PEREGRINE FRALEY , 17 Y.O. Lab Worker

District 5

THAT NIGHT, PEREGRINE heard a quiet click against his window. The sound awoke him from his already fretful sleep. The click was then echoed by a much louder panging sound. He begrudgingly got up and threw a shirt over his shoulders, marching over to the large glass pane and peering out. He could just barely make out the silhouette of a teenage boy down near the back of the Hive. He blinked once and then twice until his eyes were clear enough to make out Terry's slouched form.

Peregrine's mouth opened in a question before it closed again. He had no clue why Terry was here, in the dead of night, no clue how he was able to angle the rocks he had been throwing to hit his window on the eighth floor, but he would have to go all the way down to the ground to find out.

He tossed a thin fleece over his shoulders to weather against the cold before opening the door to his bedroom as quietly as possible. He crept down the hallway, the carpeted floor with geometric shapes mostly deafening his footsteps. The monotonous beige walls, tinted yellow with age, watched him. Peregrine finally reached the elevator and grunted with annoyance when, after he pushed GF , the elevator gave a happy ding.

He felt the cool metal even through his moccasin slippers and socks. He waited as the elevator slowly slid downwards, a small monitor displaying what floor he was currently at. The whole time, he quietly prayed that Terry would still be there when he finally got outside.

Peregrine emerged through the main doors and padded around the side of the building to where he estimated Terry was. Luckily, the boy was still there, standing in a fur-lined waterproof coat, and staring at Peregrine in complete surprise.

Before he could say anything, Peregrine spoke first. "What are you doing ?" He asked, trying to hide the annoyance in his tone. Annoyance was merely one of the many emotions swirling in his gut.

"So you do remember I exist," Terry snorted. Peregrine's lip curled, but he didn't make any argument until Terry finally answered his initial question. "Listen, there's this thing happening, in the downtown area of our sector."

"A thing?" Peregrine repeated distrustfully.

"Yes, it starts soon. It's just a protest meeting on the topic of the Quell."

"Terry, are you serious ?" Peregrine's words were emphasized by the chirping of crickets in the distant woods. "Was seeing Martin almost die not enough for you? How much will it take until you realize that there is an art to being subtle ?"

"It's going to be huge . I've heard rumors that at least three-quarters of the sector got the message, even extending to some of the others. We can really make change, Perry!"

Peregrine felt a peculiar sickness in his stomach. The name Kinetica echoed in his head, followed shortly by I found her public documents after—she had three demerits. You have one. But if what Terry said was true, that it was just a peaceful protest meeting about the Quell, he had the chance to at least vanish into the crowd. "I'll think about it," he decided.

"You can't think about it, we have to go now ! It starts in a few minutes! Our goal is to get the Games delayed, or at least outright cancelled. Isn't it you who thinks that we can't just be complacent ? C'mon, Perry." Terry tugged on his wrist. "Are you in or what?"

Peregrine looked at his friend, his expression unreadable. His mouth opened to respond.

Terry certainly hadn't been lying in regards to the people there. Looking around and feeling the warm press of bodies around him, Peregrine estimated there had to be about five-hundred. He had only joined Terry due to an overwhelming sense of guilt—and he was beginning to regret that decision.

People were whispering and muttering. Some of them were displeased with the late, or perhaps early, hour. Peregrine had no clue about the time. He had neglected checking before flying out of his apartment. Others were nervous, as they had been noting a ramped up Peacekeeper presence. Peregrine had lost Terry among the crowd. It seemed like his friend was familiar with almost everyone.

Although Peregrine would've loved to lose himself among the feelings of unification at last, he was anticipating…something. He couldn't place exactly what. He knew there was something in the air. Something dark and frightening.

The moon cast scattered light across the metallic surface of the landmark they were gathered at—a huge statue of President Coriolanus Snow, a supposedly significant man in the Old Age. Most of his actions had weathered away with time, but the big things were still passed around. Some spoke of him as a creature that lurked in closets, ready to snatch up naughty children and drag them into the Games.

Others spoke of him like a man who was cruel like The Icicle, carefully unleashing 'justice' on people without much notice. Peregrine had his own doubts on either of those depictions, but he knew one thing: there had never been a President of Panem with the interests of the Districts in their heart.

