Chapter 5 - Week Before The Reapings

Shackled To Circumstances

Chianti "Chi" Barlowe

16

~ District 9 Tribute ~

It was days like this, that Chianti truly hated living in District 9. These sort of days usually consisted of being stuck out in the open fields under the unrelenting midsummer sun, whilst getting pelted by both heat and UV radiation that would surely end with her skin being as wrinkly as a raisin by the time she hit the age of forty. Not to mention the copious amounts of insects buzzing around, having to continuously swat away the flies that ate at the sweat on her face, bothering her to no end as she tended to the grain that was demanded of her day by day.

It wasn't pretty work, in fact it was back-breaking and miserable to put it simply. There wasn't a way to sugarcoat the labour she was forced to undertake, the conditions were simply unliveable, and more often than not, people would often die from exhaustion mid-shift, especially during the summer months when District 9 was at it's hottest. Out of all of the Districts, Nine had to be one of the worst for working conditions, and was certainly up there with Districts 11 and 12. If that wasn't bad enough, to top this all off; there was nothing Chianti could do to escape from it.

Despite all of this however, no matter how hard the hand she had been dealt with was - Chianti remained silent. Not one complaint, not a single groan, not even a roll of the eyes. These were conditions that she was used to living in at this point, it was all Chianti had ever known. It was useless to whine about the life she had been given, it was still a life at the end of the day, and that was surely better than death.

The elements however, were the least of her worries, and were just one facet of the true misery she was often subjected to. Even though she spent hours of her days reaping the fields for grain alongside the masses of other workers in a similar position to herself, if there was one thing to complain about, one thing to absolutely despise about her situation… it was something far more sinister than some nasty weather.

The thing is about Chianti's life so far, is that it had always been a life under subordination. From the moment she was born, her way of life had been ingrained upon her due to her parents living situation. District 9 was historically one of the poorest districts of the Twelve, despite its importance in feeding the majority of the nation. Apparently - at least in the eyes of the Capitol - the workers that sowed their food were also the least inclined to eat any of it.

This left most of the district struggling to eat, with the majority of what they produced being exported, and the little that remained being quite costly. A simple implementation of supply and demand, which had resulted in desperate citizens prepared to work gruelling hours for only little pay. It was easy to exploit helpless people when only a few families had the monopoly of the grain industry in the palms of their hands.

Chianti's parents, were unfortunately not from one of those families, and like the majority of others, they were barely managing to scrape by even prior to Chianti's birth. Upon her entry into the world, she was only ever seen as a burden in the eyes of her parents. Another mouth to feed, another distraction from their relentless grind to claw their way into financial stability.

She didn't blame her parents for their outlook at that time, she understood how hard it must've been to raise an unplanned child in such circumstances. It's the very reason why, that as soon as she could walk on two feet, she wanted to be useful to them in any way she could. Earning her parents approval was one of the few things she strived for in life, and although her relationship with them had certainly improved over the years, she still felt as if she was stuck within an insurmountable rut. There was only so much in her immediate power that she could do to assist them, and sometimes all she felt like she was to them, was another set of hands that could help them get by.

Naturally, when her younger brother - Cress Barlowe - was born, their financial burden intensified. So when she came of age, Chianti went from a life of working around the house, to working out in the wheat fields. It was common for most kids to do so in District 9, with some doing so as early as eight years-old. Chianti was one of those kids, left with no other option but to follow her parents insistence and work in the fields of grain.

Chianti remembered she had hated it from the very start, going from a familiar place such as her household where she would assist with housework she had been accustomed to, to being thrown into a profession that she had absolutely no familiarity with. Despite this however, Chianti adapted, and soon enough she grew more efficient with the various tasks she was assigned with. After months, and then years, of working out in the fields, she came to learn that the work wasn't the worst aspect about it - it was the family she had to work for.

That brought her to her current predicament, as she stood with her head lowered, her long, chocolate brown hair dangling past her freckled cheeks, and her honey brown eyes trained on the floor as to try not to bring direct attention to herself. It was another one of those days, the days that made her hate living in District 9; the true source of her struggles. She stood amongst a mass of people, all of which were lined up in several rows spanning far back in absolute silence, as they roasted under the late June sun. The people around her varied in ages, some being as young as eight years-old, and others being as old as their mid-sixties; a rarity of an age to live up to within District 9.

The silence was overwhelming for the sheer quantity of people there, with only the distant buzz of cicadas audible enough to fill the void of voiceless air. Despite this, Chianti could still sense the intense atmosphere that had been brought about, the dread being so thick that she could almost drown in it.

The reason was justified of course, they were never lined up like this when something good had happened. It was only ever an omen for when something had gone wrong, and when something was about to get even worse. It could be anything at this point, it was never certain what travesties the mass of workers and Chianti were going to be dealt with. A dismissal of those that were holding back the production of grain? News of budget cuts that would see their pay reduced even further? Or perhaps even the worst of it, something Chianti had seen on numerous occasions - physical punishment.

Chianti had been on the receiving end of the latter various times, whether it be for minor blunders that anyone could make, or simply because the daughter of her employers harboured a resounding resentment for her due to a reason unbeknownst to Chianti.

It had started way back when she had first started working under the Kain Family, one of the wealthiest families of the District that owned several of the largest grain fields that spanned across the confines within the Districts borders. She had only been eight years-old back then, when she had been frantically trying to traverse the large expanse of her designated working area on her tiny legs.

She remembered her first interaction with the Kain family's daughter - Evelyn Kain - from all the way back when she had started working for them. Chianti had been frantic that day, trying to keep up with the demand of the work and expectations that had suddenly piled on to her. She hadn't even see the girl as she flew around the corner of grain stalks, colliding into her and causing both of the girls to fall to the ground. It had been a fairly soft bump, nothing that would've caused actual harm to either of them, and one that should've ended with the two standing up and brushing the dirt off of their clothing.

Evelyn however - like the little demon she was - played up her injuries, and cried hysterically as Chianti sat dumbfounded by her reaction. She remembered the insults the girl hurled at her, calling her every name under the sun that could be used to demean Chianti's background of poverty, before Evelyn ran to her parents to tattle on her.

Chianti had received lashes that day, lashes that had left a series of scars on her back that had faded over time, only to be replaced by more every time she was pulled up on an infraction - or when Evelyn was bored and wanted to torment her. The scars on her back still flared up in pain at the memory of that first punishment, perhaps more painfully than any punishment she received nowadays. After all, she had developed quite a high pain threshold after years of this same treatment.

What was even more imprinted on her brain over the pain however, was the infuriating grin Evelyn had made as she watched Chianti bearing the consequences of ever crossing her. The shit-eating grin and gleeful look in her eyes had caused bubbling hatred to flare within Chianti, such intangible spite that she had to forcefully bury deep within herself, or risk the chance of losing all control.

And so she did, for eight long, gruelling years. Eight years of never ending punishments for ridiculous reasons, continuously getting picked on by Evelyn whilst harbouring an unbridled rage that she refused to let surface. As much as Chianti would've liked to unleash on the pampered bitch, she knew it would only end up so much worse for her if she were to do so. Unfortunately, she was left with no choice.

As Chianti looked up once more, she felt her blood run cold as she recognised a few members of the Kain Family exiting their mansion, a colossal house located at the top of a hill overlooking all of their land. It was quite possibly the most daunting thing she could be witnessing, the way they marched towards the workers at the bottom of their hill with vindictive looks that could turn a person to stone.

Many of the people around her shuffled uncomfortably, they too also aware of the impending danger they were all in as their employers approached them with a menacing energy. There was not one person amongst the group that hadn't experienced the punishment that the Kain's liked to deal out, but there was no saying who todays unlucky recipient would be.

Chianti's eyes analysed which members of the family they were dealing with today, their vastly extensive lineage allowing for there to be countless members of authority among their ranks. There was a multitude of offspring within the family, although they rarely faced their employees simultaneously. They seemed to like to take it in turns.

Chianti noted about four distant figures, steadily approaching them with a daunting regality to their pace. The first and most prominent of the lot could be seen front and centre, the father and overall leader of their family - Killian Kain. He was a serious looking man, with a broad figure and and giant hands that had seen to countless beatings in his days.

Killian was despised by everyone there, but that was only second to the fear they had for him, knowing exactly what he was capable of, and how far his influence stretched. Killian was originally a Capitolite, which is where his extensive wealth accumulated from. Many of the wealthier families in the Districts stemmed from either Capitol heritage, or were rewarded for being historically pro-Capitol during the days of rebellion. The Kain family however, were recent inhabitants of District 9, installed within as figureheads a few decades back when Nine had been experiencing a severe blight with their crops.

Killian got Nine's grain production back in order, however the cost came with heavy restrictions to the people of Nine's freedom, with the latter being ran like dogs with how hard they were forced to work.

Of course, the tyranny didn't end with Killian, as Chianti's eyes locked on to his wife - a horrid woman named Celine Kain. This woman followed her husband around like a lost puppy, playing cheerleader for every atrocity he committed and sometimes even taking more extreme measures in the hopes to impress him. Chianti had one distinctive memory of Celine kicking an underperforming child worker in the chest with her high heeled shoe, actually managing to break the poor kids ribs and puncture his lung.

Naturally, the case was swept under the rug, and she got off scot-free whilst that child's parents had to bury their boy, not even remotely close to being able to afford the operation to save his life. As horrific as the situation was, most - if not all - of the workers around Chianti, didn't bat an eye at the murder. It was just another one of many injustices they had become accustomed to.

Accompanying Killian and Celine Kain, was the elder son - Dillion Kain. Chianti didn't know much about the boy, as he usually didn't get involved much with the workers nor the punishments that were dealt to them. In fact, if she had to guess, he had always seemed like the most level-headed one of the children, who mostly kept to himself despite his upbringing. Chianti couldn't quite recall there ever being an instance of Dillion being as egregious as his family, which made it a little strange that the boy was there today alongside his malignant family.

As Chianti studied the boy, she couldn't help but notice that it didn't seem like he wanted to be there at all, with his eyes heavily averting from the crowd below him, and a begrudging frown etched upon his handsome face.

Handsome? Chianti questioned herself, criticising her inner thoughts. Why am I thinking that? He's probably no better than the rest.

Last of all - and to Chianti's dismay - there was of course the girl that had made her life a living a hell, the one and only Evelyn Kain. She gracefully walked by her parents side, her nose held in the air in a prissy manner, as she eyed the mass of workers as if they were dog-shit she was about to tread on. Her arms were folded, emphasising her hostility to the lot of them as the distaste she emanated became all the more palpable.

Upon seeing Evelyn approaching towards the crowd, Chianti struggled to contain her pure unadulterated hatred for the girl, forcefully having to clench her fists as she buried her fingernails into her palms. She felt herself gnawing at the inside of her cheek, disrupting the flesh and causing blood to leak into her mouth.

Calm down, don't do anything stupid, she insisted to herself, taking some deep breaths to calm her flaring emotions. Chianti was generally a calm person as it was, very rarely allowing herself to display what she felt on the inside. She was polite, well-mannered, everything she had to be in order to not instigate the hostility she was trying to avoid.

This however, never did her any favours in relation to Evelyn. The girl was merciless, and would often push her buttons to their limits in order to elicit a reaction. The best Chianti could do was bear the brunt of the treatment; she refused to play into Evelyn's hands, especially not after the one time she did.

It was merely a month ago, in very much the same situation as the current day. Chianti had been picked out of the crowd by Evelyn directly, which was a common occurrence at that stage. Whenever a worker was picked out directly, everyone knew what was going to come; some manner of beatings or punishment that was mostly done as a way to keep everyone else in line; essentially a deterrent for acting out.

Well, that day in particular, Chianti had done nothing wrong. She had met her quotas, kept her head down - hell, she hadn't even seen Evelyn that day. There was never a reason given for why Chianti was chosen by Evelyn, usually she had some half-assed reasoning for needing to punish Chianti. However, the wicked girl didn't really need a reason ultimately, Chianti had little choice in the matter. Serve her punishment - or starve.

She didn't know what came over her as she was receiving that punishment. Chianti recalled it having been slaps that day, a series of smacks across her face that left her cheek swelling up as if she had an allergic reaction. Regardless, something came over her as she was reduced to all fours, struggling to get up as a concussion was brewing within her. An instinct to defend herself? A desire to fight back and seek retribution? It could've been a combination of both of those things, but the result was the same nevertheless.

She had slapped Evelyn back.

The lapse in judgement had resulted in shock for the two of them, Chianti having been horrified that she let her anger get the better of her and that she retaliated as a result, whilst Evelyn was surprisingly silent as she had stared at Chianti with an enigmatic expression, holding a hand to her delicate cheek that had likely never seen the palm of another persons hand.

Chianti remembered having come to her senses, panicking as she fled the the terrifying situation and vacating the wheat fields in terror. She had overdone it, she had struck one of her employers - that employer being Evelyn of all people. She knew the repercussions were likely to be severe.

Yet strangely enough, they weren't. For some odd reason, Evelyn never appeared to have reported the incident to her parents, in fact she never seemed to have acknowledged it at all. Chianti had slapped her harder than anyone had likely touched her in her life, and it was then, that Evelyn decided to let it slide?

Chianti could never figure out why nothing had come from that slap, although it didn't change much when she returned to work out in the fields. Conditions remained the same, members of the Kain family still treated her terribly, yet no worse than she had before. The only difference, was that Evelyn kept her distance. This time, there was some unspoken tension between them, different to what there was before. It was like Chianti was walking on eggshells around the girl, knowing that at any point she could rain down true hell upon her for having laid her hands on the untouchable.

Perhaps Evelyn knew if she were to say anything, Chianti would likely disappear by her fathers hands. She would lose her toy, her source of amusement - it was the only explanation that made sense to Chianti. She still somehow expected retribution to occur at any point now, Evelyn had left her alone for the good part of a month since the incident, but it was likely only a matter of time until their feud went back to the status quo.

Chianti's thoughts were cut short, as the four Kain family members arrived at the archway at the bottom of their hill, eyeing down their workers with an intimidating sneer. She felt herself tensing up, preparing for the inevitable conflict that would likely transpire.

Killian's eyes scanned over the crowd, a sense of frustration heavily evident within his glare. Killian was by no means a patient man, Chianti having seen him lash out at many people for supposedly working too slowly, or wasting his time. She doubted they'd be left in suspense for very long, if something was agitating the aggressive man - he'd let it be known with no delay.

