1.

The Capitol could call it whatever they wanted, but it was a reaping like any other.

The history of the country was recited, the escorts made their trite little speeches, and the names of the tributes were read from two small pieces of paper. The only difference being that instead of these names being pulled from two large glass bowls at random, they came from two envelopes stamped with the Capitol seal that were handed directly to the escorts by the districts' mayors.

For the last three weeks since President Glover announced the 'special rules' of this year's Hunger Games, everyone in the districts had been casting their ballots, all deciding who they wouldn't mind seeing executed live before the nation, or at the very least who they believed actually had a chance at winning. The morning of 'the raffle' all of the ballots were counted an hour before the ceremony and everyone lined up with their respective age groups, a small handful looking terrified while the rest just seemed as if they wanted to get this over with as fast as possible.

That was another thing that was only a little different from any other reaping. There was still that familiar feeling in the air, that cold dread, the awful anticipation. Only this time it was accompanied by both a strange feeling of security that their own children were safe and the gut twisting guilt of knowing that, individually, they had all just signed someone else's child's death warrant, whoever they were, even if they deserved it. And some of them really did.

The others, for the most part anyway, were just unlucky.

District 1 The Luxury District

The first thing Alexandrite Tallis thought when she heard her name come out of Octavia Highsmith's mouth was I blame my parents for this.

Even as she stood there, slack jawed and totally immobile, through her shock, horror, hurt and anger, she still somehow found the mental energy to remember that she wouldn't have even been considered for this raffle had it not been for the scandal that broke out not long after President Glover's announcement about this year's 'special' Hunger Games. She still wondered if it was pure coincidence that it had come out right around that time, or if it was by design. Not that it mattered all that much, especially now. Though it would have been nice if the truth had outed after her eighth and final reaping. She still would have been a social pariah, but at least she would have had a chance at living.

Eventually some peacekeepers had to come over to collect her. She wasn't struggling or trying to get away so they weren't too rough with her, but they each placed a hand firmly on both of her shoulders and silently marched her forward and onto the stage. She used that time to look around and get a good look at the people who had put her in this position.

Some nodded in approval as if this was justice for all the years that she and her family had, in their eyes, gotten away with treason and murder. Others refused to watch her as she was marched up the stage to stand next to her district partner, someone she recognized from school, a young man her age named Grant who she'd never talked to much before. Unlike her he was standing up straight looking proud like this was some kind of honor and not an execution. Then again, he'd practically volunteered for this.

Those people who wouldn't meet her eyes, who refused to watch as the consequences of their own actions were unfolding right before their eyes, they'd known her since she was a young girl. And she had known them. Their children, who had been spared by their decision, had been friends with her for years. They, the ones who had chosen to vote, to write her name on a piece of paper and snuff out her life from a great cowardly distance, would have to face her parents every day after this, whatever the outcome of the Games were, which she knew, for a fact, were in no way in her favor.

And it was all her parents' fault.

District 5 The Power District

Latia Burns only learned about the Quarter Quell on the day of the raffle.

She had actually forgotten about the annual Hunger Games altogether until the guards came barging into her cell while she was trying to sleep(because she didn't have much else to do to pass the time during the day—or night) and ordered her to stand up. Once she did, they immediately grabbed her and forced her to walk in front of them. She didn't even bother asking where they were taking her. She knew better now. When they'd taken her off the street and locked her in a cell, she'd screamed and cried and begged for an explanation, a charge, a reason why this was happening, and she never received a single answer.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been in there, but if she'd had to guess she would say just a few weeks. Her hair and face were greasy since she was only allowed a brief shower once every three days or so. She was fed three meals consisting of toast, gruel and a glass of water a day, and was never allowed outside or given a chance to speak to or even get a glimpse of her family. She wasn't even sure they knew where she was. After a while she'd finally learned that whatever reason she was here, no one was going to answer her questions about why that was.

