And now we have District Twelve!

Alannis Arlington, 15

Reaping Day, 115 ADD.

"You fucking Seam rats are gonna run me outta business! The Keeper's oughta patrol that place like its got a fucking plague!"

Alannis scarcely heard the merchant's cries as she ran through the twisted labyrinth of the Merchant District's backroads. Legend had it that, when they rebuilt Twelve, the Capitol could only entice some rich people to move if they made the Merchant's District as hard to navigate for outsiders as possible. Harder for us starving folk to get by. Alannis severely doubted that it was all fiction.

She clutched the paper bag tight to her chest, its warmth heating her body through and providing a respite from the cool summer morning. The grease of the fried food inside made her fingers slick in a way that Alannis had come to associate with good eating and prosperity - welcomed thoughts on an otherwise bleak day. Alannis had no doubt that if she had a home, the morning would be pleasant - a nice escape to ease the metaphorical chill of the reaping. For those without a home, the cold morning was a scorn as it heralded the coming of more warm days and cold nights. Belonging to the latter group, Alannis simply cursed at the sun and moon for their devious dance.

Still, the sun had been kind with the day it brought. Without it, she knew she wouldn't've had the food in her hands to feed the ragtag group of orphaned kids she was apiece to. None of them were friends - a need for survival had snuffed any desire any of them had to get close to someone - but there was a mutual agreement to keep each other alive and well. That was all for the better too; without Nala and Fran to pick up the pieces of Alannis' self-admitted anger, who knows where she'd be.

The abandoned admin office of the old coal processing plant wasn't much but it was home. Or something close, at least. Though it had been newly constructed as District Twelve was rebuilt only some fifty years ago, it harboured the scars of Panem's poorest. The plant that the office had once been attached to had been notorious for being the site of rebellions and protests, earning it the moniker of 'Coriolanus' Bane.' Instead of inciting reforms to quell the anger of the Seam, the Capitol simply executed all who were too stubborn to be silenced and let the plant fall into ruin. One of Alannis' only memories of her older brother was him telling her the rumours about the place he had heard from school; that the Capitol believed that if the plant was condemned morally, the protests would end.

Whether by luck, fear or broken wills, the theory proved right.

Now the plant stood in ruin and disarray, claimed by even those that The Seam rejected. Alannis and her group only got the somewhat insulted office because people felt bad that they had nothing else. She and the rest of her group knew that, as soon as they were old enough and a new batch of kids were orphaned, they'd be kicked to the main area.

"We oughta stake our claim here," She had said once, imploring the others around her to fight for the only thing keeping them connected. "It's our fucking home!"

Nobody had jumped to fight alongside her, the unspoken acceptance of the ebb and flow of life in the disarrayed coal plant too normalised for everyone else.

Just as it had done back then, Alannis' heart ached as the office came into view. Though she had lost all sentimentality upon the death of her family, Alannis feared losing the only home she had come to know. It wasn't much - it couldn't be much - but it was somewhere that kept her head dry. The small office, no matter how dingy and disparate, served as one of the only pillars in her life that resembled hope. There, in those four walls, Alannis felt like she could let her guard down; maybe trust those around her a little more. In a life of cynicism, the office was the only thing she remained optimistic about.

"We'd be bigger than the other kids - we could make them sleep outside in the hallway, it's covered!"

Her heart ached again as she remembered how her groupmates - the closest things she could call friends - gazed at her with the same callousness they blessed the Capitolites with.

Maybe there was little point after all, for life in Panem was nothing but one losing battle.

Dusty Devlin, 18

A couple of weeks before the Reaping, 115 ADD.

Although their guitar was cold from its case, it never felt foreign or unwelcoming. The neck was slick underneath her fingers, it being one of the few treasured things in the Seam that coal hadn't dirtied to disrepair. Dusty's guitar was, as it always would be, an extension of her. Sure it was impersonal to keep it in the case from time to time - she preferred hauling it on her back and she was sure the guitar would agree too like some beloved kitten - but, undoubtedly, unveiling it before a show made her feel more like a rock star.