"Do you morons have any idea what time of year it is?" Killian growled, his anger beginning to surface as he folded his arms. "This is the time of year where our supply is most in demand. Festivals, parties, tesserae… they're all about to start cropping up. And what do you have to show for it!?"

The man bellowed, causing quite a few people around Chianti to wince in fear. His voice was quite possibly the most ominous thing any of them could hear in their day-to-day lives, Killian's presence was nothing short of terrifying. Hearing it with increased decibels was just rubbing salt in the wound. Killian began to pace back and forth slowly, staring down every worker that he passed at the forefront of the crowd.

"The Reapings are in one week, and that kicks off our busiest period of the year over the duration of the Hunger Games. How come, my production estimates are not being met? I'm being hounded by the Capitol for not meeting their expectations, and all I have to show for it are a bunch of lazy fucks who think they can sit on their asses and not contribute," he roared, causing the people directly in front of him to flinch. "What am I paying you for!? For me to look like a jackass in front of President Thorne? Apparently so!"

You're barely paying us at all, Chianti thought to herself, holding her tongue as she forced a passive expression on her face.

"We give you jobs, we give your worthless lives purpose, and this is how you're repaying us?" Celine spoke up, sneering at the crowd as she placed her arm on Killian's back and gripped his shoulder possessively. "Do you know how easily we can take that all back? How easily we can drop all of you and import drones to do your job ten times more efficiently?" Celine continued.

Hypothetically, they could certainly do that, they had both the connections and the resources to make that a reality. It didn't stoke a whole lot of concern within Chianti however, if they were to do that, they would've done it a long time ago. The truth was, doing so would cause District 9 to collapse completely, making the citizens redundant and leading them into an ensured culling of the District's population. The Capitol still needed the people of Nine for their farce of a utopia, to maintain the image that they were still merciful rulers that ultimately saved them all from the end of the world. They couldn't have a repeat of District 13.

"I expect that all of you will cooperate over the next week, you know what is on the line," Kallias threatened, his face having turned red with anger as he continued to pace back and forth. "But for the time being, we cannot let this go undisciplined. We clearly need to remind you all of the consequences for underperformances like this."

Chianti gulped, the words sending a chill down her spine as countless of the people around her shuffled uncomfortably at the man's words. They knew where this was going, it was time for someone to be punished.

"Father… is that really necessary? Don't we need everyone to be at their most capable to meet these quotas?" Dillion spoke up, his voice apprehensive as he tugged on his fathers sleeve. Killian stopped his pacing momentarily, eyeing his son with disappointment.

"You see Dillion, this is why I brought you out here today. This is something you're going to have to learn if you're ever going to take on the mantle of my legacy," he explained coldly, lacking compassion in every word. "Leniency leads to ineptitude, these idiots will never learn if there are no stakes."

Dillion looked like he was about to retort for a moment, before he sighed and lowered his head in defeat, likely knowing his words wouldn't sway his father. Evelyn on the other hand, looked quite gleeful about the scenario, stepping up to her father and gripping his wrist pleadingly.

"Please please please father, can I handle this one?" The girl begged excitedly her eyes twinkling like a puppy. Killian looked his daughter in the eyes, smiling at her willingness as he pet her hair appreciatively.

"See Dillion? Your sister understands, she's on the right track," he chortled, before turning back to Evelyn. "Of course dear, show your brother how it's done."

Evelyn hopped on the spot excitedly, before hugging her father and then turning to face the crowd of workers. Her excited smile quickly turned into a devious grin, her eyes scanning the crowd as she likely contemplated who her victim would be.

"I've looked into the portions of product all of you have been collecting, and there are so many underwhelming results that's it's pathetic," Evelyn taunted the silent mass of workers, all too fearful to say anything back. "I'm honestly surprised any of you bother to turn up to work anymore, it seems as if you don't want to get paid!" She continued, crossing her arms as if she was a reflection of her father.

Chianti felt her teeth gnashing together, wanting for nothing more than to wrap her fingers around Evelyn's throat and squeeze as hard as she could. The audacity for her to say this whilst they all worked their asses off, in order for her to live her luxurious lifestyle. If only the girl could have a dose of reality.

"With that being said, there was one under performer that stood out from the rest. Someone I just couldn't help but notice how useless they've been," Evelyn announced, her eyes resting directly on Chianti's. There it was, the same old targeting she had felt the brunt of for the past eight years. Chianti kept her expression soft, not wanting to notify Evelyn of just how desperately she wanted to knock her lights out.

"Chianti Barlowe! Step forward," Evelyn demanded, narrowing her eyes at Chianti as a few heads turned her way. Chianti sighed, having expected this from the moment she saw Evelyn approaching them all from the mansion. All she could do was obey and retain her well-mannered demeanour, she couldn't let Evelyn know she was getting to her.

The people around her made a path as Chianti apprehensively waded her way to the front, her head lowered submissively in order to hide any defiance that rushed through her system. She could hear Killian humming in disapproval, watching her as she trudged forward to reach the front.

"This one again hm? Will you ever learn girl?" Killian grunted in bemusement.

"She's always been problematic, we really should reconsider her position here," Celine scoffed venomously, having always held a resentment towards Chianti since that day she collided into Evelyn.

"Hold on Evelyn," Dillion spoke up, sounding rather doubtful. "I've seen the production numbers as well, this girl wasn't among the worst producers. In fact, she produced more than her allotted quota."

Chianti felt her heart swell for the boy, taken aback by someone - one of the Kain's of all people - actually sticking up for her. She couldn't figure out why he would be doing something like that, especially when he had nothing to gain from doing so. Had she misjudged the eldest son of the Kain family? Evelyn turned to Dillion, glaring at him darkly.

"Mind your own business Dillion! This goes deeper than just production numbers," Evelyn hissed at her brother, before grabbing Chianti by the wrist and dragging her closer. Chianti stumbled forward, struggling to keep her footing and prevent herself from falling into Evelyn. She barely managed to regain her stability, before Evelyn gripped her long, brown hair from the back, pulling it just enough to cause pain on Chianti's scalp, forcing her to stay frozen in place to prevent it from ripping out.

"Performance isn't just related to results. It's behaviour as well, and this little bitch needs to be taught a lesson," Evelyn continued, before placing her free hand under Chianti's tanned chin and gripping both of her heavily freckled cheeks.

"Behaviour? What has she done that's heinous enough to warrant this?" Dillion inquired doubtfully. Through the corner of her eye, Chianti could see Evelyn lean her head forward over Chianti's shoulder, so that her lips rested right near her ear.

"She knows," Evelyn cooed, staring directly at Dillion. "And it doesn't concern you."

"That's enough," Killian interjected, causing Evelyn's grip on Chianti to tighten slightly. Killian proceeded to look towards the mass of workers, all of them watching the rare quarrel between two Kain family members. "The rest of you, get back to work. If you slack off, you'll earn the same fate as her."

Killian's thick finger pointed at Chianti, her body remaining tensed up, but a relenting expression still planted on her face. She was very used to this by now, the control she had over displaying her emotions was an inherent skill she had developed. As the crowd began to disperse, many of them watched Chianti inconspicuously, having somewhat of an idea of what she was in for. What they didn't know however, is that the kind of torment Evelyn had for her was special, and much more… personal.

"You're coming with me, Chi…" Evelyn hissed into her ear, poking fun at the nickname she had been called for most of her life. Chianti felt her head lull forward as Evelyn released her grip on her hair, before her body was suddenly dragged by her wrist as Evelyn led her away. Chianti couldn't help but look back at the scene she was being led away from, her eyes fixating on the three Kain's remaining behind. Her eyes locked with Dillion's momentarily, the expression he gave in response being rather unreadable, but emitting a subtle sense of empathy for the girl. Her vision of Dillion was cut off quite abruptly however, as Evelyn and herself arrived at what the Kain conglomerate called "the Barn"; a large wooden building housing a plethora of farming equipment.

Chianti knew however, that they weren't there to simply fetch some tools to reap the fields. No, the Barn also housed one of the scariest locations on the entire Kain estate. The very back of the said structure, contained a sound-proofed chamber that many of the workers had dubbed "the Punishment Room". Chianti was all too familiar with the Punishment Room by that stage, even before entering it she could recall the pungent stench of bleach and sanitiser that was used to wash away the blood that would splatter along the floors. She often questioned to herself how in the hell these people could get away with treatment such as this, before often being reminded that they were Capitolites through and through.

Evelyn silently led Chianti through the Barn, a stark contrast to the way she'd always usually led her through to the Punishment Room in the past, incessantly taunting and insulting her whilst pushing her around as if she were a rag doll. The wordless atmosphere was almost too eerie for Chianti, and completely uncharacteristic from Evelyn.

Was she doing this on purpose? Chianti wondered to herself, nearing the Punishment Room with every step. Was the fear of the unknown part of Evelyn's sick and twisted punishment?

Chianti bit her lip in restraint as she felt Evelyn jerk her arm forward, throwing Chianti past her and causing her to stumble into the middle of the room. Chianti caught a glimpse of the various tools hanging against the walls, not tools used for farming, but rather instruments of pain infliction. She stood steadily as she turned to Evelyn, who lazily sauntered towards her with slow steps.

"I apologise for not performing as you expect Evelyn, I'll try to do better in the future," Chianti bowed her head, forcing the words out despite everything within her screaming to do otherwise.

Punch her.

Kill her.

Rip her fucking face off!

As her eyes were kept lowered to the floor, she heard Evelyn stop a few feet in front of her, still not saying anything. This did not remain the case for much longer however, as when Evelyn finally did speak, Chianti was certainly not prepared for what she had to say.

"Look at me," Evelyn commanded, her voice an octave lower than it usually was. Chianti looked up apprehensively, taken aback by Evelyn's tone. The girl stared at Chianti strangely, her aura of superiority a distant memory as Evelyn gazed at her with a strange hunger in her eyes.

"Hit me," Evelyn instructed, causing Chianti's cautious demeanour to convert into one of bewilderment.

What did she just say? Chianti questioned internally, the words simply not computing in her brain.

"Huh?" Chianti uttered, at a loss for words as she tried to process what the girl had asked of her. Evelyn repeated the words, her resolve unwavering.

"Hit me," she said again, taking another step towards Chianti. "I want you to hit me."

It took a few moments, but Chianti finally began to associate the words with their meaning. Hit her… Evelyn was asking her to hit her. This didn't make any sense to Chianti, this couldn't be what the girl was saying. There had to be some other meaning, some ulterior motive. Perhaps she wanted to get Chianti to strike her in order to get her into more trouble? That was the only reason Chianti could think of, because there was no way that the Evelyn Kain, was asking for Chianti to hit her.

"I-I don't follow…" Chianti replied nervously, causing Evelyn to click her teeth in frustration, making a tsk sound.

"What about the words "hit me", do you not understand?" Evelyn said impatiently, closing the distance between the two of them. Chianti felt herself flinch back slightly, not having expected such close proximity with the crazed girl as she looked at her with an insatiable stare.

"Slap me. Punch me. Strike me. Do everything to me, that I've ever done to you in this room," Evelyn insisted, leaning close to Chianti's ear as her words took a breathy, excited tone. "Don't you want to?"

Of course she wanted to, she had wanted nothing more than to release all the resentment she had built towards the girl in front of her, dishing out every punishment she had ever received and making her suffer for it. But still, it's not as if she could just do that, that wasn't the type of person Chianti was… at least she didn't think so.

"I shouldn't be doing such a thing, it's not right," Chianti protested, fighting her inner demons as Evelyn grew more bold.

"But I've been so cruel to you," Evelyn purred, tracing her fingers across Chianti's collarbone and causing her to grow even more uncomfortable. "I've made your life a living hell, I've been a baaaad girl. Isn't it what I deserve?"

Yes. Yes. Yes it is what you deserve you bitch.

"N-no, I've been the one messing up. It's what I deserve," Chianti professed, causing Evelyn to abruptly stand back, a look of annoyance plastered across her face.

"Ugh, are you serious right now? I'm giving you free shots at me and you're denying them?" Evelyn glared, putting a hand on her hip. "I swear, I'll actually start beating you soon if you don't do as I say!"

Chianti remained silent for a moment, her eyes wide as she searched Evelyn's face for answers. As much as she tried to reason with logic, she simply couldn't determine an answer for herself. The only way she could, was by asking Evelyn herself.

"Um… okay then, I suppose I can," Chianti relented, shuffling uncomfortably as she rubbed her arm awkwardly. "But, can I ask why?"

Evelyn looked at her for a moment, before glancing to her side nervously. Her face contorted into an expression reminiscent of embarrassment, something she had never seen Evelyn do before. Just as Chianti was thinking Evelyn wouldn't elaborate, the girl decided to speak.

"Fine," Evelyn sighed, scratching the back of her head awkwardly. "That time when you slapped me recently… it wasn't like anything I've ever experienced."

Evelyn paused, letting the mystery hang in the air for a little longer.

"At first, I was in disbelief. Nobody had ever hit me before, not even my own father. But, when I came to my senses, and I realised you had ran away… I realised that I kind of… liked it," Evelyn confessed, her embarrassment still evident, yet a growing sense of excitement igniting within her as she recalled the memory. "I've had the power to do anything I wanted my whole life, I've lived every day being feared by others. But getting slapped by someone like you… the pain, the humiliation, it gave me such a rush! Just a jolt of energy that made me feel funny inside."

Chianti processed the confession in her mind, completely taken aback by Evelyn's words. This had not been what she was expecting, this was completely out of the realm of sanity. Evelyn felt pleasure at being slapped by her? By being humiliated? Was she a lunatic?

As Chianti recalled the moments from a few seconds prior, how Evelyn had tried to coerce Chianti into hitting her, and the manner in which she had done so. She couldn't help but feel weirded out by the whole ordeal. It was almost like there was some underlying sexual nature to the situation, as if Evelyn had discovered some sort of masochistic desires within her - and Chianti was the source.

This had to be some sort of experimentation to Evelyn, no wonder she hadn't approached Chianti within the past month, or even told her parents about being struck by her. There's a good chance she was trying to make sense of these desires.

"Okay…" Chianti responded, unsure of how to handle the situation. "If that's what you really want… I guess I can oblige."

