the Victor of the 49th, and Levi Greenwood, who won the 60th.

They were Victors in their own right, and the Capitol wouldn't kill them. Blight and Levi protected their families by being good little Victors.

Her neighbors were the only friends Johanna had left in Seven. She didn't count the snobby mayor who came to speak with her every other day as a friend. Who cared if she got drunk and jumped on the tables at the beer hall naked? Everyone was laughing.

District pride her ass. The rest of the country could kiss her ass for all Johanna cared. Fuck them.

Johanna thought she stopped caring after her family died. But as she walked past the school, Johanna's heart sank. Tomorrow was reaping day. Last year, her name had been called. She climbed those stairs crying.

Unlike what she said after the games, it wasn't an act. That sixteen-year-old slip of a girl had pissed herself climbing those stairs. The rage and plan came later. She was just a scared little girl walking up those steps.

And starting tomorrow, Johanna would have to mentor the next scared little girl.

How the hell was she supposed to mentor someone? She wasn't Blight or Levi, who had years of experience. She wasn't Caitlyn, Seven's first Victor who pulled Blight and Levi out of the arena.

She was just Johanna. The Bitch of Panem. Now that Seven had a female Victor, she'd be mentoring every crying girl until the day she died.

If the girl came to her crying, Johanna might slap her. Then she'd have to suffer under Blight's disappointment. Levi might laugh, but he was Blight's man through and through.

"Johanna?" Levil was smirking.

"Well, speak of the devil."

"Were you thinking about me?"

"I try not to."

"Come on, Johanna. Tell me how handsome I am."

She snorted. "A redwood looks better than you."

"That hurt, Jo."

"Who gave you permission to call me Jo?"

"Isn't that what Finnick called you in Four?"

"How do you know that?"

Blight was her mentor. Levi hadn't been there.

"I have my sources."

"What source?"

Levi didn't answer. Instead, he looked at the school. "I'm going to mentor the male tribute this year."

That caught her off guard. "I thought it was Blight's turn?"

"It was, but we talked last night. One of us needs to mentor you."

"I'm not a tribute. I don't need a mentor."

"Being a mentor isn't easy. It isn't just coaching your tribute either."

"What else is there?"

"That's what Blight is going to teach you. He'll show you the ropes. We do a lot in the background that you don't see. Don't worry about it. Blight's a good mentor's mentor."

"You would know?"

"Who do you think taught me everything I know?"

"It wasn't Caitlyn?"

"She pulled me out, but Caitlyn was an old woman. Blight agreed to help me."

"Is it hard? Mentoring?"

Levil didn't sugarcoat it: "In some ways, it's harder than being a tribute. Especially if you have to mentor a friend."

At least Johanna wouldn't have to worry about that. She might end up with someone she knew.

"Let's go."

"Who said I'm going anywhere with you?"

Levi wasn't smiling any more. "Johanna, we try and avoid the school. It's not healthy to stand here and guess which kid is getting reaper. Trust me."

He must know what he was talking about.

"I don't have anything else to do."

"Why don't you come over?"

"I'm not going to sleep with you."

"I prefer women. Not a stick girls."

Johanna punched him.

"Seriously, come over. Blight is going to be over soon. We're throwing our annual drinking party."

Edgar Wilbur

District 6 Male Tribute

Lower and Upper, the two parts of District 6.

Upper was where all the important people lived: the mayor, the Head Peacekeeper, the Principal Investigator of the Morphling labs, and the factory supervisors. When officials from the Capitol came through, they stayed across the river in Upper.

Lower comprised most of the district. The factories dominated the skyline, towering over the housing blocks. Smoke and smog-choked the air. The streets were grey and crumbling, dregs seated on every corner.

This was the world Edgar was born in. His parents had been workers at one of the train factories. They spent their meager earnings on hits, leaving him to fend for himself.

The streets of Lower weren't kind. Not even to children. The morphling addicts and thieves weren't even the worst part. They were dangerous, but you had to look out for the gangs.

Every block and square in Lower was claimed by one gang or another. If you weren't careful, you'd end up dead. In all of Panem, only in Six did peacekeepers keep the peace.