If it wasn't a part of them, then it was their substitute of a family. Or part of it, at least. Like Ricky and Connie, her guitar had always been there and always would be. It stood like a titan against all the irritable reminders of the life she once led; of the parents she once had.

Slinging the guitar over her shoulder and adjusting it so it sat perfectly against her, she smiled at her two companions.

"If we give them a boring show then I'm claiming all of the food when we get back - just saying!"

...

"Y'all already know what this one is called! It's a Mining for Mania favourite." Dusty never got tired of how exhilarating the stage could be. Energy coursed through her veins and induced a high that nothing, not even morphling, could recreate. "It's time for Caustic Canaries!"

The crowd cheered excitedly from beyond the stage, lost in what had become an intoxicating mix of artificial smoke and soot. Just for a moment, in that abandoned coal storage warehouse, it felt as if there was some unity - something more than just District Twelve, and Dusty lapped up every second of it.

They were proud that the song had become an anthem of sorts for the Seam. The links to everyday life, the ebb and flow of hope and hopelessness all to culminate in a symbolic 'we're fucked' message? Dusty knew that she, Ricky and Connie were geniuses for that. All three of them knew just how much it resonated with the people they sung to and how, in return for gifting them a representative song, the people of the Seam treated them like kings. Or, at least, that was what Connie had said and Dusty had taken to it, enamoured at the idea of being something more than another teen in Twelve.

Dusty could never get enough of performing, eagerly chasing any chance she could like one of the kids from the abandoned processing plant. Just as they were desperate for... well... anything, Dusty found a lifeline in performing that they never wanted to trade away.

The audience ate up the song just like they did every time they played it; some sang along to the words, others replicated Zircon's drum beats using their feet but most just took in the atmosphere of the song for what it was. Dusty never got tired of how rewarding it was and how performing seemed to make everything in the world stop for a moment. When they performed, everything went calm and manageable as if she had tapped into a small secret of the universe. Every single part of their body yearned for it to be the reality, something they could live through every single day.

And in three weeks? It would be.

Dusty knew that the audience, just as much as she herself and the boys, were savouring the last performance before the reaping. As they always did every year, Mining for Mania ended their small concert with a promise that it was a 'see you soon,' not a goodbye. Everyone in District Twelve - them included - didn't need to feed into the fear of the Hunger Games. Not yet, at least.

...

Back at the place the three of them called home, they enjoyed some of the nicer bread from the Snow District. It was imported straight from the Capitol and was somewhat of a guilty pleasure of Dusty's; memories of it were ingrained into her head yet she could never put her finger on why. She paid little mind to it, simply figuring that her family had often saved up for it when she was younger. The bread had been a gift from Chuck, a silent apology that he couldn't be there with them for the post-show meal. Not that they cared. It was better without him; a lot less tense and aggravated.

"What's the first thing you're gonna do after we get through tomorrow?" Zircon asked, ripping a chunk of the bread and dipping it into the warmed honey. "Aside from flipping the Peacekeepers off behind their backs."

Dusty didn't need to look at Zircon to know his playful stare was directed at her but she feigned oblivion all the same.

"I'll have you know that my plan is to buy the biggest cake from one of those Snow bakeries and then beg one of the guys at the market for some vodka or something. Nothing like celebrating the rest of our lives with a massive bang, right?"

Alaric snorted with laughter, leading Dusty to break out in a massive grin.

If she could capture the essence and remember it forever, she would.

Alaric "Ricky" Averhart, 18

A month before the reaping, 115 ADD.

Alaric had grown to love the lazy weekends that he, Zircon and Dusty indulged in. Instead of the laborious homework that other kids their age forced themselves through or even descending into the mines, the three of them spent the two days letting their creativity soar to come up with more hits after a night of performing. Perhaps one of his favourite things was the lack of direction; they had written songs about the surprisingly good wild dog soup Dingy Deena made, the way the Seam's layer of soot settled in the morning to even the class divides between the five sects of society in Twelve. No topic was off limits and he himself had a penchant for finding a way to insert fiddle solos, just to emphasise the sorrow of the moment.