Do I even have a choice? Chianti thought to herself bitterly.

Evelyn's eyes lit up, before a devious hunger emerged on her face.

"Is that so?" She smirked, her voice barely above a whisper. Chianti couldn't help but feel thrown off by the sultry voice Evelyn had adopted, the tone sounding so alien coming from her. This didn't stop Chianti from readying herself however, preparing to do something she had only ever dreamt of doing; inflicting pain onto Evelyn.

"Well do it then… hit me like you've always wanted to," Evelyn teased in anticipation, her arms stiff by her side as she waited for Chianti's reckoning. Chianti rose a shaky arm, her nerves coursing through her veins as she had second thoughts about committing to this masochistic act.

Do it Chi, this is what you've waited for, she found her brain telling her, as she slowly lifted her arm. It was only a slap right? A harmless little slap. Chianti took a few shaky breaths in apprehension, before finally striking Evelyn across the cheek with a light slap, making a small smacking sound as her palm met Evelyn's flesh and slid right across. A few seconds passed as Chianti lowered her hand, before Evelyn turned her face back to Chianti, a fiery anger within her eyes.

"What the hell was that!? You call that a slap? It was like you threw a napkin at my face," Evelyn huffed, her hands on her hips as she scolded Chianti.

"I-I'm sorry! Did you want me to try again?" Chianti cried out.

"Yes! Again, and harder!" Evelyn commanded enthusiastically, trying to rile up Chianti. "Think about all the pain I've caused you, all the scars that remain on your body. Put that pain into your slap."

Chianti swallowed, the memories of Evelyn's punishments flooding back into her mind. In all of the confusion, she had forgotten just how much she despised the girl, but as the flashbacks came and went, her fury began to ignite, reaching very precarious levels.

Evelyn wasn't expecting the next slap to the face. It came suddenly, abruptly, completely out of left field. Just as it had on that day a month ago, Chianti's palm collided with Evelyn's cheek, causing the girls head to follow the momentum as her hair flew wildly in it's trail. As Chianti's arm followed through, ceasing it's movement somewhere near her own hip, Evelyn's face was left stunned, her eyes wide with surprise as she held a hand to her fair-skinned cheek, which had then begun to flush red from the collision. An imprint of Chianti's hand could be seen developing underneath Evelyn's fingers, the splotchy colour reddening with every passing second.

After a few moments, the two glanced at each other, both surprised by Chianti's spontaneous blow. Chianti panted heavily, a strange sense of excitement flooding through her veins, whilst Evelyn appeared to develop a similar sensation as she grinned wickedly at Chianti.

"Again," Evelyn purred, straightening her composure with excitement gleaming in her eyes. And so she did. Once again, Chianti struck Evelyn, beginning to get a feel for how hard Evelyn liked it. As her hand hit Evelyn's face, the girl let out a pained, yet somehow pleasured yelp as the force of Chianti's hand caused her to stumble back a bit. This time, Chianti was a little concerned she had gone too far, the smallest bit of rationality remaining in her mind urging her to consider what Evelyn's parents might do if this got back to them.

However, this was quickly cast aside as Evelyn regained her stance, spitting a bit of blood from her mouth as she flashed a blood-stained grin at Chianti.

"Again!" Evelyn cried out, a wild, animalistic glee forming in her fixated gaze. Chianti at this point, was more than happy to obey. She slapped Evelyn hard, and then she did it again. Over and over, again and again, she pounced on the girl, straddling her as she continued a flurry of strikes. The whole time, Evelyn cackled and giggled, her moans of pain mixed with ecstasy filling the sound-proofed room, her mouth spouting a constant barrage of playful taunts and degradations to egg Chianti on.

Chianti was unsure of what was coming over her; the polite, well-mannered girl that was respectful to everyone she encountered. What she did know however, was that she was really enjoying this.

Perhaps, a little too much.

Jet Rushen

15

~ District 12 Tribute ~

"Whew!"

The single word - or rather effort induced exhale - left the lips of Jet Rushen as he abruptly stood up from his crouched knee position. His thin, caramel coloured arm raised to his forehead to wipe the thick coat of sweat that threatened to envelop his whiskey brown eyes. The exhale was the signification of a job well-done, the completion of his efforts that he had been chipping away at for the past few hours.

He stood back for a few moments, admiring the result as his eyes scanned the neatly trimmed rose bushes that lined the back of the vast expanse of garden on the property, rather proud of what he had achieved in only a days work. The Mayor had estimated it'd take a few days at least to get the bushes looking neat once more, but Jet had been very optimistic that he'd get the job done. After all, if he wanted to retain this duty among his assortment of odd jobs, then he certainly had to impress.

Jet couldn't help but allow himself to collapse onto the lush green grass, feeling his back sink into the soft ground in a state of bliss as the efforts of the day began to catch up to him. He wasn't a work-horse by any means, there was only so much physical activity that his skinny body could take. His limbs ached as he groaned in ecstasy, the relief of having finished the job and the tranquil feeling of laying on the cool grass almost enough to let him drift off to sleep.

It had been quite some time now that Jet had been doing the occasional gardening job on the property of the Mayor and his family. He was by no means a professional gardener, but he was willing to apply himself to anything if he could put his mind to it. It was simply one among a multitude of other jobs Jet had undertaken in recent years, he was a handyman of sorts as he was simply too wiry, and too young to go working in the coal mines.

It wasn't as if he had much of a choice either, he'd take whatever jobs he could get. After the passing of both his parents, both he and his siblings were always looking for extra ways to rake in more cash. His father had been a coal miner back when he was around, and when Jet was younger he had always assumed he'd follow in his fathers footsteps. That was until a devastating accident happened deep within the mineshafts, a ceiling collapse that had crushed his father in an instant. Hundreds had lost their lives that day, their departed souls leaving families behind with no body to recover.

Jet's family were some of the lucky few that had their loved ones body recovered, although it might've been better if they hadn't. He had been young at the time, but he still remembered the ghastly image of his fathers corpse sprawled out on the dusty ground of the mines entrance, alongside all of the other recovered bodies for identification. His entire family had to witness the remains of his battered and broken body, barely recognisable as the man that had been there all their lives. The image was still etched into his mind, causing him to shudder anytime he closed his eyes and saw flashes of the event that had left him scarred.

His mother followed not too long after his fathers death. Her broken heart resulted in her essentially giving up on life, refraining from taking care of herself and ultimately succumbing to an untreated infection. It's not as if they really had the option to treat it to be fair, his father had primarily supported them through working in the coal mines, so when he died, so did their monetary income. However, Jet knew that if they had been aware of their mothers situation, both him and his siblings would do anything to pool enough money together to have her treated - no matter the cost.

That unfortunately, was not the way in which it played out. Till her final days, Jet's mother hid her debilitating condition from her children, having likely given up on her situation and welcoming the cold embrace of death to reunite her with her husband. This death had impacted Jet even harder than his fathers, he and his mother always had a closer bond with him being the youngest child. Before her bout of depression, Jet's mother had always been a kind, generous person with a plethora of optimism brimming within her.

Jet, the impressionable kid he had been, always had been instilled with his mothers outlook on life. He too had always held a hopeful world view, that things would always turn out for the better some day. His mother may have lost this line of thinking upon her husbands passing, but Jet refused to let himself follow his mothers fate. The killing of her spirit only led her down a path of despair; allowing himself to follow in her footsteps would only lead to history repeating itself.

As Jet had always hoped, things certainly did improve as time passed - at least with his own situation. With a little resilience, his situation was certainly better than it had been in those dark times. Sure, he wasn't exceptionally well off by any stretch, but he and his brothers were getting by okay, and that's all that mattered to Jet. There may not have been a light at the end of the tunnel yet, but he believed that end would come about some day.

With that being said, life still was certainly no breeze as the Rushen siblings traversed the situation they had been dealt. Their main source of income was a small grocery shop in the merchant section of District 12, a shop that Jet's oldest brother - Char Rushen - had inherited from their fathers parents after they had passed away in recent years. It was enough to keep them afloat back then, but as they grew older, and Char had gotten married, his focus on this siblings became secondary to his new family.

The second oldest brother of the bunch - Ebony Rushen - had always been working from a young age due to his learning disabilities. He was rather self-sufficient with physical work, which certainly eased the pressure on the rest of the Rushen siblings to be able to focus more on themselves in a world that revolved around survival and hardships. Jet rarely saw much of Ebony as the boy was now a young man at twenty-two years-old, having followed his fathers legacy as a coal miner who worked gruelling shifts.

That left two brothers left for Jet, with unfortunately only one that he could really rely on. The third brother, or rather adoptive brother - was Flax Mundy, Jet's older cousin who had lost both of his parents at birth. He was quite possibly the most down-to-earth of Jet's siblings, the one most visible in his life and that would try to look out for him where he could. He would often do the same thing as Jet; working odd jobs and primarily helping Char with the shop, but overall he was the most reliable family member he had at that point.

The final brother however - Vanta Rushen - was a little estranged, although Jet could understand why. He was only a little older than Jet at nineteen years-old, and for a time, the two had been inseparable. Vanta had always been someone who would look out for him, and he was somewhat of a role model to Jet. However, that was until the previous year, when yet another tragic event made Vanta go completely off of the deep end.

Vanta's girlfriend, a sweet girl from the Seam who had been named Embree - was reaped for the 148th Hunger Games. Initially, Vanta had retained some level of hope for her, an optimism similar to that of Jet's that somehow, someway, things could work out for the better. To most, these were simply delusions of a lost cause, something Vanta was told time and time again as he tried to convince himself there was a chance that Embree could return to him.

Jet was the only one that could understand his point-of-view at that point in time. Even though the situation seemed helpless, how could anyone carry on if they felt there was no hope? Unfortunately, this didn't convert to reality, as Embree ultimately succumbed to the games during the Feast of the previous year, her life ended by none other than Delphine Evergaze, the eventual Victor from District 2.

Vanta spiralled after he watched his girlfriend perish, and his relationship with Jet and everyone else took a complete turn for the worse. He acted out, becoming hostile and resentful to everyone and everything. He stopped treating Jet like a brother, and instead started treating him as a burden, claiming he'd rather just be left alone. He rarely saw Vanta anymore, there was only so many times he could tolerate being called "useless" to his face.

I'm being anything but useless, Jet reasoned with himself, as he slowly rolled onto his side in an effort to get back up. Well, maybe once I get up off of the ground.

As Jet forced himself up, he felt relatively refreshed from the brief reprieve, his body having cooled down a little in the evening air. He hadn't realised how late it had become, it would be dark before too long, and he had quite the distance to make before making it back to the Mayor's mansion.

Feeling rather sticky from the sweat accumulation on his face, Jet quickly made his way over to a small pond near the back of the property, the lack of wind allowing for the water to take on a motionless, reflective standstill. He hovered his face above the water for a few moments, looking at his own reflection in the stunningly pure water.

His body had developed a little muscle from the various work he had taken on in recent times, but at the core of things he was still a thin boy who would often need to skip meals. His skin was a brown tan thanks to his Egyptian heritage, further darkened by his copious sun exposure on a day-to-day basis. His dark hair had become a curly and messy sight from his day of gardening and sweating, although it didn't look too different from his hairs usual disheveled style. His equally dark eyebrows accentuated his honey brown eyes, which gave off a sense of exhaustion and longing as he stared at the alluring water. This was only heightened by his dry, chapped lips, which craved the cool touch of the water in a desire to rehydrate.

Jet leaned down, placing his face in the water as he drank in the serene liquid and felt it flow down his parched throat. It was a nirvana unparalleled by anything in that moment, breathing life back into him as he felt his worn muscles begin to reinvigorate.

After he had drank a sufficient amount, he began to rub the water into the rest of his face, feeling the sweat and grime of the day begin to wash away. He'd have to wash the rest of his body when he had returned home, the cold water a tad too chilling to coat his body with against the early evening air. Jet didn't have access to a shower or bath at home, but in the very least he could heat the water over the fire for a more pleasant wash.

That should do it, he advised himself, standing up as he used the end of his shirt to dry the remaining water droplets that lingered on his face. All that was left to do was receive his payment from the Mayor, which would certainly be nice to buy his dinner with.

As Jet made the trek back towards the giant home, he couldn't help but feel his stomach rumbling, the thoughts of potential dinner options spiralling through his brain. He didn't often treat himself when it came to food, but today in particular he had worked rather hard, and had developed an insatiable appetite as a result. His mind was so set on food in fact, that he almost didn't notice the distant sound of a spray-can drifting from the other side of the building.

What's that smell? Jet thought to himself, a waft of pungent chemicals invading his nostrils as he turned to the direction of the source. It was only then that he began to pick up on the sound, the repetitive bursts of some sort of liquid being sprayed against a wall. The sound was subtle, but carried far in the soft District 12 breeze.

Is that smell… paint? He questioned, turning his direction from where he had been headed, and opting to visit the other side of the building. It was rather strange to Jet that the Mayor would be having his house painted so late in the day, although perhaps the person had started earlier and was also hoping to finish off their work before the sun had completely set. Out of pure curiosity, Jet instinctively decided to check out the noise, interested to see what the final product would look like.

As Jet turned the corner however, he was met with a rather unexpected sight, completely different from what he had envisioned. He had expected a maintenance worker, with a plethora of paint cans and rollers to get the higher portions of the wall. The house itself was a mostly ivory white in colour, but it often would've needed new coats of paint to some portions that weren't naturally made from white stone.

However, there was no such maintenance being done to the wall, instead it was quite the opposite. A large portion of the wall had been defaced with deep crimson spray paint, the various trickles of wet paint almost making the graffiti appear to be dripping red blood. The letters were massive, and stretched across the large expanse of the wall so that they'd be indisputably noticeable to anyone passing by on the street once broad daylight hit.

The culprit however, was even more surprising. A young girl around Jet's age, stood a few feet away from the wall as she admired her crime, having not noticed Jet as he stood frozen in place, shocked by what he was seeing.

As he analysed the girl, who was still oblivious to his presence as she giggled to herself, he couldn't help but recognise her as someone he went to school with. The girl was shorter than he was, at about 5'6" if he had to guess, and was rather skinny as many of the other Seam girls were. She had long dark hair that fell to the centre of her back, with fairly tanned skin and a smattering of freckles dotting her cheeks and nose. Her cold grey eyes - which had always seemed so soft and timid - observed her work with a sinister glee, her expression held with a rather chaotic aura.

