Seven People Ampere (Perry) Smith missed.


Alice

He remembered with total, terrifying clarity when Alice went away. It was during the retreat, when the Capitol was taking back the rails between Two and themselves, rolling the rebels up the front range. Five was in the middle, or rather his part of Five was. Northern Sector, if you were using Capitol Speak. To everyone else, it was Little Two. They had similar geography, the trains rolled east and west between Two and the Capitol with a stop at Auburn for the lucky few who could afford the trip before the war. Hell, they'd even been colonized before the rest of Five or Two. They were loyal, as well, which was why for all their flaws the Capitol had told them to get back, let civilians stay in reconstruction camps while the Peacekeepers wiped out the final resistance in the south.

But that was all geography, and he'd always been less than sparkling at that. What he remembered, most of all about the retreat, was the noise. The screams of a little girl separated from family, and in a column of near on ten-thousand that was multiplied several times over every time situations happen. The occasional boom, as the shells pounded the terrain around them, enemy and ally. The yells, to keep moving, to not stop even though grandfather was lying down, couldn't go faster. It was a cacophony of noise, and that noise only got louder when, as happened at least once a day, rebels tried to pick off a few Peacekeepers, sending the whole column running and failing in their objective more often than not.

But, because it wasn't like he'd ever been shot at, he'd instead felt on top of the world, given that his family had tried to shield him from the worst of it. He was fourteen, old enough for responsibility, but his frame made him ill suited to carrying any of the bags they were taking away from home. Instead, he was given a task Mama thought he'd be good at. His sole responsibility was making sure that Alice, who was barely seven at the time, was with them. Not too hard, considering that she was always holding someone's hand, but enough responsibility to keep him feeling busy. Something he didn't need to remember too hard to keep doing.

It was a shame, then, that he drifted off. But he was just so tired, and the walk was just so long, so when it was over . It wasn't his fault that he woke up, and mama was shaking him frantically and demanding to know where Alice was. And, despite his stuttered promises that she was just over there, that they'd reached the camp they'd be at until the front range was secure, Alice definitively wasn't anywhere near them. No matter how they panicked, how Mama yelled and Perry stumbled through circled family and circled family, there was no hope.

Family tradition from then on was to leave a candle burning. Not that anyone had any hope, the Peacekeepers had a hundred such tales and were undermanned as it was.

He never stopped hoping that one day she might return.


Da

He never knew Da. The man was a Peacekeeper, just as his father and his father before him. What Perry did know was the stories mama told him.

Mainly the story of how Mama and Da first met. It was high summer, a few days after her thirteenth birthday, and she'd just stumbled upon a beehive off the river near a rock that looked like a frowning face, not that she could reach it. After all, she was small even for her age, and the buzzing was just so loud, and it was dangling from a branch just out of reach. She'd had a jar in one hand, and her hand-shovel in the other,

At which point, she always stopped for a moment, relishing the thought before smirking, continuing the story.

"And then, I was standing there. I was a little jealous of the bees, of course, because I knew how good their honey was. And my Mama, that's your Grandma, woulda smacked my legs red for getting stung. So instead I had to tell myself that I'd contain the honey fever, that surely I wouldn't be brave enough. And that's when your Da showed up!"

This statement would, before she continued, be followed with a tap on the forehead of either Perry or Alice.

"He tapped me on the shoulder, and whispered because we couldn't make any noise or those bees would be on us. And he said, because I can still remember this. He said, 'you want to share?'"

Ma always loved that she could say that, and Pa wasn't ever around to say he said something more heroic, so the story stuck. Then, Ma would continue, and explain how she and Da had baited out the bees. How he'd thrown rocks, and ran to the creek to hide, while she filled the jar with honey.

He never knew Da. Not his name, not his family, not his looks or thoughts or where he came from. What Perry, for 50 years after, remembered was to go. To head to the creek, and follow it until he found a rock that looked like a frowny face, and wait by that rock until Da came, because he would. Perry just knew it.


Shannon

He'd met her when he was 4. Nothing as romantic as Ma and Pa, quite the opposite. They were both at the same school, and on the first day there was clearly symptoms of something wrong. Primarily in the sick that splashed all over him, even as the crying six year old next to him tried to apologize.