Despite that, however, Alaric knew that somewhere in the band's life, he lost a bet with the devil and that his soul was something of a material object.

The prospect of the devil claiming his leverage over them was somehow scarier than the reaping despite it being a more regular occurrence. Chuck - or 'the Devil' as the band called him - was an unforgiving man who forwent compromises in lieu of thinly veiled threats. As Alaric, Connie and Dusty were all too aware, Chuck could likely destroy them just as quickly as he gifted them local fame. Responses to that varied but, for Alaric, he often chewed his lip and let his head cast downward as he got on with it. He was of the opinion that something so good as performing and being micro-celebrities had to come at a cost, right? It was only natural, a simple way of life, that in exchange for Chuck helping them, they'd return the favour. Especially after they had begged him to give them a chance, all three of them confident in what they could bring - what they could inspire.

Things weren't so bad at first; petty thievery and intimidating whoever Chuck needed silenced. Between Dusty's eloquence, Connie's vindictiveness and the ability to make people not doubt the threats he could make and the way people seemed unnerved at how quiet Alaric was, the three of them proved effective. In return, their gigs had more and more people attending. For a while, the symbiotic relationship was beneficial - the band experienced the fame they had only dreamed about whilst Chuck consolidated whatever power he seemed so desperate to hold onto. Ricky hadn't ever thought too hard about it, not when the jobs escalated to vandalism and violence. He, as he always had done, accepted it as the way things had to be. Unfortunate, but necessary.

That was, until Zircon and Dusty spoke about the ways it could all escalate.

"And what happens when he makes us kill? You ever think of that?"

Although Alaric knew that Dusty hadn't meant for her words to come out as venomous as they did - or he was sure she hadn't, at least - he couldn't help but agree with the slight fear they brought with them. That was a line they had yet to cross and one he wasn't too excited to do so. It'd been on the cards for a while, the three of them talking about when the time would come. Dusty had scathingly called it inevitable but she, like he himself, had agreed with Zircon when they first talked about it that it was for a good cause. Everyone they had dealt with in the past had been undesirables or criminals - why would it change when it escalated further?

The conversation ran through Alaric's head as Zircon repeated the words, almost as if they shared a conscience for a second.

"Then we take it for what it is and we thank him." Zircon had, over he time they spent together, seemed to let his anger be tethered by Alaric and Dusty. Once, way beyond what Alaric could remember, the bursts of anger were much more frequent. They still happened, but less so. Many a time had Alaric smiled softly with fond thoughts of it. "He's gonna give us a fuckin' good boost of popularity if he wants us to kill. Remember, we deserve this!"

...

"We... We had to do it, right? They were rebels."

Alaric could hear the traces of fear in Dusty's voice as they tried to convince themselves it was all justified, referring to those they performed to by the name the Capitol smeared them with. His thumb ghosted over the creases of his other palm as if he could still feel the slickness of the man's blood. For a second, the thought that he'd never be free of the feeling flickered in his mind. Alaric ignored it, in favour of listening to his friends talk.

"They were guilty," Zircon agreed, nodding his head. "As the Peacekeepers say, rebels are bad, right?"

All three of them knew as much as the next person from Twelve that what the 'Keepers said meant nothing. Half of them were people from the Capitol that wanted an excuse to beat those who lived in the Districts and the other half were the ones from One, Two, Four and Seven who wanted to extend the punishment of the Games beyond the summer months. Yet, in a way, using whatever delusional thought processes the hoards of the armed soldiers swore by made it better; almost as if using their rationale for killing made it all okay - that they'd be okay.

Zircon looked at Alaric and Dusty, expecting them to nod along. Without hesitation, eager to push the guilt of murder back into the depths of his brain, Alaric nodded his head tentatively. "It makes sense."

A silence settled between the three, all of them still caught up over what Chuck had made them do. In their minds, all of them fixated on how Chuck had asked them to carry out the crime so casually, as if it were nothing. Alaric focused on how angry the man had gotten when they tried to get out of it, suggesting other crimes that held the same value. The man had vehemently denied it, glaring at them as if he half expected them to go to the Peacekeepers with the request.