Although he didn't know her too personally, he still had made an effort to learn about who the many people within his grade at school were, and this included the girl who stood before him - Iskra Amani. Jet hadn't interacted with Iskra all that much, in fact he couldn't remember if he ever had at all. She had always been a quiet girl, who mostly kept to herself but was pleasant with everyone as far as he could see. She wasn't particularly memorable amongst their year, but that had never seemed to upset her all that much, as she seemed quite content with her position in the social hierarchy of their school.

Nobody thought badly of the girl, and he understood her to be a rather reliable friend of many of the girls in his grade. Although she wasn't particularly close to many, she was a shoulder to lean on from what he could gather, and he had always thought that was rather admirable.

That left the question - why was she spray painting the Mayor's mansion, whilst doing so with a strange sadistic glee? Jet's eyes turned back to the wall of graffiti, having not actually read the message she had spray painted until that moment. His eyes widened as his mind spelled out the letters.

"Mallory Maynard is a boyfriend-stealing whore," the words read, causing Jet's mind to run wild with reasonings. Mallory was Mayor Maynard's daughter, who was also in the same school year as both Jet and Iskra. Jet had sometimes seen Iskra accompanying Mallory around the school grounds, although he didn't believe they were that close by any means. From his knowledge, they shared a few classes, as did Iskra and many of Mallory's social circle. If Jet had to guess, they were friendly acquaintances at most, but that certainly didn't add up with why Iskra would be saying such cruel things about the girl for everyone to see. Even if it were the truth, this was no manner as to how to deal with things.

In the few moments that Jet had been watching the ordeal unfold, he hadn't even considered the fact that it would be best for him to bail on this situation without letting Iskra become aware of his presence. He had a feeling he had just seen something he was not meant to see, and if Iskra was capable of something as heinous as this behind closed doors… what would she do if she were to discover he knew she was the culprit?

Vandalism of this level was certain to cause a storm amongst the district, with the Mayor's daughter directly targeted in the attack. He knew the Mayor wouldn't let this slide, it quite literally ruined the image of Mallory Maynard and left their family open to discourse. This was bad, he certainly didn't want to get involved with something of this level.

Wait, but what if I become a suspect? I was the only one working on the grounds today, Jet quickly realised, a panic beginning to settle into his system. As far as he was aware, there would be no way to disprove he hadn't done the vandalism, in fact; he'd likely be the prime suspect. It would ruin his image, his future, he'd never be able to show his face anywhere again. Of course, it wouldn't make a lot of sense for him to have been the one to do this. He had always gotten along with Mallory whenever they had spoken, and her father had been welcoming to him when he first started paying Jet to do maintenance around their home.

But then again, it didn't make sense for Iskra to be doing this either. She had no boyfriend as far as he was aware, so for her to be calling out Mallory as a "boyfriend-stealing whore" was completely inexplicable. No, it was a simple case of wrong-place-wrong-time, whatever reasoning Iskra had, she had unknowingly dragged him into her mess.

Unless… Jet considered, his mind desperate for a solution. I get her caught in the act.

Jet wasn't typically a snitch, he had seen plenty of petty crime occur around the district that he'd rather not get involved with. He certainly felt bad for the victims, but getting involved was far more of a hassle than it was worth. But he was left with little choice this time, this would be necessary to clear his own name. He had to alert the Maynard's before Iskra got away, that way they could catch her in the act, and he wouldn't have to suffer for her misdeeds.

Now all that was left, was to quietly vacate the area so that Iskra would be unsuspecting of what was coming to her. As Iskra continued to cackle at her flattering art piece, Jet slowly began to back-up, the corner of the building not so far out of view. Just as he was about to round the corner however, Jet's heart stammered in his chest as he heard his foot snap a twig against the green grass, the crackling sound piercing the air and causing him to slam his hands over his mouth in shock.

Jet's eyes rose to where Iskra was positioned, her head having already turned to him, eyes wide as can be as they locked onto his own like a deer-in-headlights. He stared back at her with the same energy, both frozen in place as they processed what was happening in the current situation. Neither of them spoke, however the intensity in the air around them continued to thicken as Jet rapidly tried to think of what to do.

"Um… hello," Jet muttered awkwardly, breaking the silence as Iskra continued to size him up, likely also trying to think of a resolution to this situation. There wasn't much she could do really, she had been caught red-handed, and from her perspective, probably thought it was likely that Jet would start alerting the Mayor's family if she were to make a break for it.

"Hi…" she responded uncertainly, slowly hiding the can of spray-paint behind her back as her eyes averted his gaze. "I just saw someone spraying this on the Mayor's Mansion, but they ran away… the shifty bastard."

Iskra's words dumbfounded Jet, causing him to straighten his posture and raise a doubtful eyebrow as he folded his arms at her.

"And that's why you're holding a can of spray-paint and cackling to yourself?" Jet questioned, clearly unimpressed by Iskra's excuse. Iskra looked at the spray-paint can in her hand, before tossing it in a nearby bush and raising her arms cluelessly.

"What spray-paint can?" Iskra asked innocently, only to earn a shake of the head from Jet in response. Iskra studied Jet for a few moments, before sighing and giving up the charade.

"Ehh, it was worth a try," she relented, before abruptly spinning on her heel and making a dash for the exit to the property.

"H-hey! Get back here!" Jet shouted, before following in pursuit as the girl disappeared behind a hedge.

Dammit! It's getting dark, I won't be able to see her soon! Jet thought bitterly to himself, as he continued to chase her down as quickly as he could. The property was rather large, so Iskra had a fair distance to make in order to escape the perimeter of the Mayor's land. With that being said however, she was pretty darn quick, as she managed to effortlessly evade Jet by using the assortment of foliage around the property to conceal herself, despite Jet being a rather fast runner.

Unfortunately for Iskra, she didn't know the property well enough, and Jet felt a triumphant rush of victory as he managed to corner the girl with no escape. She remained trapped where she stood, her head frantically darting around as she tried to map out an area she could progress to. However, Jet had already caught up, stopping not too far from her as he tried to recover a stable level of breathing.

"Stop already, there's nowhere to run," he panted, his hands on his knees as he was still exhausted from the days work. Iskra reluctantly backed down, her shoulders dropping as she turned to him with a less-than-thrilled expression. "We can resolve this okay, nobody needs to get into trouble."

"Okay then genius, how do you propose we fix this? You've already caught me, what's stopping you from ratting me out?" Iskra huffed sarcastically, clearly annoyed by how this evening had unfolded.

"We'll get to that in a moment," Jet promised, before straightening up as he eyed the girl tentatively. "First, I want to know why? Why would you do something like that?"

"Why do you care? This doesn't concern you, you could've remained blissfully unaware and it wouldn't have impacted you at all," Iskra snapped back, folding her arms in in annoyance.

"Well no, that's not true. Not when I'm the only one that's been working here all day. Who do you think they would've suspected to have done that when I've been the only one around?" Jet fired back, causing Iskra to fall silent. She looked at Jet for a brief moment, before her eyes lowered to the floor in frustration.

"I didn't know you were here, but I guess that would've ruined by intention regardless," Iskra muttered bitterly, her teeth biting her lower lip. Jet's face fell in confusion, trying to piece together what her words meant.

"Intention? What would that have been? To spread false rumours about Mallory?" Jet inquired, igniting a flash of anger in Iskra's grey eyes.

"False? Ha! Yeah, now you're the one that's wrong. Mallory is a conniving slut, who did in fact cheat with someone's boyfriend. It was her best friend Camille's boyfriend," Iskra revealed with a matter-of-fact tone, causing even Jet himself to feel a sense of disapproval flare within him.

"Camille Stoneworth? That's… disappointing to hear," Jet admitted, feeling both a sense of compassion for Camille, and a rather sour distaste for this revelation about Mallory. He had always been under the impression that Mallory was a kind girl who loved her friends, but if this was in fact true, it certainly painted her in a whole new light.

"Right? So don't shoot the messenger," Iskra scolded him, trying to pass off her actions as some sort of virtuous intent.

"The messenger hm? So you're saying Camille was the one that got you to do this?" Jet questioned, earning a hearty laugh out of Iskra, a laugh that to Jet, honestly came off as a little unnerving.

"Oh, not at all," Iskra giggled maniacally, beginning to pace back and forth as her cold eyes remained fixated on Jet. "Camille doesn't even know. Nobody does… except for me of course. I know a lot of things, things that can cause havoc to wreak across our entire school if I wanted to."

Jet couldn't help but feel a slight shiver run down his spine, the sinister undertones that Iskra spoke with evoking a rather ominous insinuation to her words. He had never seen this side of Iskra before, and although he had never really interacted with her - he felt as if she was a whole different person in that moment from who she had always presented herself to be.

"If Camille didn't get you to do this, then why are you doing it? Just to spite Mallory?" Jet prodded, hoping Iskra would deliver some sort of reasonable answer. Instead, she simply smiled at him, a crazed smile that almost caused him to shudder.

"No. I'm doing it to frame Camille of course. Who else would have a reason to graffiti those words across Mallory's home?" Iskra revealed in a sickeningly innocent sounding voice, her tone cold enough to make the garden around them freeze over. Jet felt his mouth drying up, completely at a loss for words to say as he gawked at the girl. This couldn't be real, this whole situation; it seemed so absurd. How in the hell had he gotten himself mixed in with this mess.

"What do you have against Camille that makes you want to do that to her? You're saying her boyfriend is cheating on her, and now you're trying to throw her under the bus? That's just cruel!" Jet finally cried out, the injustice beginning to make him angry.

"I don't have anything against Camille," Iskra shrugged nonchalantly, as she continued to pace back and forth. "I don't have any personal vendettas, I don't hate anyone directly - hell, I've never even gotten into an argument with someone. I'm doing this, purely because I can't wait to see how it unfolds."

Jet simply couldn't wrap his head around her words, something about them just couldn't make sense to him no matter how hard he thought about it. How could someone do something like this to a person? All because of a trivial reason such as that? What did she mean by watching how it unfolds?

"I don't follow," Jet muttered, becoming increasingly cautious of Iskra as she smiled at him devilishly. "What kind of reason is that? It would be chaotic… you wouldn't need to do this just to find that out."

"Exactly! It would be chaotic… and that's what I live for," Iskra gushed, her eyes lighting up at the prospect. "I love weaving these webs of rumours and secrets, watching how people react and how their lives get uprooted."

Iskra preached her intentions with purpose, as if her whole life was driven by this manipulative existence that she claimed to impose. Jet watched as she put her hands together in excitement, her eyes gazing dreamily at the early night sky as she hummed a few laughs, in spite of Jet's expression of utter perplexity.

"There's something so satisfying and exhilarating, about watching people crumble around you due to secrets that they held dear spreading like wildfire. Secretly knowing that it was all caused by little ol' me - Iskra Amani, the sweet girl who wouldn't hurt a fly, that's the cherry on top," Iskra continued, appearing rather liberated to get this all out to someone other than herself. Jet silently wondered just how long Iskra had been harbouring this double-life of hers, nobody would have suspected the girl to be capable of such heinous deceit, yet she seemed to do it so fluently.

"Y-you need to stop this Iskra, you're digging yourself deeper every time you do something like this. You're going to get caught eventually," Jet urged her, his concern growing by the second. "It's not too late to stop."

Iskra looked at him for a second, before erupting into laughter, clearly not heeding his words seriously.

"I can't just stop, it's pretty much compulsive. If I find out a secret - which I will - then it's as good as public news before the week is over. I will make sure it spreads, and I will enjoy watching the fallout," Iskra insisted, her eyes narrowing at Jet as he felt a cold sweat run down his back. The two stared at each other for a moment, before Iskra's devious smile turned into a disapproving frown.

"But… now you know my secret," Iskra spoke quietly, her body straightening up into a more serious composure. "That ruins the fun of it, the mystery of people not knowing who is airing out everyone's dirty laundry."

"I… guess I do," Jet reaffirmed, an uneasiness growing within his stomach at the ominous words. Iskra began to pace back and forth once more, beginning to bite her lower lip whilst deep in thought.

"What do I do… about that?" Iskra contemplated out loud, stroking her chin and gazing off into the distance as if Jet weren't even there.

"For starters, we can clean off that graffiti you sprayed on Mallory's house, in the very least I don't have to get caught in the cross-fire," Jet insisted, causing Iskra to roll her eyes with a sigh.

"Yeah, yeah whatever… that plan is a bust anyways," she said dismissively, before stopping in place and putting a hand on her hip. "The issue is, how do I keep your mouth shut about me?"

She had a point, there was nothing preventing Jet from revealing to all their classmates that she was the one responsible for spreading such vile rumours about them that had caused friendships to crash and burn, and relationships to implode entirely. He didn't even know if people would believe him, but if he were to do so, there would certainly be speculation about her if any more rumours were to spread.

"I promise, I won't tell anyone… as horrible as you are," Jet sighed reluctantly, knowing he was burying within him a terrible truth.

"No, your promise alone isn't enough," Iskra brushed off his words, unimpressed by his suggestion.

Come on, Jet thought to himself, racking his brains for an answer. I know there's a solution to this dilemma, there always is!

"I've got it," Iskra suddenly spoke up, eyeing him down playfully, before taking a few tentative steps towards him.

"W-what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Iskra answered, her voice low as she continued to approach him. "I'm shutting you up."

Jet's eyes widened as Iskra began to strip off her shirt, his mind beginning to race as he started to back away.

"Stop that! You're creeping me out," Jet protested, his gaze averting awkwardly as Iskra's shirt dropped to the floor, her hips swaying as she drew ever so closer to him.

"This is what you want, right? You boys are all the same," she teased him, arriving a few feet away from him as she lightly grazed his upper arm with her fingers. Jet desperately tried to look away, his eyes darting everywhere except for Iskra's mostly exposed abdomen, her breasts thankfully concealed by an ivory white bra. Although Jet wanted no part of this, his raging teenage hormones pumped wildly throughout his body, eliciting a conflict of desires and rationality within his core as he bit his lower lip in resistance.