As the guards shoved her out through the front doors of the prison, Latia was nearly blinded by the sunlight, which felt intensely bright after being locked away in the dark for so long. She blinked several times in order to get used to the brightness and only then did she notice the large crowd of people who all looked like they were in their best clothes and all seemed to be looking at her, first in confusion, then understanding, and then pity.

She had no idea what was happening and going against her instincts she decided to ask, her voice hoarse due to her dry throat, "What's going on? What day is it?"

"Shut up and keep walking," a guard ordered, his voice laced with disinterest.

Strangely enough, that did not dissuade her from asking questions. She was desperate and determined now. After all, what else did she have to lose? What were they going to do? Take her back inside?

"What's happening?" she asked again. "Tell me, please."

No answer. She was starting to get angry.

"God damn you!" she shouted. "What is going on?"

"I said shut up!" the guard barked, louder this time.

But Latia stopped dead in her tracks, immediately turned around to face her captors, looked up at them challengingly, and despite the fact that it felt like her throat was lined with sand, she cried out, "Go to hell! Why am I here? Why the hell was I in there for so long!"

Just as one of the guards raised their hands to strike her, a squeaky voice cried out, "WAIT!"

Latia immediately whirled around and saw the man who she knew on sight was the bald, heavyset purple suit wearing District 5 escort Giles Molespinner. He ran over to them and, sounding out of breath, insisted, "Haven't you done enough damage? Look at her! Does she look camera ready to you! My God, I thought you were one of the better districts, more sophisticated in your ways and your thinking, but I suppose I was mistaken. Do your jobs, get her on that train, and try not to cause any more of a scene than you already have. Thank God the crew was sent away…"

"Wait, what?" Latia looked between Giles and the guards, her stomach feeling like it was getting tighter by the second. In that moment she had a terrible feeling that she actually understood everything perfectly, even though she desperately didn't want to.

The nice clothes, the pitying looks, Giles Molespinner…

Oh no. It was reaping day. And if she wasn't mistaken, it had been her number that came up.

As Latia tried to process this, she felt something sharp in her neck. Then, almost instantly, her whole body went limp. She started to fall forward, but before she could hit the ground, she landed in someone's arms.

Then everything went black. Once again, she was in the dark, and still, for some reason, no one was telling her why.

District 10 The Livestock District

It was a rare moment in Marrow Clayton's life where he didn't feel so alone. It seemed like everyone around him was also wondering if what was happening around them was really happening.

He also didn't need to be told that people weren't out to get him, there was no point, since clearly, they were. It was a hard thing to dispute when Naevius Beesbury had called out his name and everyone turned to him expecting him to go up on stage. But he needed a minute. Actually, no, he needed a confirmation that what was happening was actually happening.

He stood there for a long time before the Peacekeepers dragged him up on stage. He struggled a little, since he hated being touched, but then decided it was best not to fight them because clearly there was no point. It was best just to be led sometimes.

Afterwards, he had only one visitor before his departure for the Capitol, his friend Rex. He was so relieved when he saw him. He had been so sure that he would never see him again after Rex was arrested. He and many other adults (it was still strange to think of him that way since he was only a year older than Marrow) had refused to vote for tributes. As a result, and as promised by President Glover, those who didn't participate in this year's reaping were thrown in jail for treason. There were some who had actually ended up voting just to be released. In fairness, many of them had families who needed them to work. Others, meanwhile, just didn't want to rot in jail. Then there were protestors, like Rex, who had nothing to lose and no one counting on them and therefore, hadn't budged.

Marrow had been proud of him, proud of his courage. He didn't think that he would or could ever be so bold. But he was also angry with him. It felt like Rex had left him all alone. Left him to the hungry wolves and lions of this world. Without Rex there to defend him, to stop others from calling him 'freak' or 'mad man' or some other awful thing, everyone decided that he, Marrow, would be the ideal candidate to send into the Arena. They thought that he was dangerous. Thought that he was evil because he heard things that they pretended not to hear, saw things they pretended not to see. They were all out to get him and wanted him gone, and he never understood why. He had never hurt any of them, and yet they all held their children closer to them when he walked by like he had claws and was gonna eat them. They'd wanted him gone for years, and he knew, just knew that when Glover made her announcement, that they would elect him to be their lamb to the slaughter to finally make it happen.