The only thing the man had to do was remind them of their deal, of what they owed him. He didn't need to list of what he had given them but, to make a point, he did. Chuck reminded them, very simply, that it was he who had given them their publicity and that he could make it disappear.

Alaric stopped reliving the memory as Chuck told them what he'd do for them in return, not wanting to be reminded about his deal with the devil.

Zircon "Connie" Zahari, 18

One Winter evening, 114 ADD.

Washing their hands at the basin they had memories of hadn't ignited something within themself the way they thought it would. Or, at least, he had imagined that the feeling would've stayed for longer. Zircon had sardonically imagined that, as he bent over the porcelain bowl rather than standing on the tips of his toes, he'd feel some cathartic release - something that matched the severity of what he had just done. He had even indulged in feelings of the opposite; imagining waves of regret washing over his body until he was unable to stand and had to be rescued by Chuck. Yet as he washed away the earthly remains of his once tormenter, condemning him to realm of memories, Zircon felt empty.

Revealing their former name and revelling in the look of horror that washed over Cadell Ziegler had been too fleeting of a high. Its feeling rivalled that of performing on stage, the exhilaration and adrenaline competitive in every nature. Yet, unlike the lingering feeling of post-show satisfaction, retribution's joys were scarce. Zircon's sourness turned to the Career victors who, year after year, spoke of the thrill killing brought them. From the way they spoke, murder seemed so satisfying and enduring in its effect. It seemed that way too; often did the Career tributes seem to have boundless energy in the arena as they let the kills upon kills they got fuel their very existence. Maybe that was why Zircon struggled to feel something when the initial high wore off; what they had done was retribution, not murder.

That had to be it, for he had simply righted a wrong that had gone unpunished for years.

Legally, it was on par with only a handle of things Chuck had ever asked him, Ricky or Dusty to do. Morally? It was probably one of the best things he had ever done.

In either case, the unfiltered satisfaction and joy of seeing Cadell's face as he made the connections and how he ultimately caused his own demise returned tenfold.

Zircon supposed that was where he'd have to draw the feelings from if he wanted to relive the moment; that small pit of knowing he had gotten the final laugh.

The winter air seemed colder when he stepped outside, the bite of the settling frost more vicious than before. Even in the richer sectors where he had so many memories of being seemed more unforgiving in its temperature. Not paying another thought to the building he had once known, nor to the crime he had just carried out with unadulterated glee, Zircon began the maze of a walk back to the Seam.

The ice crunched underneath his boots as he walked headstrong back home. He knew it was dangerous to be out at night in the Seam; petty criminals and the desperate alike thought nothing of mugging someone for a quick buck back at the black market or, by some fortune, something that could help a predicament at home. Whether it was the knowledge of what they had just done or the fact that they had long since learnt not to carry anything too valuable on them at night, Zircon cared little for their surroundings. Vigilant still, one always had to be in the Seam, but less caring.

"I trust it went well?"

Chuck's voice was expected at the top of the road that the band's house lay on. Expected yet, as always, unwelcomed.

Zircon glanced to the side, unsurprised to see the man reclining against one of the struggling streetlights. He took a second to silently appreciate just how spot on the band had been with equating the appearance of the devil to Chuck; the man, illuminated only by the artificial light, looked like something out of a fever dream. If Zircon hadn't been sure his mind was straight, he might've thought that the killing had led his brain down to a bad trip. Yet, as sure as anything, Zircon knew that their mind was as sane as it could be and they were staring at Chuck's predacious grin.

"He's dead, isn't he?" Zircon knew that Chuck was already aware of what had transpired. Not because the older man had faith in their abilities, no, but because he always seemed to know when they succeeded even before they told him. Once upon a time, Mining for Mania had thought it was because he was always looking out for them to make sure they were safe but, as time went on, it always felt more sinister.