Iskra was certainly a pretty girl, and she was the first one to have ever acted this way towards the adolescent boy that Jet was. Although such temptations were hard to pass on for a boy such as himself, he knew this wasn't right - he'd never want an experience like this under these circumstances. Did she expect to shut him up by giving herself to him? Was that really how little she thought of Jet?

"Please put your top back on Iskra, I don't want any part of this," Jet muttered, his state of mind almost trance like. "I'm not that type of guy."

"Come on…" Iskra cooed, her fingers tracing his face as she began to lure his head forward, as if it were caught on a fishing line. She gripped his chin a little more assertively, forcing his eyes to stare into her seductive gaze. "I just want to build a level of trust with you," she said innocently, pouting out her lower lip as her face continued to draw closer.

"I-I…" Jet stammered, his mouth agape as he tried to find the words to resist her. However, as soon as he opened his gobsmacked mouth, Iskra suddenly dragged his head forward, purposefully crashing his open mouth onto the flesh between her shoulder and the base of her neck.

"Mmmph!?" Jet cried out in shock, his voice completely muffled by Iskra's neck as he felt her fingers wrap around the back of his cranium, beginning to apply pressure that made his teeth dig into her skin. Simultaneously, Iskra used her other hand to push against the bottom of his jaw, causing his bottom teeth to also begin sinking into her soft shoulder.

Is she crazy!? He thought frantically to himself, beginning to suffocate against her. Is this the kind of thing she's into?

Iskra was forcefully making Jet bite her, as if he were some blood-sucking vampire and she his helpless victim. He tried to pull his head away, but it was to no avail as Iskra silently clung to him with her arms wrapped around his head, keeping it in place.

Before too long, Jet's eyes widened in disbelief as he began to taste the metallic tinge of blood; Iskra's blood. Eventually, Iskra's arms relaxed, allowing Jet to pry away from her. He stood there hunched over, panting heavily as he desperately spat the blood from his mouth, disgusted by the taste.

"Pteh… pteh… the hell… was that? Pteh!" Jet spat, continuing to try and rid the crimson life force from his saliva as he heaved heavy breaths. He weakly looked up at Iskra, who stared back down at him with a sinister grin, her shoulder and neck dripping blood from the puncture marks caused by Jet's unwilling bite.

"That… was my leverage over you," Iskra smiled at him, as she ran a finger through one of the blood trails and gleefully examined it.

"How does that amount to leverage?" Jet snapped back in annoyance, frustrated that he had allowed that unsettling set of events to occur.

"Because, if you tell anyone about what I've told you today… then I'll tell the Peacekeepers that you raped me."

Jet's body froze, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes met Iskra's. He stared at her horror-struck, the gravity of the situation beginning to crash down upon him. Iskra watched his expression for a moment, before laughing hysterically at him, not a care in the world as Jet's own world started crashing down around him.

"What?" Jet choked, his heart beginning to beat in a panic.

"That's right, I'll tell everyone that you forced yourself upon me. You were so savage about it as well, so animalistic in fact, that you bit me hard enough to leave a mark," Iskra elaborated as she pointed a finger to the bite mark, causing Jet to gulp nervously. "A mark so deep, that it can be matched up to your dental records."

"You're… a monster," Jet uttered in disbelief, earning a playful grin from Iskra as she slipped back into her shirt.

"Hey, it doesn't need to be a problem," she shrugged, the white fabric of her shirt beginning to stain red from underneath. "As long as you keep your mouth shut, we can get along juuuuuust fine."

Iskra let out a playful giggle, as she gave Jet a belittling pat on the shoulder, passing by him with an eerily cheerful skip. Jet turned to watch her, desperately wanting to call out after her but at a loss for what good that would do. She was now the one who had him cornered, she could ruin his life with one single false accusation, and he had nothing to dispute it. He was stuck, trapped; completely in the palm of her hand. All because he had been optimistic enough to think that the situation could be worked out.

What an idiot I am, he criticised himself, cursing both his ignorance, and his desire to see the good in people.

"Oh… and can I trust you to handle the clean-up of that graffiti?" Iskra spoke up, stopping for a moment as she turned back towards Jet.

"You've got to be joking," he responded flatly, as Iskra grinned at him knowingly.

"I knew I could count on you," she winked at him, before blowing him a mocking kiss.

Well… this couldn't get any worse, right?

Sorrel Meddleham

16

~ District 5 Tribute ~

The world truly could be a beautiful place. It was quite often that Sorrel Meddleham reflected on that thought, her opinion frequently reinforced as she was exposed to the simplistic and humble happenings of her daily life. In a world full of famine, conflict, and games where teenagers were forced to fight to the death; she was always very gracious to be able to experience an alternative to those atrocities.

As Sorrel stood on the front porch of her family's ranch, with her loose strands of long, walnut brown hair flowing peacefully in the soft, early morning breeze, whilst her sparkling green eyes fixated on the stunning view of the light morning sky overlapping the dissipating peachy pink that had almost completed its reveal of the sun; she couldn't help but exhale a satisfied sigh at the true beauty of nature.

Morning weather like this for District 5 was common in the summer, but rare overall as the seasons passed by. There was never a consistency to the type of weather Five got, as they had the most extensive and sporadic weather of all the twelve districts. It's what made their industry of power generation so successful, the high exposure to all sorts of generation of energy, whether that be solar, wind, hydro, or electrical. You name it, and Five could accomodate in abundance.

Sorrel was able to see the beauty in all forms of weather, there was something so fascinating to her about how advanced Earth's meteorological cycle could be, how complex the laws of nature was, and how humans as a species had found a way to utilise it with such resourcefulness.

It was easy for Sorrel to see the good in most things, she was an idealistic person by nature, and would often be able to appreciate the little things, no matter how trivial or irrelevant they may have seemed. To her, everything had a purpose to it, and even if it wasn't immediately evident upon first sight - it was often just a matter of distinguishing that purpose. The world was very black and white to Sorrel, so she'd take the good things no matter how minuscule.

The moment she lived in now, the fleeting final minutes before the sun had full risen, was also just certainly a 'good' thing to her. She felt carefree, calm, as if nothing could intrude in on the perfect sanctuary that she was situated in during that moment. Sorrel felt thankful at the fact she could experience something like this, there weren't a whole lot of places like this that were accessible in District 5. A ranch like this was a rarity, very few still remaining back from the early days of District 5's history, preceding the Dark Days where the Capitol ultimately restructured the district to fulfil their power generation.

Most of District 5 was a concrete jungle nowadays, with the remaining areas of space taken up by giant grids of power generation, such as fields of turbines and solar panels, the hydro-dam that took up a great portion of Five's natural waterways, and of course the big, ugly nuclear power plant always spilling out plumes of steam into the atmosphere.

Sorrel felt her nose crinkle in disgust at the thought of the nuclear power plant, feeling a sense of gratitude that it was virtually on the other side of the district from where she lived. If there was one thing she couldn't find the good in, it was that abysmally grey power plant - it was not a sight for sore eyes.

There was a small part of her that sometimes made her wish that she had been born into a different district, particularly one of the more open, naturalistic kind that would allow her to settle down into a quiet life with calming scenery. Districts such as Seven, Ten, Eleven, even Nine despite it's arid heat. She often had to remind herself that the outdoor based environment didn't equate to more ideal, as she had heard whispers about how shocking living conditions could be living in some of those districts.

Sorrel's family wasn't well-off financially by any means, but they certainly weren't starving or desperate as many families in Panem were. District 5 was one of the wealthier districts, energy was a rather lucrative field, meaning jobs paid much better in her district than most of the farming districts. Money didn't mean everything to Sorrel, but there was a difference between living comfortably and living extravagantly. Unfortunately, neither were options when it came to living in poorer districts.

With that being said, Sorrel still faced her fair share of problems even whilst living in District 5. As perfect as she'd love for her life to be, there was never going to be a reward without any struggle. Although Sorrel loved her life living on the homely ranch she had grown up on, that very reality was constantly being put under threat as the Meddleham family desperately tried to cling onto the life they had made for themselves.

Sorrel's father - a man in his forties named Aero Meddleham - had inherited the previously diminishing ranch before Sorrel had even been born. It had been his family's property for generations, with Sorrel's lineage tracing back to farmers from before the days of Five's revolution in energy harvesting. It was her father's childhood home as well, and he had done everything in his power to revamp the property, which had been falling apart by the time Sorrel's ageing grandparents had passed on.

Her father had been able to generate a little income from the products they were able to harvest from the ranch, mostly a few types of vegetables such as potatoes and turnips, as well as milk and cheese from the limited livestock Aero had managed to purchase. Unfortunately, the money that Aero Meddleham brought in from his efforts on the ranch, simply did not cater enough for a family of seven, forcing him to primarily work at that damned nuclear power plant. Perhaps that's one of the reasons Sorrel despised that place so much, to the point that she hated thinking about it; she simply resented the fact that it took up so much of her fathers time, depriving both her and her siblings from the quality time they desired from the diligent man.

Her mother - a woman in her late thirties named Rebekah Meddleham - was also often absent from their home, although fortunately not to the extent of Aero's long shift work. Rebekah worked as a seamstress, a profession that unfortunately didn't see a lot of demand in District 5 as most clothing was imported from District 8, as was the case for the rest of Panem. As luck would have it however, District 8 didn't specialise in manufacturing protective attire for the line of work that most of District 5's civilians worked in, allowing for Sorrel's mother to be somewhat of a necessity for producing specialised clothing for many of the energy companies that required it - especially those that dealt with radioactive and electrical energy exposure.

This left Sorrel as the oldest of the household for the majority of her life, having to take on her own kind of maternal figure to her younger siblings. The sibling closest to her in age was her younger brother - Palo Meddleham - who himself was only twelve years-old. He would only just be eligible for the Reaping for the first time that year, and already he had begun his transition into a moody, angsty teenager.

Her younger twin sisters - Pinto and Fries Meddleham - weren't that much younger than Palo, both lively girls at the ripe age of ten, and were prone to causing mischief that would drive Sorrel crazy at times. Finally, there was the youngest sibling of all, her third sister - Lusa Meddleham - who was as sweet as can be and was on the verge of turning nine years-old. If Sorrel was being honest, Lusa reminded her a lot of herself, down to the way she behaved, spoke, and even how she looked.

Naturally, taking care of four younger siblings with a fairly significant age gap between them and herself, had put Sorrel in a position where she simply couldn't afford to live her life freely. She had grown to be very mature for only sixteen, with some people her age criticising her for acting "too old."

But what choice did I have? Sorrel thought to herself as she reflected on her responsibilities. With all that dad is facing right now, I'm the only one that can step up.

Of course, her self-imposed guardian duties weren't the sole thing that the Sorrel struggled with. In fact, the primary struggle she faced was one that the entire Meddleham family faced - yet none more so than her father. It was a pressing issue that had started off minor, but had grown more and more concerning as time passed by.

To put it simply; their home was at risk. It had been a few years ago that the largest wind energy company had approached Aero Meddleham, propositioning to buy their property to further the expansion of their turbine fields. The company went by the name of Blyth Enterprises, and had been approaching all of the remaining private land owners in District 5 that lived on the outskirts of the district. Most - if not all - had accepted Blyth's offers… all except Aero Meddleham, who refused to let go of his childhood home, the very one he had breathed back life into after years of back-breaking work.

This naturally had infuriated the corporation, which only led to them escalating the situation. Their tactics became more aggressive, manipulative, and downright threatening, as they hounded Sorrel's father to give up his land and make way for their industrialised vision. Yet Aero remained resilient, refusing to back down and submit to their demands. Despite her father's consistent absence from their home, Sorrel was compelled to feel nothing but gratitude for his ability to stand his ground, understanding that his very way of handling things was preserving the life she cherished.

This of course, hadn't dismayed the higher-ups at Blyth Enterprises, who continued to hassle them in hopes of the Meddleham's caving in. With all this resounding pressure on her, Sorrel likely would've broken down by now, if it weren't for one sole factor. Her boyfriend - Yaris.

He was the very person that Sorrel stood on the front porch for in that moment, waiting for his inevitable arrival as he had promised to visit her early that morning. Yaris was a year younger than Sorrel, although on the verge of turning sixteen and catching up to her age. The two had met a year or so ago, back when these responsibilities had begun to pile onto Sorrel. It was a day that she had been taking a break from everything, with her and a couple of friends going to watch a rugby game between their local school team - the Brexton Academy Mules - and another rivalling school - the Harding Institute Infernos.

She remembered that all her friends had been engrossed with the star player of their school's team, who also happened to be the recently imposed team captain - a boy named Storm Nyquist-Herrera - following the previous captains graduation. He was an easy standout of course, he was fairly handsome, very athletic, and always had this brooding, mysterious look on his face that simply drew the allure of many of her friends.

However, it wasn't Storm that caught Sorrel's eye that day, but rather the vice captain of the Brexton Mules. That boy, was of course Yaris. Whilst Storm was a star player, he could often be a show-off, and rather selfish in the way he played, which certainly didn't appeal to Sorrel in any way. Yaris however, he was selfless, inclusive, and treated others with consideration.

When Sorrel met Yaris during the post-game celebrations following the Mules victory, these traits translated into Yaris's off-field behaviour as well. Yaris had seemed appreciative that Sorrel wasn't one of the girls flocking towards Storm, and as a result, the conversation she had initiated with him that day seemed to interest him.

Little did he know, Sorrel was already smitten by him, cursing herself for not having gone to watch one of their games sooner. Following that day, Sorrel continued to attend the games that Yaris's team played, through every win, loss, or even forfeit when the weather was too bad to play. The two would continue to interact, their love beginning to blossom as time passed on, until finally - Yaris officially asked out Sorrel.

The pair had been inseparable ever since, with Yaris often visiting Sorrel's home and helping her care for her younger siblings, or even helping out around the ranch to her father's pleasure. He had been the boy she had always yearned for, and to this day she always wondered whether she'd wake up and it all turned out to be a dream.

The one problem that the two were yet to address however, was Yaris's home life, which he still spoke very little of. Sorrel had never met Yaris's family, which Yaris promised was with good reason. The household he came from was supposedly a toxic one, with neglectful parents and shoddy living conditions. Sorrel couldn't help but empathise with Yaris's embarrassment about his living situation, and appreciated the fact that he didn't want her exposed to that kind of environment. However, she always assured him she was fine with it if he ever wanted to introduce her to his family; he was invested in her, and she was in him too.