Glover had told him so. She had actually come to him, in his home, in his room and told him that this would happen and that he should just run away before that happened. It hadn't been just a dream like everyone had tried to insist to him, Rex included, it had been her, in the flesh, he knew it. An intensely frightening woman despite her being about a whole foot and a half shorter than him.

But anyway, Rex had surprised him by coming to see him. Marrow had been so relieved that he wasn't going to go through this alone that he'd completely forgotten how angry he was at him.

"They let you out of jail?" Marrow asked with a large smile, tears welling up in his eyes.

"Just for this," Rex said, returning the smile in full. Then he became a lot more serious as he continued, "So, the Games…"

"What am I gonna do?" Marrow asked, helplessly.

He sounded so small, and he hated it. But he couldn't help it. He felt so powerless, even more so than usual. Even though he had known it was coming. Even though President Glover herself had told him about this, he was still surprised and still so scared.

"You're strong," Rex said in that firm, comforting voice Marrow knew so well. "You're capable. You can do it. I know you can. You will make it out. If anybody can…"

Marrow remained unconvinced. But why would Rex lie? Rex didn't lie. Rex was good. Everyone else in his life lied to him and insisted that he was crazy and tried to get him to do or say things that he didn't want to. Rex never did. Rex was his friend.

The Peacekeepers outside heard Marrow talking in his cell before they ushered him on the train. But they'd only heard him talking. They'd rolled their eyes and decided that it was just some poor soul trying to comfort himself before he was thrown into the lion's den.

District 2 The Masonry District

There was no one with their heads bowed in mourning, fear or shame in that crowd. Just a sea of eager people waiting to hear the names of their champions be read aloud. The ones who had participated in the secret tests, who had been observed and judged from afar by the political and social elites of the district who all tallied up their scores and posted them in front of the school a week ago. The rest was up to the citizens. Natalya Poppyhead, the woman with her long dark hair going down her back, powder white skin and cat eyes donning a dark suit stood up and, after a moment of pure suspense, read the names.

Nona Elwes just stood there among the other eighteen year olds, one of the tallest in the group, trying to steady her heartbeat and stop her body from shaking in anticipation. She rubbed the hands that she was keeping behind her back. For this she had kept her short hair back in a small bun, a single strand constantly falling in her face that she was too nervous to brush back. She was also wearing her mother's black boots, dress pants, and button down white blouse, all of which she wore only for special occasions. Her mother had never been in a reaping, personally, but according to her this was what she would have worn if she'd ever found herself in her daughter's shoes.

Nona had decided not to get her hopes up for this. She'd been fairly confident during the testing, but now it was the eleventh hour, and arrogance would do her no good and offer no reward. It was up to fate now. Or rather, the people. Really, what was the difference?

As she waited, she remembered how her Grandfather had shared with her the written words of the Old Gods. That was what he called the three lost religions that had existed before the birth of Panem, back when it was still a thing called North America. At some point, he'd explained to her at a young age, they'd decided to do away with these Old Gods so as not to risk inciting another pointless war. One less bullet in the gun, they'd called it.

Grandfather had scoffed, almost as if he took their course of action as a personal insult. Then he'd told her that he'd secretly brought his children up to understand the Old Gods(really just one God translated into other languages, as if that made him something entirely new and not slightly different, he'd said. The same excuse they'd given for doing away with all the other "Outside Languages", some of which he also found the time to study) and to worship them clandestinely. Nona's mother, his daughter, had chosen to abandon this practice out of fear of her family's safety if they were caught disobeying Capitol law. But for Grandfather, this would not stand, and he'd chosen to share this with her, despite her mother's protests.