They tried to piece together how, but nothing ever made sense so they all agreed to ignore it - no matter how infuriating it could be at times.

Chuck stifled a laugh as he walked forward and clapped Zircon on the back. "Now you'll be ready for anything."

The grin that Chuck wore was one that Zircon knew would be ingrained into his head permanently, it so primal and vicious in its own way. There's something more. There has to be.

Zircon simply shrugged and nodded, eyes cast downwards as he made his way back to the home, ignoring the way Chuck's stare still bore into the back of his head.

...

"Did Chuck get you to do something on your own?" Alaric stared straight at Zircon, eyebrows knitted in concern. He hadn't been home more than five minutes before the fiddle player had found his way to the kitchen to talk to him. Zircon knew that the other boy hadn't liked the escalations that their agreement with their 'manager' had taken, even more so than Dusty or themself. He knew Alaric hadn't liked it, remembering the conversations they all had about Chuck being something akin to the devil they wrote about in some of their songs.

Zircon cleared his throat, eyes flickering downwards. "Yeah. Someone dangerous - said it was better to do it alone."

His gaze glanced up to see Alaric's face still painted with worry.

"Don't worry about it," He continued, hoping the subtle change towards more confidence in his tone was enough to stop Alaric from focusing too much on it. "It was super low stakes Ricky, just couldn't have Dusty going with the moment and making something fall over or you playing a funeral song as we sneak up behind them."

He was relieved to see Alaric's features soften at the jokes made, knowing that the other boy could visualise both of the scenarios in his head. Just as he had intended, Alaric seemed more content with the answer and simply nodded after allowing himself a small chuckle.

"As long as you're sure..."

"Have I ever lied to you before?" Zircon asked, eyebrow raised and arms open as if a hug would fully symbolise that, yes, they were sure. "I only ever lie to Dusty and that's to get her off stage after concerts."

Alaric snorted as he accepted the embrace, gently squeezing Zircon as if to send a non-verbal bout of support.

For just a moment, Zircon let his mind wander to Chuck's intentions as he contemplated if being given access to his father was some sort of last hurrah. He hoped not.

Tatiana, Capitol Citizen, 28

The Reaping of District Twelve in the One-Hundred and Fifteenth Annual Hunger Games

The reapings for District Twelve were always unashamedly some of Tatiana's favourites. It was the most hopeless district, the one that saw no chance of ever having a Victor, yet year after year she found herself attached to the runts they sent up. She knew they mostly came from the Seam - one of her friends had moved to Twelve for a surveillance job and often talked about the different sections of Twelve. That and everyone, whether the Presidents of Panem liked it or not, knew of the Seam. Even some forty years on, people still spoke of the Girl on Fire and the place she came from.

She settled back in her recliner as the cameras gave an overarching pan of the district. Although the Capitol had built the place up and tried to make it look more appealing to get people to move there, no amount of cosmetic touches could get rid of the thick layer of coal dust that spread everywhere. It was all consuming - probably mimicking the despair of those who lived in Twelve permanently.

That had been something else her friend has said; "Well, the Merchant District's nice, the Snow District's a Capitol away from home but the Seam? I'd rather die than live there!"

Though the cameras always conveniently avoided it, Tatiana could just imagine it in her head, complete with the emaciated children who were just destined to have their name called in a few years. There was little time to dwell on Panem's poorest, however, as Cartenxia came into view - a vision of brilliant blue in a greyed place. Nobody really wanted to be the escort for District Twelve, that much was clear from the copious amount of escorts the district had gotten through. Hell, in the past ten years there had been eight different escorts. All of them had gotten into scandals, purposefully trying to ruin their reputation enough where even they couldn't escort for the lowest district. There had even been rumours that some of them went so far as to be avoxed as to not be associated with Twelve.

Cartenxia, however, had been resolute in her job. In the various interviews she had with Thyone, the escort expressed how Twelve was a stepping stone at worse but, at best, a place where diamonds could be found. Tatiana's mind wandered back to that interview as she grabbed a bowl of cubed popcorn, eager to see which four would be representing the district that year.