Sorrel was fortunately very patient, she wanted Yaris to be comfortable rather than forcing him to expose himself and overstep his vulnerabilities. It wasn't as if she was unhappy with how things were in that moment, she certainly saw a future with him. Her idealistic future was a quiet one, living on a quaint ranch similar to the one she resided in now, with a therapeutic and scenic view that she could sit and watch with Yaris beside her. Perhaps it was a far-fetched dream to most, but Sorrel was certain she was destined to make it a reality.

"Oh?" She instinctively uttered, as she saw a figure approaching the front of the house from a distance. She knew right away that it wasn't Yaris quite yet, as the person that approached her was an older man, however she was able to recognise who it was almost instantaneously despite the distance between them.

"Dad!" Sorrel exclaimed excitedly, as she raced forward eagerly to meet the distance between the two, her father turning his weary attention to her with both surprise and happiness as his tired eyes fixated on her.

"Pumpkin? Well this is a nice surprise," he laughed, as Sorrel arrived in front of him, flinging her arms around him. "What are you doing out here?"

"I was waiting for Yaris, he shouldn't be too far off," Sorrel answered, resting her face against his chest and embracing his warmth. "I forgot you'd be finishing your night shift around this time, usually you're asleep when I wake up!"

"Well you're a sight for sore eyes," Aero chuckled, as he stroked the top of her hair, before Sorrel stepped back to look up at him. Her eyes studied his face, noticing how worn he looked, with the creases around his eyes continuing to develop as her father aged. His exhaustion hadn't always looked like this, he once possessed a lively face full of laughs and delight. These days, even Lusa at her young age could notice how much of a toll their father had taken. With both the constant work to provide for them all, plus the recent pressure he had faced from Blyth Enterprises, it was no wonder Aero Meddleham always looked worn out.

"You look tired dad, you should get inside and get some rest," Sorrel advised him, taking on a scolding tone similar to that of her mother. It seemed her father recognised that similarity, not being able to contain his laughter.

"You sound just like your mother," he chuckled, patting her on the shoulder as they approached the front porch. "I know I look tired, the plant have been running us like dogs with the lead-up to the Hunger Games approaching. I can only imagine what they need so much energy for, this arena must be some kind of beast."

"I'd rather not think about it," Sorrel responded, her eyes lowering to the ground. "If it's out of sight, it's out of mind."

"You have nothing to worry about anyway," her father reassured her, his tone calming to the ears. "The odds of being chosen are so slim."

"Yeah, say that to any tribute that's ever been reaped," Sorrel retorted, causing her father to raise his palms up in defeat.

"You've got me there," he admitted, nodding his head agreement. "I suppose once you're no longer eligible, that's when you'll be able to see it with a more logical perspective."

"Maybe…" Sorrel said softly, her words trailing off as she thought about it. Truthfully, she didn't think she'd be able to see it like that until at least Lusa had made it to nineteen, as long as her siblings were at risk, she'd constantly be fretting about the possibility of them being reaped. She supposed it was different from her fathers viewpoint, having lived through forty Reapings in his life-time and never having once seen someone he knows or cares about being taken away. She didn't believe it made him uncaring by default, but perhaps just blissfully ignorant.

"Oh no," Sorrel suddenly heard her father murmur, her eyes raising towards his as she saw his expression turn from soft to stern within seconds.

"What's wrong?" She questioned, before following her fathers gaze which was heavily fixated on the road ahead of them. Sorrel's blood ran cold as soon as she saw what he was staring at; a collective of three black SUV's that had pulled up to the front of their ranch. This was bad, not just any citizen had access to a vehicle, they were almost exclusively used by Capitol visitors, or extremely wealthy people that could afford to travel in them; particularly those with Capitol connections.

It was no mystery as to who the vehicles belonged to however, it wasn't the first, or even tenth time that these people had visited their property. They only could've belonged to Blyth Enterprises, the very same people that had been hassling them for months on end.

"Why are they here at this time?" Sorrel questioned softly, gripping her fathers forearm apprehensively. She felt his body tense up as he watched several men in suits exiting the vehicles, seemingly ready to retaliate against them in the case of things escalating.

"They've been doing this for months now, Sorrel," Aero explained quietly, as he carefully broke free from her grip in anticipation to face the men. "They know my schedule by now. They were waiting for me to arrive home."

Sorrel gulped as she watched her father slowly approaching the men, keeping his distance at a safe range as he stood tall, his hands curled into fists by his waist. She turned her focus to the men in question, before her eyes settled on one that approached from the middle car, a man whose general demeanour and expression outlined a significant importance as the rest of the accompanying men rallied around him, whilst he led the way in approaching her father.

The man's eyes scanned Aero Meddleham, a small smirk plastered on his face as his eyebrows remained still. He placed his hands loosely in his pockets, his pace a leisurely stroll as her father stood his ground motionless.

"Mr Meddleham… we meet again!" The man called out, coming to a stop several yards away from where Aero was situated. "I see you've got some company, Sorrel was it?"

Sorrel felt a level of discomfort emerge within her chest, having not been expecting to be called out directly by their unwelcome visitor. How did he know her name? Had he looked into her family that thoroughly?

"Don't bring my daughter into this," Aero snarled in response, earning a humoured smile from the man. "This is between you and I… Blyth."

Sorrel's eyes widened at the reveal, finally being able to connect the dots as to who the identity of the mystery man was. He wasn't just some random flunkey doing messenger work on behalf of Blyth Enterprises; he was the CEO himself - Collick Blyth.

Collick was by no means the founder of the company, but was only a few generations on from the man who had actually started Blyth Enterprises. The Blyth family held historic wealth from early during Panem's unification following the Dark Days. In a time of need for mass energy to rebuild the nation following the rebellion, the Blyth conglomerate were essential in their development of distribution of power.

Collick Blyth didn't just oversee the production of wind power, but also held the monopoly of the solar and hydro energy production. He was a big deal, and if he was permitted to, he could cut off access to most of the nations energy access with a single snap of his fingers. He harnessed Panem's access to most renewable sources of energy, and that made him both a dangerous and powerful man to be at odds with. Of all the people to have their eyes on the Meddleham abode; he was one of the most detrimental.

"No problem, my concern isn't with her," Collick responded sounding rather bored, before he looked over at the cozy building Sorrel called home. "My concern is this property of course. It sure does look nice."

"Forget it, will you? I've said no, we're not going anywhere. This is our home," Aero snapped at the man, who shot a rather repulsed look back at him. "We don't give a shit about your turbine farm, this has been our family's property for generations."

"Ugh, so stubborn," Collick complained nonchalantly, not at all appearing put off by Aero's response. "You're holding back progress. All this land that you can't afford to do anything with? Why hold on to it when we could reimburse you? All your neighbours were far more negotiable."

"Reimburse us?" Aero almost laughed, appearing dumbfounded by Collick's suggestion. "With that lowball offer you gave?"

"$100,000 is hardly a low-ball offer in this economy," Collick argued, resting his hands behind his back as he paced back and forth. "Especially for a rundown household like that. It's more than most people make in two years."

"But it's a drop in the sea for you," Aero snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. "That's beside the point anyway, even if you raised your offer now, I wouldn't take it simply out of principle."

Collick remained quiet for a few moments, before sighing in annoyance.

"So… we're beyond the point of diplomatic negotiations I presume?" He inquired calmly, causing Aero to fold his arms.

"We've been beyond that for a while now," Aero responded bluntly. "There haven't been any 'negotiations', just a bombardment of disruption that has been scaring my family. So get off my property!"

"I will be doing no such thing," Collick insisted, as he studied Aero to see how he would react. "I'm going to force you out one way or another, and it will be of your own volition… mark my words."

"Yeah? I'd like to see you try," Aero fired back, beginning to roll up his sleeves in preparation.

"Dad, please… don't do this. Just ignore them," Sorrel pleaded, sensing an escalation in tension between her father and the group of men.

"This is our home, Sorrel," Aero responded dismissively, glaring at Collick who smiled back at him. "And I'll be damned if I go down without a fight."

"Men, allow Mr Meddleham to experience what happens when you resist me," Collick instructed, as three of the men started to approach her father.

"No! Stop it! Please!" Sorrel pleaded, feeling helpless as she watched the men surround her father. It was clear that despite Aero's admirable physique, he was simply outnumbered by the three men, who still had a fair few reserves just waiting for the order as they stood beside Collick.

Sorrel screamed out in horror as the first man closed in on her father, making a swipe at him which Aero was fortunately able to sidestep. As a result, her father got a solid strike on the man, pummelling his fist into the man's cheek bone which caused the man to stumble back a few steps.

Unfortunately, whilst Aero was distracted, the other two men had the opportunity to grab him by the arms, restricting his movements and holding him in place. Her father struggled against the two men, however the injured lackey of Collick's men had recovered in time to return the favour and punch Aero in the gut.

Sorrel held her hands to her face in horror, as her dad grunted in pain, tanking punch after punch to the stomach, not being able to protect himself in any way. She wanted to do something, to help him in some way, but there was nothing that she - a frail, anaemic, sixteen year-old girl - could do to stop the onslaught of blows her father received from the brutes.

She felt hot tears beginning to stream down her face, the helplessness and desperation making her feel useless as her father took a beating for the sake of her and her family.

"Stop it… please…" she croaked, as she fell to her knees in despair, watching her father become battered and bruised as the three men dealt a barrage of blows to his body, his face also beginning to take a few hits as well.

Just as everything was beginning to feel lost, and her father looked as if he was about to pass out, a voice arose from several yards away, stopping the men in their tracks. The direction of the voice had come from beyond Collick and his other men, and held a sense of familiarity to Sorrel, as her tear-filled eyes scanned the area to locate the source of the voice.

"What the hell's going on?!" The voice yelled, causing Sorrel to gasp in astonishment as her eyes finally settled on the individual whom the voice belonged to. It was her boyfriend, Yaris. He stood there watching the commotion, a concerned look on his face as he absorbed exactly what was happening in front of him. To Sorrel's surprise, the men had actually ceased their attack on her father, and were awkwardly looking at the boy as Collick slowly turned to him as well.

"Yaris?" Sorrel softly exclaimed, her voice hoarse from the pleas she had been screaming moments before. Yaris's eyes locked on to hers, before widening slightly at the sight of her disheveled demeanour. Sorrel watched as Yaris's eyes turned from surprise, to a questionable expression of guilt, as his gaze lowered to the floor almost sheepishly.

Why does he look so guilty? Sorrel asked herself, searching his face for answers as she tried to figure out the reasoning. It didn't take long for her questions to be answered however, albeit in one of the most shocking ways imaginable.

"Yaris… what are you doing here?" Collick questioned sternly, eyeing Yaris with a look of disapproval.

"I-I'm here to see Sorrel… father."

Sorrel felt her blood run cold, as the reveal began to dawn on her like a splash of cold water to the face. Her Yaris… her sweet, loving Yaris… was the son of Collick Blyth?

No… that can't be. His surname isn't even Blyth; it's Grayson, Sorrel bargained with herself, in complete and utter denial of the revelation.

"Yaris… what is he talking about? He can't be your father," Sorrel protested softly, her world only several fractures away from shattering around her. Yaris's eyes continued to avert from Sorrel's, the lack of eye-contact beginning to make the pit of dread in her stomach cave even further.

"I'm sorry Sorrel, I didn't want you to find out this way," Yaris admitted, as he scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "I am Yaris Blyth, and he is my father."

"B-but - your surname…" Sorrel whispered, her fingers digging into the grass as she tried to make sense of the situation.

"Yes I know, Grayson… that's actually my middle name," Yaris explained, his eyes finally landing on Sorrel's. "I go by Yaris Grayson at school, father forbade me from revealing who I am to anyone. He wanted me to learn like a normal kid, without preferential treatment."

Sorrel had no words to say, she was in such a state of disbelief that she couldn't bring herself to think of anything. Everything she thought she had known about their relationship, it was all built on lies and deceit. She thought she had found her soul-mate, yet she had never really known the boy at all.

"That's why you never introduced me to your family," Sorrel choked out, tears dripping from her chin as they collected from the trail that flowed from her eyes.

"…That's correct," Yaris confirmed quietly, his voice dripping with guilt as he watched Sorrel's world fall apart. "I never wanted you to find out this way Sorrel, not after I found out it was your family's land that my dad was targeting."

Sorrel remained silent for a few moments, trying to get a grip of herself as she tried to pick the pieces of her sense of self back together. She didn't know how to feel; was it betrayed? Taken advantage of? The butt of a cruel joke that Collick Blyth had put him up to? Somehow, she felt a sense of all of those things, yet despite this, there was only one thing she wanted to know.

"Was it ever even real? Were we real?" Sorrel squeaked, her heart feeling as if something was gripping it tightly in an effort to crush it. There was an interlude of silence for a moment, before Sorrel heard Yaris begin to approach her. Once a few seconds had passed, she felt his warm hand on her shoulder, softly squeezing it as if to be reassuring.

"Of course it was," he whispered, hugging Sorrel with one arm as she instinctively leaned into his chest. "Our relationship was never about our father's feud. I was drawn to you the moment I met you at that game. You didn't need to know about my lineage to approach me like most others would, that's why I knew you were the real deal."

Somehow, someway, Sorrel's heart began to inflate once more. She felt her chest swell as the weight of the revelations began to dissipate. Was he telling the truth? Or was he simply deceiving her once again. As if Collick could read her thoughts, he was next to speak up.

"Regretfully, my boy speaks nothing but the truth. I thought I could use him to gain favour with your father, but unfortunately he wanted no part of it," Collick spoke up, putting his hands behind his back once more. "This land is important to me, but not so much to the point that I would sabotage my son's first love."

Sorrel and Yaris both watched Collick in disbelief, as he looked back at them with an unreadable expression.

"Perhaps… his only love."

Despite her distaste for Collick Blyth, she couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude of the man's words, whilst also rather taken aback that he had said them at all. She never would've thought that Collick Blyth of all people, would have a heart.

"Come on boys, this matter can be addressed another time. It would be in bad taste to continue this further," Collick spoke up, snapping his fingers as he began to make his way back to the cars. All of the men that had accompanied Collick followed in unison, as Sorrel and Yaris watched the three cars turn around and travel into the distance.