Nona hadn't thought anything of it at the time, but had chosen to humor him, his being her elder and all, and continued to read the texts he'd lent her, keeping it under her bed and studying them under her covers and out of her mothers' line of sight, finding them both confusing and fascinating all at once. Perhaps she was thinking of these Old Gods now because she suddenly found herself doing another thing that Grandfather had told her was done in the past that was now essentially outlawed: in her mind, where one could always commit even the most gruesome crimes with little to no consequence unless one inflicted it upon themselves, she prayed. Prayed that after all her work, after how far she'd come, that she would be chosen.

Then Natalya Poppyhead read from the piece of paper that had come from the first envelope and once the words reached her ears, Nona finally allowed herself to breathe again, and wondered, as she was led on the stage and a purple cape was placed over her shoulders and Natalya wrapped her tiny hand around Nona's wrist and attempted to raise it above her head as best she could, encouraging a loud thunder of applause from her people and Nona felt a warm feeling in her stomach and a hardy laugh arise from her throat, if these Old Gods still had some pull in the world after all. Because, be they one being in three languages, or three separate deities all together, all of them had heard her today, and this was their answer.

District 8 The Textiles District

Patch Tergesen did the unthinkable.

As he stood with the other thirteen year olds during the 'raffle', he couldn't stop staring at Mayor Spalding, a tall, intense looking man who never seemed to have a hair out of place or a speck of dust on his clothes. Patch had never been very fond of the man. He'd always seemed kind of smarmy or sanctimonious to him, despite having always been courteous when Patch delivered his new suits to his home. He always gave Patch a generous tip, too. In all honesty he might have been able to forgive and even accept a little manufactured kindness, if not for Spalding's son.

Tassel, who was five years older than Patch and had been one of the tallest boys in school ever since he could remember, had always struck him as intimidating at first, despite the fact that he seemed to prefer solitude and the comfort of a good book to anything or anyone else. That was why it was such a surprise that whenever he saw Tassel with his father, the older boy seemed to shrink a little. When Spalding would bring a hand down onto Tassel's shoulder he would see him visibly flinch and, it could have just been his imagination, but he seemed to be forcing himself to stay put until his father decided to move his hand. And once he did, Tassel got as far away from him as soon as possible.

But Patch hadn't officially made up his mind about not liking Spalding until the announcement was made about the Quell. The very next day, Spalding called for a meeting in the town square and insisted that everyone in the district attend in order to hear what he had to say. Tassel was standing by his father's side looking pale and sick, and also, not saying anything.

Mayor Spalding, a man who was famous for valuing self sacrifice for the sake of the collective above all else, had announced to everybody that his eighteen-year-old son, Tassel, would be their male tribute. He would volunteer for the sake of them all. He would throw himself on this sword. The entire time, Patch wondered if he was the only one who noticed how quiet, somber and even a little ill Tassel looked. He wondered if anybody else questioned whether or not Tassel had been made a part of this decision at all. Patch doubted it.

That had been the deciding factor in that moment as Rufino Pontmercy had been about to read Tassel's name. There were other factors, he could admit that to himself, factors he'd long since accepted as inescapable facts that he would have to face down the line. But for now, Patch was compelled to act for one reason, and one alone. Every bone in his body was compelling him to step out of line and stand in between the two groups of boys and girls who had been saved by the majority vote, totally indifferent to the sea of eyes that were either looking up at the stage or were now on him. Patch opened his mouth and shouted so loud that it was unmistakable what he had just said, no matter how ludicrous it might have sounded to just about everyone who heard it:

"I volunteer as tribute!"

District 9 The Grain District

The district escort, Everett Bride, a man with a face tattoo of a neon green fern on the right side of his face and a silver three piece suit with jet black hair that was slicked back, spoke up in an elegant, yet somehow also booming voice. Emmer looked up at him and thought that maybe, just maybe, in another life, he could have made a very charismatic politician. But right now, he was just another grim reaper in fancy clothes.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to a very special event. Welcome to The Quarter Quell! You have all chosen two very courageous, very impressive young people to represent your District in the 25th Annual Hunger Games."