"Oh District Twelve! It's simply my favourite time of the year - the reaping!" Cartenxia's glee, whilst Tatiana found well placed, was unwelcomed in the coal mining district. As the walking representation of the blue sky beamed down at them, they simply gawked (or scowled, if they were older) back at her. "A time to show Panem that, yes, even District Twelve can do well!"

The crowd remained ever silent, doubting the escort's words.

"Now, of course, last year was a bit of a shamble, wasn't it? We need to give Kiara her dues - eighth really is impressive for us! But, sadly, the other three died in the Bloodbath once again." Cartenxia's eyes scanned the district before her, taking in their incredulous stares. It was obvious that they hated the way the Capitolite recapped the year prior but, as Tatiana had learnt from one of her interviews, it was why she did it. "No use dwelling on the failures of past tributes," She had said once, "Best get to the good part!"

Tatiana watched as Cartenxia simply sighed, taking a second to show a sign of sadness, before smiling once more. "But this year? This year'll be great for District Twelve! I can sense it in the air! There's just... something about it!"

Tatiana was thankful that, by District Twelve, the show edited out the Treaty of Treason sections. She loved watching it all the same, she really did, but she and the Capitol at large could only go so many districts in a row looking at the scathing faces of the teens. They only endured Districts Five and Six to see the pride in Seven's faces. The poorer districts all in one go - Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve and Thirteen - was torture. At least the Gamemakers knew that and adjusted it accordingly.

"We'll start with our lovely ladies!" Cartenxia beamed, taking her glove off with such excitement that Tatiana thought she could give some of the drama actresses some tips.

The effervescent bounce that Cartenxia had in her steps never got boring nor old and Tatiana was sure that she did it half to rile up her District. Rightfully so; most of Twelve were criminals who had landed their families there. If they hated it so much, perhaps they'd think twice about committing crimes. The camera zoomed in as the escort picked two slips of paper, then giving a panorama shot of the girls of District Twelve. The youngest looked the most worried, none of them wanting to have their name called out. The oldest - and the ones in need of being reaped, if you asked any sane Capitolite - looked bored and disinterested. It was as if they had stopped caring the older they got.

Tatiana would always revel in glee with how quickly their demeanours changed when their names were called out.

"Our first lovely lady," Cartenxia said with slick enjoyment as she stepped back to the microphone and made a show of tearing the seal. "Is Alannis Arlington!"

Tatiana fought down a gag of disgust as a lithe girl from the fifteen-year-olds section stepped forward. Emaciated to no end with no consideration to her appearance as a thin layer of coal dust still lined her skin, Alannis was as Seam-ish as one could get. Though Tatiana could appreciate that the ungodly scowl that she wore would help in the face of the other outer district kids, it only made her look less of a Victor. Cartenxia however, always professional, simply smiled and marvelled at Alannis as if she were the best thing in the world.

After standing the girl at her side, Cartenxia beamed once more at Twelve. "Our second lovely lady who'll join Miss. Arlington here is... Dusty Devlin!"

If Alannis Arlington had very few caring about her going into the Games, Dusty Devlin had many. The pan of the camera to show the reaction of Twelve revealed two boys in the eighteen-year-olds section looking particularly distraught as well as the general district seeming unhappy with the choice. The fact that she seemed loved appeared to do little to quell the surprise, shocked look on Dusty's face as she was escorted to the stage. She tried to look behind her a few times, no doubt to lock eyes with the two boys who were particularly upset with her reaping, but the Peacekeepers were unforgiving in their job. If it wasn't so heart wrenching - a lovely surprise from Twelve - Tatiana might've ignored how unsightly the girl's slouch was.

Cartenxia, as graceful as ever, looked past that and proudly smiled at Dusty. It was obvious which Seamrat looked like a stronger contender and Tatiana had to commend the eye for victory that Cartenxia undoubtedly possessed. When she got to a Career District? Well, Tatiana could already imagine her being laurelled with the record for most Victors brought home.

"And now for the lovely gentlemen who'll accompany Alannis and Dusty to the Capitol!"