As the cars were just about to disappear beyond the horizon, Sorrel felt a large hand on her shoulder, before turning to its owner, seeing her father standing there, wincing slightly due to the pain he was in. She noticed his other hand was also on Yaris's shoulder, having caused the boy to turn his attention to Aero in horror.

"Mr Meddleham are you okay!?" He cried out, concerned over the battered state that Aero was in.

"I'll be okay kiddos," Aero reassured them, as he straightened his posture. "Just a few bruises and a little winded. I'll recover quickly."

"Let's get you inside dad," Sorrel insisted, as both her and Yaris put one of Aero's arms over each of their shoulders.

"Thanks Pumpkin," her father responded, as they began to hobble towards the porch.

"It seems like we have a lot to discuss."

Huxley "Hux" Montgomery

18

~ District 2 Tribute ~

Okay, one more rep.

1…

2…

3…

Huxley's eyes watched as the ceiling approached his face, before being dragged away with every single number he counted down, his arms not quite feeling the burn yet as he continued his routine tirelessly. It was a mundane ceiling, not quite the ceiling he was used to back at the Academy; a giant room of tall walls and plenty of space to accomodate the pure abundance of gym equipment. This ceiling was barely a few feet above his head, a bleak stormy grey colouring of cement slab that sucked the vibrance out of the room.

4…

5…

6…

The room was comparable to a walk in closet in size, of course lacking the colourful array of clothes and fabrics imported from District 8, and instead containing three cold, damp walls that matched the excessively depressing ceiling his nose continued to almost graze. It was meant to be summer in District 2, but the conditions he resided in were frigid and bone-chattering, with no window to the outside present that could allow the golden rays of the sun to shine through to his constrictive residence.

7…

8…

9…

In fact, there was no natural light at all in the space, the only source of light being a dimly lit globe above his head, that emitted a poor excuse for lighting which flickered almost routinely every few seconds. The buzz of faulty wiring was enough to drive any person insane, yet Huxley remained focused and disciplined on the task at hand. After all, the people that housed him loved to torture the occupants of the building with the excessively freezing temperatures and incessant noises that degraded any true peace and quiet. One of the only ways Huxley could stay fit, warm, and distracted, was through his work-out routine.

10…

11…

12…

That was enough.

Huxley released his tight grip on the bars, his arms now feeling the pleasant burn he had become accustomed to after every work-out. He landed on the ground cleanly, his balance unfazed by the fatigue of the pull-ups he had just performed for the last hour. He had done many of them at this point, with pull-ups being one of the few exercises he could do whilst stuck within his cell. Although he had no access to any proper equipment, he'd be damned if he allowed himself to wither away like his captors likely intended for him.

It had been a few months… no, perhaps several - since Huxley had been condemned to these conditions. It sure felt like it was several at least, he hadn't bothered to keep track of the days in any capacity - why bother when he was on death row? Granted, the same could be asked for why he kept himself in shape if he was destined to be executed. It all came back down to the projection of himself he wanted to display to others, he wouldn't allow himself to go out looking meek and defeated. He would be at his absolute prime when he was finally struck down, with his head held high and a grin across his face.

If he wanted to achieve anything before his inevitable death, it was becoming a martyr for those he had been locked up for to begin with. One thing that Huxley couldn't quite shake from his mind however, was why did his captors continue to feed him adequately? They could easily starve him to truly impact his physical growth, yet they continued to supply him with a moderate supply of rations that allowed him to get by.

Regardless, Huxley certainly was not about to inquire about it, shrugging off the mystery and plonking down on his rock hard cell bed. Huxley couldn't help but wince momentarily, releasing a pained grunt as his tense muscles collided with the uncomfortable sleeping surface, only cushioned by a slim bed sheet and the scratchy blanket they had given him at the start of his captivity.

"Ouch, I need to stop doing that," Huxley groaned, putting an arm behind his back and massaging his spine to ease the pain. One would think after countless nights of sleeping on a surface that felt like gravel, that Huxley would've learnt to set himself down lightly. However, it simply wasn't in his nature to do that. He had always thrown himself head-first into whatever he endeavoured with, even the simple things. Call it being reckless, but to Huxley it was being proactive. Self-preservation was certainly not his strong suit.

As he clenched his eyes shut, while soothing the discomfort rippling throughout his back, Huxley couldn't help but overhear someone chuckling at his expense. Lazily, he opened one eye with a grimace on his face, his vision wandering beyond the iron clad bars to the outside hall of his cell, and fixating on the amused expression of a person that leaned against the concrete wall of the other side of the corridor.

Some time ago, Huxely's blood would have boiled hot with inconsolable anger at the sight of the person, his rage having not ceased even in the slightest after the events that had unfolded to place him there. There was a time where his vision would go white with fury, and it would take everything in him not to lash out and humour the person that had caused him so much pain.

Nowadays, his anger had tempered, albeit it hadn't ceased by any means. He had simply harboured it much deeper down within himself, hidden away from the tormentor in question - he wouldn't allow Valor LeKang the satisfaction of provoking him.

Valor was someone he had once thought highly of, someone he had believed to be just like himself in many ways. She had been someone he had considered a close friend, someone he had trusted wholly as the two of them had traversed the life of students at the Career Academy of District 2. They were so close in fact, that they were actually sparring partners for quite some time. The two of them knew each other like the backs of their hands, both their fighting styles and chemistry were so synergetic that Academy Officials had hopes that one day the two could enter the arena together.

Of course, despite always wanting success for Valor, Huxley had never wanted to enter the arena alongside her. In fact, he had never wanted to enter the arena at all. As far as he was concerned, he was benefitting quite heavily from the training he was receiving for his own ambitions outside of the Hunger Games, but he was more than happy to assist Valor with her endeavour of wanting to become a tribute. After all, if the two of them were to enter together, only one could come out. Was the loss of a dear friend worth the glory of victory at their expense?

Well, once upon a time Huxley would have thought not. That was before he was brutally made aware of how much of a snake Valor truly was. In the present, he would love for nothing more than to have an opportunity to snuff her life out, and make her pay for what hell she had brought upon him.

Yet there they were, with her laughing at him mockingly whilst he remained confined inside a prison cell. How had it come to this? Why had he been so trusting?

Never, Huxley insisted to himself. Never will I trust so blindingly again.

"Can I help you, Little Miss Peacekeeper?" Huxley sang nonchalantly, putting both his arms behind his head as he lay back to relax. He readied himself for a verbal onslaught of taunts, the very kind Valor had thrown at him time and time again following his incarceration.

"You're already helping me Hux, seeing you like this is always a mood-booster," Valor smirked, folding her arms as she eyed Huxley with sinister glee. It was truly surreal how different she was now that he had seen her true character, he never could've imagined how vile she really was throughout all the years he had known her. The girl he had known was a down-to-earth, compassionate person he had entrusted everything to. However, now as he studied her with his one open eye, observing her with her long dark hair that she had always held in a ponytail, and her fiery amber eyes that always held that passionate spark whenever they sparred - he simply couldn't recognise her true persona.

Huxley himself looked quite different in comparison, especially following the months of being holed up in his cell. He still possessed a rather admirable build from both his work-out routine and genetics, with broad shoulders, muscular arms, and solid definition in all of his limbs. His tall frame was intimidating, fairly taller than the average man, and in contrast to the old Valor he knew whose face was always glowing and approachable - his own had a habit of appearing sullen and judgemental, a trait that certainly hadn't been improved by his situation.

He once took pride in his appearance, often sporting a dangling silver earring for a bit of flare, and flaunting his basilisk tattoo that was etched onto his arm, a tattoo he had probably paid a little too much money for in retrospect. These days however, the conditions he had been living in had left him looking ratty and unkempt, his dark skin chafed and littered with grime, his long dreads now a wild mess that would often stick out at wonky angles, and of course there was the scruff on his face; what was once a well groomed goatee now a messy, patchy beard. All of this, combined with the years of scars he had accumulated during his training, it probably made him look as if he had gone through the wringer. He looked far beyond his years he'd imagine - not that he had seen himself in a mirror for a very long time - but the way he looked was the least of his concerns these days.

"Hux…" Huxley scoffed, rolling his eyes at the name. "You forfeited the right to call me that nickname a long time ago."

"I think you're forgetting that you don't have any rights," Valor retorted, as she turned her attention to her finger nails in an awfully self-entitled fashion, as if Huxley was no more important than a speck of dirt beneath said nails.

"Yeah perhaps so… and who might be responsible for that?" Huxley sneered at her, distaste heavily evident in his tone.

"Oh come on Huxley, are you still blaming me?" Valor rolled her eyes, her words dismissive and unapologetic.

"Well you are the one who sold me out, are you not? The one that caused the deaths of Grey, and…" Huxley's words trailed off, his throat tightening before saying the other name that was on the tip of his tongue. It was a name he still couldn't bear to say, someone he adamantly refused to believe was gone. Instead of continuing his words, Huxely gritted his teeth, knowing Valor would pick up on this.

"Of who? Jahar perhaps?" Valor prodded, causing a flash of anger to erupt within Huxley.

"Don't speak his name," he growled, causing Valor to tilt her head in mild fascination.

"There it is," Valor smiled, knowing Huxley too damn well, and especially knowing how to push his buttons. "It's good to know you're still fired up, I certainly need you to be. I honestly never knew just how close you two were, if I had I would've made sure my father didn't… well, you know."

A loud thud could suddenly be heard following Valor's words, causing her smile to fade from her face. Her eyes followed the source of the thud, which happened to be the side of Huxley's fist colliding with the rough, concrete wall. Pain throbbed in Huxley's hand as his fist remained pressed against the wall, but that was the least of his concerns as he glared at Valor darkly, signalling for her not to provoke him any further. The two stared at each other silently for a few moments, with Huxley almost daring her to continue as he shot daggers from his eyes. After a few tense moments, it seemed that Valor relented, sighing begrudgingly as she stopped her casual leaning and took a more serious stance.

"That's it, I've had enough. I can't keep this up anymore, this stupid facade is just wearing me down," Valor huffed, throwing her hands up impatiently. "Look Huxley, and I mean this with all sincerity… I thought the world of you. Why did it have to come to this?" She continued softly, her expression shifting to that of a rather genuine sadness. It took Huxley aback, the sudden change in her demeanour being reminiscent of the Valor he used to know.

What is she doing? He questioned, his suspicion unwavering as he eyed her with contempt. Why is she pretending to be empathetic? Is she toying with me?

"Oh really? You have a funny way of showing it. I ask you to join me and you turn me in?" Huxley cackled, refusing to take the bait. "What a fucking joke."

"Damn it Huxley!" Valor shouted, banging against the bars of Huxley's cell. "What did you expect me to do? Turn against my dad!? Join your little revolution!? What you were doing was treason! Don't you understand that!?"

The smirk on Huxley's face slowly began to subside, as he saw the tears begin to well up in Valor's eyes, tears he had never seen the girl shed. Valor had always been tough, even when she had broken her arm during one of their sparring sessions when they were younger, the girl absolutely refused to cry. Yet, the harboured emotion he never knew her to have possessed, it was all there in that moment, the desperation in her voice begging to be heard despite everything she had done to him. For once in his life, Huxley was silent, with not a clue as to how to respond.

"Do you have any idea of the position you put me in? To choose between my best friend and my own family?" Valor croaked, her words becoming ragged with emotion. "Why did you have to gain these ideas of rebellion? This need to destroy the system? We live a good life here in District 2, there was never a need for it to come to this."

The words hung in the air for a moment, as Huxley watched Valor carefully, noticing her chest heaving up and down as if she had been bursting to let out those words. What did she expect of him? To turn a blind eye to the absolute injustice this country was rooted in? All because Valor didn't want to disturb the 'peace' of her perfect, ignorant little bubble?

"Your world-view is too small Valor," Huxley finally spoke up, pushing himself up into a sitting position as Valor helplessly slid down to her knees against the bars, struggling to contain her emotions. "You know this isn't a fair system. Even if we have it good here in Two, we are selfish to indulge when others are powerless to fight the Capitols corruption."

Valor remained silent, sniffling as she lowered her head to avoid making eye contact with Huxley. A part of him wished he could overlook his unbridled anger towards the girl, the old part of himself longing to comfort her in the way he would've before the shit-storm his life had become occurred. However, he had his values to stand by, and Valor simply didn't align with those values any longer.

"Why are you here anyway?" Huxley continued, refusing to console the girl who had stolen everything from him. "I figured you were here to taunt me again, this is a little out of character for you isn't it?"

Valor didn't respond immediately, as she appeared to try and compose herself, wiping away the stray tears as her amber eyes returned to Huxley's stony face. Eventually, she seemed to have calmed herself down enough to speak once more, standing up from her helpless kneeling position.

"The Reaping is in a weeks time," she answered hoarsely, grimacing as she heard the cracks in her voice.

"Oh how time flies," Huxley sighed, a level of indifference in his voice as he turned at a right-angle to rest his back against the wall he had punched a minute prior. "So are you here to gloat about how you're going off to become the Victor you always wanted to be? So that you can rub it in my face that you're living your best life, whilst I sit here and await the gallows?"

Valor remained silent momentarily, before her tone came back, soft and serious.

"I'm not entering the Hunger Games, Huxley."

Huxley couldn't prevent his eyes from widening, the information taking him by surprise. He had always known Valor's dream was to enter the Hunger Games, he had thought she was a shoo-in to be selected as this years female volunteer. What could have possibly happened to alter this set of events?

"Why the hell not?" He questioned, completely forgetting his grudge against her and staring at Valor for an explanation whilst she bit her lip in trepidation. "That was your dream wasn't it?"

Valor looked hesitant to respond for a second, almost as if she knew Huxley wasn't going to like what she had to say. Eventually, she grew a determined look on her face, before eyeing him down.

"I'm following in my fathers footsteps, I'm going to be a Peacekeeper," she insisted, causing Huxley's stomach to sink. Valor's father was the Head Peacekeeper of District 2, a fact that Valor had refrained from telling him back during their Academy days. It was quite possibly the biggest misstep he had made when trying to recruit Valor for their underground rebellion, the very rebellion she had reported to her father and gotten legions of Huxley's comrades killed as a result.