Emmer rolled his eyes at the obvious attempt to blow smoke up all their rears. Just get this over with, he thought with a groan. Put us all out of our misery, and then send us on our way to misery.

"Per tradition, ladies first."

Mayor D'Arcy Wells, a man who had risen to power and become the district mayor at the young age of twenty-six, handed him the first piece of paper that he hadn't even bothered to place in an envelope with a slight nod that indicated forced politeness. The kind one might give to an uninvited guest.

Everett took the paper, gave Wells a grateful nod, unfolded it and then read out loud:

"The girl will be…Maizie Nanahara."

A hush fell over the crowd. A girl with her dark brown hair held back in a short ponytail wearing a shabby looking peach colored dress started to slowly walk towards the stage and up the stairs, fists clenched at her side the entire time. Emmer had been so focused on his own campaign that he had barely paid attention to who was being chosen for the female tribute. Though clearly, unlike him, she wasn't going up there voluntarily.

She stood on the right side of Everett, her face looking steely and almost murderous. It was only just now occurring to him that he did recognize her. She was known all throughout Nine and wasn't exactly popular, and for good reason. But still, the Games? As a tribute? Was that really a fitting punishment?

"Do you have anything you want to say to the good people who chose you as their champion?" Everett asked enthusiastically.

"Yes. Actually," responded Maizie, not looking at him, her face stone cold.

She raised both her middle fingers high into the air. A handful of crowd members responded with loud and aggressive "boos". The rest, however, stayed silent, possibly regretting their decision, whatever hardships Maizie might have caused them in the past. But it was too late now. They would have to make their peace with it.

"All right, all right, that's enough," Wells stepped forward and insisted into the microphone.

It took a moment, but the crowd finally settled down enough for Everett to continue, with forced confidence as if trying to erase the memory of what just happened, "Now, onto your male champion."

Emmer knew who it was going to be, he was almost entirely positive, but he still felt his hands begin to sweat all the same.

"Emmer Skadsen."

There it was, just like he'd planned. He walked up to the stage, his back straight, attempting to do it with purpose, with no fear or hesitation and hoped dearly that was how it looked. When he finally made it to the stage, Everett asked him, "Do you have anything you'd like to say to your people? Anything family friendly, that is."

Emmer attempted to swallow, his throat feeling suddenly very dry. When he cleared it as subtly as he could, he looked up at the crowd, his people, and recited the speech that he'd prepared in front of the mirror for weeks into the microphone:

"Yes. I wanted to say, to District 9, that I chose to be here. You did not kill your son. We will not be divided by this game, or any game before or after it. When you watch this one on your televisions, when you watch me, and you watch Mazie, I want you to watch it as one. Because we are one. We are District 9, and we live and die on our own terms, no matter what anyone tries to tell us."

In his wildest dreams, all of Nine cheered, their fingers intertwined with one another as they raised their arms up over their heads all at once, a sign of unity in the district. A loving farewell, a thank you for what he was doing. For his sacrifice. Was that really such a stupid thing to expect? Well, apparently it was, since the only reception he was currently receiving for his speech was silence.

Then he heard someone slowly clapping behind him. He turned around and saw that, of all people, it was Mayor Wells. Before long, everyone in the crowd was clapping along with him. It was moderate, pitiful, forced, and purely out of obligation, but it made Emmer breathe a little easier. Just a little.

"Well, and I thought I was a wordsmith," chuckled Everett good naturedly, possibly just grateful that Emmer hadn't done anything obscene while up here. "Ladies and gentlemen of District 9, let's hear it for your tributes: Maizie Nanahara and Emmer Skadsen!"

The pathetic wave of clapping was back, and looking out at the crowd, he saw that no one but the Mayor and Everett Bride was looking directly at them.

Happy Hunger Games.