The next day, she'd come back with a small bag of gingerbread, homemade of course, for him. After all, in the times before the conflict, it wasn't necessarily hard to get supplies from other districts, hell some of the rich even travelled between districts as a matter of routine. It was, however, still expensive. Expensive enough that it was a thoughtful gift, and one that he reciprocated when inviting her to his house.

The next ten years, with a break during the temporary retreat, were mostly spent in company of each other. Not romantic, they were far too close for that. No, this company was tracking deer through the forest because it was cool, and family dinners together, and seeing how close they could get to the dam entrance before they were told in no uncertain terms that it was far too dangerous for a pair of kids to be on the bridges if the dam had any issues.

And sure, they'd been split up for six months when he was sent to a different camp, but they met up after, and then it was all fine. They both had work, so there was less time available for being bestest of friends, but they always saw each other when the shifts shifted. Always headed home together, chatting, until they reached the junction of Foss and Cascata, and went their separate ways.

Plus, when the trucks came to pick them up for the journey to the big city for the reapings, they always managed to get in the same bed. The peacekeepers, not having as much difficulty at least with these kids, weren't even too bad. Sure, there was the occasional runner, but Shannon in purple reaping dress and Perry in a nice suit were the norm as they stepped quietly into the truck. She'd always come back for dinner after, the families were friendly enough that it wasn't too much of an issue.

Two years went by faster than expected. Four were reaped, none of them known by personality even if they'd all heard of Willard.

On the third year, however, it was his turn to follow the example of 23 other families and burst into tears as she was called up. Not because of any issues, she was a model staffer to his knowledge. Slip just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

A drawing which meant she was in the wrong place at the wrong time when the boy from Eleven lurched forward with a knife, and spread blood all over that purple dress.

He had the last letter she'd sent pinned up for 50 years.


Clarissa

He didn't remember much about Clarissa. They'd known each other, after all, maybe 13, 14 hours. Mayor up on stage, looking more than a little uncomfortable as he'd reached his hand into the bowl and pulled out the names.

"Clarissa Edison!"

She was maybe sixteen, thin and drab. Not from the Northern Sector, not from anywhere where he could know her. No, she was someone completely foreign to him, which meant that by all rights he had no reason to have any care about what happened to her.

But they had 12 hours in a cramped train carriage, and rather than talk to the Ones, Threes, or Sevens (Capitol forbid), they got to talking with each other. By the time the train pulled in, peacekeepers throwing open the doors and dragging them out, he knew everything.

That she was tipped to be the lead role at her school performance.

That she was hoping she'd get home, because she'd just asked a girl out last week and it wouldn't do for that to go to waste.

That there was a role in the solar panel line she expected to fill, because it had little physical labour and relatively ok pay.

That she was from the south, in a village deep in the Central deserts.

Not that any of that mattered, as they were dragged out of the train carriage and brought, in a truck more suited for prisoners, to the Capitol Arena. There, peacekeeper rifles were levelled, until all 23 of the 'tributes' (Girl from Seven having died on the way from some illness) were circling the cornucopia, Clarissa on the opposite side to him. The pistol sounded, and more lunged forward than last year.

He knew he saw her at some point, the massive boy from Two tugging his machete out of a limp body. It wasn't dwelled on, though. There was time to feel after.


Ma

After he 'won', though, things didn't get easier. Last living relative, and Ma still decided she'd rather have a murderer out of the house. Chased him out with a frying pan in one hand, screaming about how he was a disgrace to his family.

He took up a job at the big power plant, up on the river. Turbines turning 24/7, feeding Two and the Capitol with all the power they needed. He sent a letter every month back to Ma, got no response. She left his things while he was at work one day, in the crappy little room he was renting until he managed to make enough money to get a bigger accommodation.

And, to his credit, he did get promoted. He got to help plan out the extension of the dam, because they needed more power, and given he was on maintenance it was a good choice to figure out how best to change routes of the piping running throughout the vast structure. Made a bit more money from that.

He wanted a home cooked meal, he really did. But, under the circumstances, when a relatively ok looking young woman asked him out, his response was a stunned yes. Nothing like this had been accepted, he was a kid killer after all. But Isabel, no, just Bel, saw past that. Saw a young man who had a stable source of income, a shorter working day (only ten hours instead of twelve, maintenance was crucial enough he got that extra time off) and who didn't take anything for granted.