Had he known that Valor was the daughter of the Head Peacekeeper, he never would have been as foolish as he was to think she'd join their cause, yet his blinding trust had resulted in the biggest travesty for the rebellion he had yearned for. Now to learn that she was doubling down and fully joining the opposition - it was a little bit of a gut punch to Huxley, even after all she had done. He had called her "Little Miss Peacekeeper" as a jab at her falling under her fathers thumb, but he had never expected her to give up her dream and genuinely become a Peacekeeper.

"Why?" Huxley interrogated. "Why would you do that?"

"Now that I know about the rebellion that's being orchestrated behind closed doors, I can't just sit by and watch Huxley. It's a pointless fight that will only lead to death on both sides. If I can prevent that from happening… then that's what I will do," Valor breathed, the reluctance in her breath quite tangible. As Huxley studied Valor, it became increasingly obvious that this is not something that she wanted to do. It was her last eligible year to become a tribute, yet she was giving it up, all because she felt inclined to do so to combat the revolution Huxley and his people had been working towards. He never would've imagined that it would come to this.

"How have you fallen this far? You rat me out, you taunt me for months, and now you're becoming a Peacekeeper?" Huxley responded quietly, causing a burst of anger within Valor to erupt once more.

"You really are dense, you know that!? The only reason I've acted like this is to push myself away from you! To make you hate me! To make you despise me! To cut off all connection we had!" Valor screamed angrily, gripping the cell bars tightly. "I want so badly to hate you as much as you hate me, so that I can justify to myself why I did what I did to you. But I can't do it, I can't hate you because you're still my best friend, and I never wanted to have to make that decision in the first place!"

Huxley was speechless, watching as the tears returned once again to Valor's eyes. This time they didn't well up; they flowed freely down her olive skinned cheeks. He hadn't seen her conjure such raw emotion ever, especially not with how coldly she had acted towards him following her betrayal. Yet there she was, pouring the entirety of her guilty conscience out to him after months of emotional torment. She had truly succeeded in making him hate her, that was without question - but he had always assumed the hate was mutual.

"After everything you've done to me," Huxley whispered, a lump emerging within his throat as his emotions ran wild. "How can you expect me to believe a word of that? That you aren't just toying with me only to stab me in the back again?"

"Why do you think you're still alive you idiot? My father wanted to have you executed months ago! I'm the one who changed his mind! I'm the reason you're still alive!" Valor cried out, breathing heavily as she stared at him with desperate eyes. Was that true? Was the reason he hadn't been killed yet really because Valor had advocated for it? There weren't many other explanations for why he wasn't dead yet, it was a question he had pondered over every day that he had been confined to his desolate cell. Once again, Huxley couldn't think of anything to say, his mind a whirlwind as he tried to process everything she had said.

Why is she telling me all of this now? He questioned to himself, scratching his chin in thought.

"And that's why I'm here," Valor suddenly spoke, her voice returning to a speaking tone. "I can only prolong your sentence for so long, but I think I have a solution to get you out of here with no further bloodshed."

With those words, Huxley immediately put two and two together.

"You can't mean…" Huxley groaned, knowing exactly where Valor was going with this. The confession, the mention of the Reaping - it all made sense. This was her plan all along.

"Volunteer," Valor instructed almost pleadingly, leaning her head close to the metal bars of the cell. "Volunteer for the Hunger Games."

"Absolutely not," Huxley responded bluntly, not wanting to even entertain the idea of entering the arena of death. It was purely nonsensical, an absurd idea that Valor likely conjured in her head so she could watch him die in a more entertaining way. There was simply no other explanation. For starters, he had never possessed aspirations to enter the Hunger Games, despite excelling at the Academy and possessing many of the qualities that District 2 looked for in their volunteers. His attendance of the Academy was fuelled purely by ulterior motive, he was always going to pull out of the volunteer race before they could even have a chance to qualify him.

On top of that, the volunteer for this year had likely been settled by now, he couldn't simply usurp the allotted volunteer even if he had wanted to. There were strict policies in place that would prevent him from doing so, as well as contingency efforts that were so far beyond his control that even attempting to do so would likely result in his immediate death. It had happened on numerous occasions before, aspiring idiots that thought they could pull one over on the Career Academy and volunteer before the selected candidate. Those people always became mysteriously and violently ill during their goodbye sessions, before being forcefully pulled out of their tribute role and replaced with an all too willing "replacement", a replacement who almost always turned out to be the rightful volunteer. All those foolish kids would succumb to their sickness, never to be spoken of again.

Furthermore - and the most damning reason of all - why on earth would he want to represent District 2 after what they had done to him? At that point, he'd rather just be executed, even if he had a sliver of a chance to make it out alive through being a tribute.

"I thought you knew me better than that Valor. You know I'd never agree to do that. It's impossible," he continued, causing the girl to pinch the bridge of her nose in dissatisfaction.

"Huxley, I'm trying to do you a favour here. This is the only possible way that you can be pardoned for your treason," Valor responded firmly, her tone emphasising a sense of urgency. Her eyes washed over him, a sense of guilt and hesitation evident within them. "But on top of that… there's something you should know."

He knew that tone, the tone of someone that was about to drop a bombshell, and a nuclear one at that. His stomach began to churn, sensing the incoming despair that would come from what Valor was about to reveal to him.

"…What is it, Valor?" He murmured, the two avoiding each others gaze as the tension hit an all time high. Valor refrained from answering immediately, her knuckles turning white as she tightly clenched the bars of the cell. Although she hadn't said anything yet, deep in his heart, Huxley had a feeling he knew what she was about to say.

"What is it!?" He spluttered again, his voice hoarse as his words shook with every bated breath. Valor turned her gaze to him once more, with her expression hardened as she prepared to let the words spill from her lips.

"If you refuse… my father is going to execute both Cass and your family."

It was as if a flash-bang grenade had gone off. Huxley's breathing ceased, choking in his throat as his vision went fuzzy. He couldn't pay attention to anything, as his ears began to ring loudly, only allowing a muffled white noise to be audible as his mind processed the news. He felt his heart beating like a drum, his blood running cold as goosebumps arose on his dark, mocha skin.

After a few moments that felt like eternity, his vision began to focus again, with his eyes landing back on Valor who tried to communicate with him. Yet nothing could be heard except for the ringing in his ears, and the thumping of his heart. It was as if he was shell-shocked, unable to do anything in the face of this new ultimatum. His family… Cass… his sweet girlfriend Cass…

"They have Cass?" Huxley choked out, forcing himself to snap out of his stupor as he returned his hardened gaze to Valor. "My parents?"

"No," Valor reassured him, her voice much more soothing than it had been for the last several months. "They weren't at the raid that night, so they haven't been connected to your group."

Huxley felt a slight bout of relief upon hearing their status, as he had always been concerned about what had become of his family and girlfriend. However, it was evident they weren't in the clear yet, not when Valor was revealing her fathers plans to him; a stark parallel to the situation they had found themselves in months ago when she had relayed the tip-off of their rebellion to her father.

"There's a 'but' coming isn't there?" Huxley murmured.

"But," Valor confirmed, her voice lowering as she started to get to the bad news. "The Peacekeepers have had eyes on them ever since the raid, purely out of your own association with them. The reason they haven't moved in on them yet is for the reason I've just mentioned to you - as a bargaining chip to get you to volunteer."

There it was, the single piece of information that brought it all together. It all made sense now. Why they hadn't killed Huxley that night, why he hadn't been executed yet, why he hadn't heard a peep about his family or Cass despite asking about them for months, and even why Valor had continued to visit him despite being the reason he was locked up to begin with. They - or perhaps Valor alone - were all pushing him towards an ultimatum in which he simply had no choice. Although he was unsure of whether Valor's motives were benign or nefarious, the fact remained that she had kept him alive from behind the scenes, and seemed to have worked out a way in which her father was willing to overlook his crimes, albeit at the cost of his independence.

If he were to make it out of the games, there would be no way he could return to his comrades without the constant eyes of the government and the publicity of being a Victor bringing them unwanted attention. However, if he were to die, then that would tie up the loose end all together. In their eyes, there was virtually no downside. Little did they know, even if he was to win, there'd be no way he'd sit on the sidelines like their good little dog. Huxley would still find a way to fight, even if it was indirect. It was his best chance to redeem himself, for the grave mistake he had made to lead him to this day.

Not to mention, he was left little choice to begin with. He couldn't allow his family or Cass to die in his place, he had already lost too much. The thought of Jahar briefly passed his mind, the image of Valor's father's gun firing on that fateful night, sending a bullet ripping through Jahar's skull and leaving a path of blood and brain matter within its contrail. As the imagery of Jahar's life-force fading from his eyes resurfaced, Huxley had to squeeze his eyes shut, forcing the memory out of sight.

Both himself and Cass had already lost so much with Jahar's death, the two of them losing their boyfriend, their lover, their life partner, all in an instant. It may end up being at the cost of his own life, but he couldn't bear the idea of losing Cass as well, even if it did leave her without him in exchange.

I'm sorry Cass, Huxley thought to himself, having made up his mind. I'm going to be a little selfish, but… I'll find a way make it work out.

"I'm open to the idea," Huxley spoke up quietly, causing Valor to perk up. "Who would I be entering with?"

Valor appeared to smile with relief, her shoulders lowering with ease as her eyes settled on Huxley.

"You don't want to leave it as a surprise?" Valor questioned teasingly, causing Huxley to scowl at her.

"Stop messing around, we're still not on good terms. If I'm going to be entering the games I need to know everything about my situation," Huxley growled, which caused Valor to sigh.

"I guess you're right, with everything that's happened we'll never go back to how things were," she said seeming somewhat saddened, before taking on a more serious expression. "The girl who is volunteering this year is Inessa Gaibannes."

"Nes…" Huxley murmured, the name very familiar to him. He took a moment to absorb the information, nodding his head approvingly. Inessa was one of the top candidates for this years volunteers outside of Valor, and from what Huxley remembered she was very on par with Valor. He hadn't interacted much with Inessa at the Career Academy, however outside of the facility… a history between them had been developed over the last few years. They were very much aware of each other, and the two had conversed purely behind closed doors due to the nature of their interactions. He wouldn't call it a friendship, but there was certainly a mutual respect for one another.

"I can work with that," Huxley continued, folding his arms as he looked back up at Valor. "But the real issue, is how do you propose we get around the allocation of the male volunteer?"

Huxley was slightly taken aback when Valor smiled at him, a hint of amusement evident in her eyes.

"Funnily enough, that's already taken care of," she informed him, grinning as she watched his face fill with confusion. "The male volunteer has already called you out to a no-restrictions duel."

A duel? It wasn't a very common thing anymore in District 2, however they used to be a standard within the volunteer candidate qualifications many years ago. Back then, the right to volunteer was won by the person who overcame all of their adversaries, in a series of brutal one-on-one fights that would often end in death for the losers. The goal never was to kill the opponent, however it would happen often due to the sheer brutality of the competition, to the point that it got so bad that the Academy's whole system of volunteer selection had to be revised.

Nowadays, duels had to be given the green light, and only happened when there was a highly contentious situation with two promising candidates that the officials couldn't agree on. If both candidates accepted the duel, the two would be forced to fight; albeit with restrictions that were meant to prevent death.

However, this was a no-restrictions duel, a duel in which either opponent could die. It was no wonder they allowed this, he was meant to be a dead man walking after all, if he didn't prove himself, then there was nothing to lose with his demise. If they were willing to accept a no-restrictions duel between himself and the male candidate for the sake of the challenger, they must've been pretty confident in their chosen candidate.

"Who am I fighting?" Huxley questioned bluntly, preparing himself for the first obstacle on his journey to semi-freedom.

"Payne Holston," Valor answered, provoking a dark look on Huxley's face.

"That asshole?" Huxley growled through clenched teeth, earning a nod in response from Valor. Payne was a radical Capitol supporter, whose ideology embodied everything that Huxley and his rebellion vehemently opposed. He had always been a bully, and was the heir to a wealthy family who let him get away with everything he ever did wrong. On top of that, he had always been extremely arrogant, and thought himself to be destined to experience the glory of being a Victor.

He had always given Huxley a hard time, and the two had never liked each other, even before either of them had developed their own beliefs. If Huxley had to assume, it was because he always stood his ground against Payne's attempts to push him around as he did to everyone else. Huxley was someone he couldn't control, and that always infuriated Payne.

Now, it seemed like he wanted to fight Huxley once and for all, in a battle to the death before Payne went off to the games. Huxley gnashed his teeth together, the very thought of Payne being enough to piss him off.

"Yeah, him. He said he wanted a warm-up kill before becoming a tribute, he thinks you're going to be skin and bones at this point," Valor relayed, causing Huxley to dig his fingernails into his palms as he clenched his fists.

"Is that so?" Huxley murmured, as he flashed Valor a fiery glare. Valor smirked back at him, a distant sense of camaraderie igniting between them. Despite their differences, neither of the pair had ever liked Payne, and Huxley knew that she could sense the mutual agreement in their joined gaze.

"Well then… I guess he's in for a rude awakening."

Author's Note:

Um wow… I may have gone a little overboard with the word count on this one. Truthfully, I wasn't expecting to get so immersed in the writing for each of these POV's, but wow was that fun to write! Bringing these characters to life has been so exciting, and I'm really looking forward to seeing what I can do with the other ones!

This chapters introduced tributes were Chianti Barlowe, Jet Rushen, Sorrel Meddleham, and Huxley Montgomery, and they were all a blast to write for. Some of them had some interesting tweaks that I incorporated, but I tried (as I will with every tribute) to stay as faithful to the submissions as possible. We also got some appearances and/or name drops of some future tributes as well, which I think is a great way of making the world feel more interwoven. I would love to hear your thoughts, opinions, rankings, and the likes on these tributes, as well as any possible predictions you may have for them!

I want to say a quick thank you to livinginadream0, AcrossTheRio (x2), and Paradigm of Writing, for submitting these tributes respectively, I'd love to hear your thoughts especially on how your characters were portrayed! I also want to thank everyone who has reviewed so far, it's been very rewarding to see the feedback and everyone has been incredibly supportive! It's certainly a huge motivator to keep continuing this story, and I sure hope to keep continuing to hear from you all.

I'll cut it short here as this chapter is already long enough, the next chapter will be featuring another four tribute introductions and will focus on the Night Before the Reapings. I hope to see you all for the next one, hopefully before the end of the month!

~Reign