The peacekeepers were the only force that could control the gangs. Peacekeepers had guns. The gangs had knives and sharp metal objects.

Edgar would know. He was always a big boy, and the Crimsons had recruited him at a young age for his size.

The Crimsons controlled the 800 Block, and Edgar was one of their enforcers. He did whatever dirty job the gang asked of him. Anything from shaking down businesses for protection money to cold-blooded murder.

It didn't matter to him who got in the way or who he hurt. If the Crimsons paid him, he'd do whatever they asked. That's how he became one of the Crimsons's top enforcers.

Edgar was infamous around the 800 Blocks. And he liked it that way. Edgar enjoyed watching the dregs and workers scurry out of his way. They had better move quickly, or they'd get cut.

The butterfly knife was the only possession he gave a damn about. Rodrick gave it to him the day he recruited Edgar into the Crimsons. The blade had been with him for over a decade. It was more than a weapon. It was a companion. One he'd take to his grave.

Edgar pulled out a pack of cigarettes and the fancy Capitol lighter. Being a gang enforcer certainly had its benefits. Cigarettes went for ten denari a pack at the shops. It was even worse in the black markets. Yet Rodrick always got him enough to feed his habit.

He lit the cigarette and took a deep breath. That hit the spot. Edgar always smocked before his job.

Edgar stopped in front of House Block C. He slowly made his way up, keeping an eye on the numbers. . . 38.

38 was the apartment. These fuckers had to live on the third floor, didn't they? They were on his shit list now.

Edgar took a deep breath, and then he kicked in the door. It wasn't secure to begin with. It fell right off the hinges. A morphling addicted woman jumped up from her table. She noticed the red coat he had on. The knife in his hand.

She made a run for it. Of course, she did, but there was only one way out. He was blocking it.

Edgar pulled her back in by her hair. He flung her to the ground as hard as he could.

She started crying then. "Please! Please! I don't know where he went! He hasn't come back!"

Edgar ignored her cries and went for the door. He nodded at a peacekeeper from the street. The man in white kept walking.

The Crimsons had paid off the peacekeepers long ago. Unless something huge happened or an order came down from above, they wouldn't both Edgar.

That was how he liked it. Edgar closed the door.

The addict was still sniffling.

"Your husband stole our product. He was supposed to be dealing for us, but he's gone."

"He's not my husband."

Edgar laughed and pressed the blade to her cheek. "I hate liars."

He pulled the blade down past her breasts, stopping at her stomach. "I've been down to the Justice Building. I've seen your marriage records. You're his wife, and that makes you guilty. Where is Emmett?"

"I don't know! I swear I don't know!"

Edgar grabbed her hair and used it as a level. "I told you I hate liars."

"I'm telling you the truth!"

Edgar pulled her hair until she started screaming. When he let go, there was a clump in his hand.

He took another drag of the cigarette. "Where is Emmett."

"Please. I don't know. I really don't know!"

Edgar tisked. He started with her pants, and the addicted freaked out. Edgar rolled his eyes. He would never touch this scum.

He pulled her pant leg, revealing pale white skin. It was full of needle marks. Edgar pressed his lit cigarette into her leg and held it down.

He loved the screams. Edgar loved causing pain. It was the best part of his job.

"Open wide." He pulled out a piece of glass and shoved it in her mouth. "Swallow it."

It took a few hits, but she did.

"Where is Emmett?"

"I don't know."

Edgar was starting to believe her. Hurting her more would be useless. But it would be fun.

"Too bad I'm not here to have fun."

Edgar grabbed her head and made a cut under her right eye. It was his mark.

He doubted her organs were any good, but there were other uses.

"Here's the deal: if we don't find Emmett by the end of the week, we're going to sell you to the whore house."

Or maybe the Crimsons could use her as target practice?

His watch beeped. "I have to get going. I don't want to be late for my next appointment. I'd hurry up if I were you."

Edgar whistled a cheery tune as she cried.

Author's Note: I liked Edgar's character, so I wanted to do a little Pre Games scene with him. And it was a good chance to look at Johanna Mason, the newest Victor at this point. The next chapter will be the Reaping proper