She tried to help him reconnect with Ma, he really did. But he never got a response.

She passed away, alone, around the 31st. He didn't mourn, too busy in the Capitol telling them that this year the kids had a chance even as a mutt got one and the Pack got the other.

Nobody was ever told what he inherited. A piece of paper burnt with him, faded and tear-stained strip of something.


Wattson

He'd been mobilized for the eleventh. Not because he was more suited to it, but because that golden apprentice had knocked on his door, and told him that as a late reward for his service, he'd be getting a yearly trip to the Capitol along with (preapproved) travel to meet with his fellow 'Victors', a very attractive looking house just off Main Street in a nice little gated community and a weekly salary that sounded about equivalent to the yearly incomes of everyone on his former road.

Pretty nice, and for two hours of bloodshed. Well, it might even have been worth it. Not that he considered this, as a white gloved young man with a smile just a little too broad reached a hand into the reaping bowl, supplanting a role the mayor used to take.

"For the girls, we have Tara Renton, and for the boys we have... Wattson Bine."

Two uniquely horrible names, but without further ado, Perry headed to the train. Sat at a desk, and found a thick pack, filled with information. How the sponsorship situation would work, names and faces of his colleagues. Capitol above, he could even complain to the gamemakers, or make suggestions. That would be useful.

But, before too long, it was time to greet the kids, Wattson and Tara. He received them in the dining carriage, smile on his lips as they walked in. Even if he didn't want this, he was going to put an effort in to keep his kids alive. It wouldn't be proper to leave them without a mentor at this time. Chances weren't high, but they never were. If he was going to be known throughout the district as the one who was supervising children doomed at minimum to one death of two, and was getting paid the obnoxious number Snow had given him when asked. His best was the least he could do under such circumstances.

Tara, however, had given up before she'd even spoken to him. Not because she didn't trust him, but because the odds were stacked against her. She was slender, maybe fourteen, and unlikely to pull an upset. After a discussion, he was ready to let the girl accept she was doomed, spend the short period they had in the Capitol having some brief enjoyment, and then most likely get killed quickly.

Wattson, though, was a model student. He listened to his mentor, he even made notes for goodness' sake. He nodded, he repeated back, he even chatted when the sponsors came to visit.

Three hours. He lasted three hours, before he walked towards that goddamn fish.

Tara lasted another day, until she had a trident in her gut.

He found it got easier as the years went on, and kids blurred together. Never forgot his first pair, though.


Himself

Because he was never the same after the Games. Even if he seemed, on the surface, to be the most normal, that was hardly the case. Still, he put his back into making sure the kids were ok during the games, as long as he could. Served a Capitol that didn't care about him.

He never wanted to go off and help the Capitol, Five never got Anything out of it. One Victor in almost four decades, who wanted nothing to do with him, before Indra came along, and the other few later. He was never in doubt that the Games were a farce and that there was better ways, solutions

He wasn't a rebel, though, he maintained that until he was on his deathbed. 30 years of denying any ties to a grouping of people who he could name or at least guess, by that point. Beetee, Blight, Haymitch, Mags, others. Indra, most probably. He'd always refused to join, stood up for neutrality. A wise decision, in the end, given it got him left alone by all.

Not that names would ever be given, that wasn't the kind of action that got you respect. Regardless of their views, no Victor ever sold another out, if you discounted the odd exception.

He lasted a hell of a time, as well. 76 years, picking up a knack for art and sketchings. He sat by the dam twice a month, right up until that cold winter, sketching it out. Outlining the bridges, the unlocked doors, the guards.

Redrawing his designs again and again until he was absolutely certain that he'd got the distances perfect, lines straight. The bridges were narrow, and pipes exposed behind unlocked maintenance doors. Not that such an issue was ever voiced to anybody. No sense in complaining about what was open.

But the issue was change. Or rather, a lack of it. Nothing changed. No new extensions were built in the area, no house upgrades. The city sprawled out around the gated community the victors lived in, and by the time he was 70 it was where the cream of Five's society lived. He was bored.

Which was why he didn't fight the end. Accepted it like an old friend, let Ma and Alice and Da and Shannon and the rest beckon him into the embrace of cold death. He watched, with blissfully calming ignorance, as darkness came over him, looking into brown eyes wet with tears.

He faded away.