The escort repeated her routine of getting to the bowl and choosing two names, her joy even more intense as if she did it solely to agitate those below and beside her who could do nothing but watch.

"The first male tribute who has the honour of representing District Twelve is... Zircon Zahari!"

Tatiana watched with bated breath as one of the boys who had so mournfully been effected by Dusty's reaping began to step forward. His face was still contorted with worry and concern, matched only by Dusty's on stage. Though he was still a little too thin for her liking, Tatiana could appreciate that he was clearly one of the more competent tributes seen from Twelve in a while. He took his place on the other side of Cartenxia, stealing only one glance with Dusty before looking ahead. Although she couldn't tell what was silently said between the two of them, Tatiana could only guess that the two of them were relieved that the other boy who had looked concerned at Dusty's reaping was safe - if by the way he looked even more distraught at Zircon being up on stage was anything to guide her judgement.

"Our final tribute for District Twelve in the One-Hundred and Fifteenth Annual Hunger Games is... Al-"

"I volunteer!"

Though Twelve was often silent, the world froze for a moment. Tatiana could feel the silence creep into her living room as even Thyone stopped giving her occasional quips. Nobody from District Twelve, not since the Mockingjay, had volunteered. Yet here was some eighteen-year-old, fear and concern at his friends being reaped still etching his face, volunteering.

Even Tatiana knew that this made the boy a contender, whether he liked it or not. She, like Cartenxia and no doubt the rest of the Capitol, could only smile as he took his place next to Zircon after announcing his identify as Alaric Averhart. It was obvious that they wanted to communicate, Tatiana could feel it through her screen, but they instead looked ahead as what was expected of them.

"Well, well, well! District Twelve may I present your tributes for the One-Hundred and Fifteenth Annual Hunger Games! Alannis Arlington! Dusty Devlin! Zircon Zahari! And Alaric Averhart!"

Tatiana could only imagine the office gossip tomorrow in the final working day of the season and by God would she eat up every single second of it.

Cassius Nerva, 38

The Reaping of District Twelve in the One-Hundred and Fifteenth Annual Hunger Games

Cassius never imagined it'd be so satisfying to see them being reaped. Hell, he hadn't ever considered that it'd be Alaric who volunteered. He supposed, however, it was for the best - he'd never have anything else going for him otherwise. Somehow Cassius couldn't see the Capitol supporting a quiet boy from District Twelve who was so reliant on his friends for, well, anything. Volunteering at least made him interesting. Their gazes were flurried with confusion, fear, a dash of contempt and, he was sure if he looked hard enough, anticipation. It was all of the things that made their music so infectious.

He could give the band that; they embodied their music well.

Mania for Mania had often talked about how they wanted to be top of the world - so many conversations Cassius had overheard about them wanting to emulate the success of Old World music icons. Night after night they had wistfully spoke about spreading their music beyond District Twelve, sometimes falling into fits of laughter over the 'dumb Capitol stage names' they'd don.

As dutifully as he had given them everything else in their career, Cassius placed Mining for Mania on top of the world.

The only difference was he, like his colleagues who stood suited at their sides, would watch eagerly as the band would inevitably fall.

Talk from the Capitol:

[PeetaApologist] mining for mania? they got songs? oh we WILL be streaming!

[PrayingD12DoesntGetBloodbathed] i know alannis is another feral kid from the seam but! hear me out!

And here's District Twelve! Big thanks to Erik, Nell, Linds and chclate for Zircon, Alaric, Dusty and Alannis respectively!

Sorry for the wait on this one; I really love all four of these kids and I wanted to portray them right. I didn't want to give away too much about them but I still wanted them to be compelling. I think I've reached a lovely medium so I'm very happy with how it all turned out! That being said, I'm not the happiest with Tatiana's PoV but it get's its intended message across so I can't complain too much!

Updates should be getting more frequent as IRL has calmed down; we've only got three more reapings to go until we get closer to the Games!

Next up is District Thirteen so I'll see you there!

As always, reviews are much appreciated.

~ Oli