He was aware of a sudden hush among the crowd. He looked at the feet of the statue, where a woman was now standing. She had a wiry frame, with a large coat wrapped around her shoulders. Her hair was knotted and tied close to her head. There was something off-kilter about her expression. Peregrine realized that she was faintly speaking.

"Two years ago, my son was Reaped to be in the Games. I told him to stay strong, that he would be safe because he was my sweet boy. He was torn limb from limb by one of the Capitol's heinous creations, on live television. For the next few months, he was replayed again and again on Capitol stations that milked the Games. One of the commentators said that it was a 'fascinating death for such an uninteresting tribute.'" A few exclamations rose from the crowd at that. Even Peregrine's lip curled in disgust. He heard the younger couple next to him murmur to each other in disturbed tones.

"An uninteresting tribute is what they called him. But that is not who Darwin was. He was a great dancer, charming to boot, with hair that curled like a rooster in the front and a small gap between his teeth." The woman's voice wavered.

She continued. "I'm the one who called everyone together, because I have a message. I won't stand for the Capitol dehumanizing us anymore. I won't stand for them putting our children on pedestals, treating them like celebrities only to ship them home in boxes less than a week later!"

A few agreeing cries echoed from the crowd. Peregrine shifted uncomfortably, peering around. Suddenly, he was caught by a curious sight. Diagonally backwards and on his right side, a woman was staring at him. He looked at her closely, before coming to a startling realization. She wasn't just any woman. He could tell from the eyepatch over her left eye, with a large D5 on it, the other blue one twinkling with the youth of someone half her age. Her blonde hair, somewhere between wavy and curly, was tossed playfully over her shoulders. She gave him a cheerful smile and what he assumed was a wink.

Peregrine gaped. What was Solara Nyhan, the Victor of the 94th Hunger Games, doing at a protest ? And why did she look so damn joyful ?

"I intend to tear down this statue of the man these assholes love so much, so that they can feel even a fraction of what I've felt! Because whenever they lose someone, they get a statue ! When we lose someone, we get well wishes and a 'the odds weren't in their favor!'" The woman pointed behind her wildly.

A rallying cry shot through everyone gathered, including the young couple next to Peregrine. He realized that the woman of the couple had a faintly rounded belly. Of course she didn't want to lose her future child.

After a moment of hesitation, Peregrine joined them. Shouts and pumps of fists filled the air as people began to rush the statue of President Snow. The large iron man stared down at them, contempt in his metallic expression. Fists shot up into the air, pumping up and down.

However, there was an undercurrent of something else. The road behind the statue curved downwards, so it was impossible to see what, but many feet were marching in rhythm. Shit . "Peacekeepers!" Peregrine called out. "PEACEKEEPERS!" His voice went raw from how loud he screamed it.

If anybody cared, they ignored him and only briefly paused. Meanwhile, a wave of white uniforms reached the crux of the hill. In front was the clear shape of The Icicle's decorated uniform, but someone in darker clothing was next to the man. Peregrine couldn't make out who, but he understood the implications. A rat. Someone told the Peacekeepers.

Finally, other people noticed. As the wave of white suddenly surged forward, rushing directly towards the statue and the gathered people, the mother in the front turned back, her face tinted red with exertion. "THEIR BULLETS WILL DO NOTHING TO THOSE WITH HONEST HEARTS!"

A gunshot echoed through the square. A red spot appeared between her eyes and the woman pitched forward after swaying for a moment like a tree caught in a storm.

Someone screamed. More gunshots rang out. The crowd was shifting unpredictably, and Peregrine began fighting his way through it. "TERRY!" He called out, looking for a flash of blonde. "TERRY, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?"

He was shoved over, his hands stinging from scratching the asphalt. Someone stepped on his arm. Someone else tripped over him and fell over his back. Peregrine pushed the man off of him by the shoulder, causing him to roll over.

His eyes were glassy white.

Peregrine fought the urge to retch and forced himself to stand, getting immediately checked by an elbow in the ribs. Just as he was about to slump to the ground again, he felt a steady hand under his arm. He slightly tilted his head to see Solara Nyhan staring him in the eyes.

She said nothing, giving a small nod before vanishing back into the crowd. Peregrine blinked dumbly before remembering his mission.

The square had emptied of roughly a quarter of its people, although with all of the corpses and injured strewn about the road, it was impossible to tell.

"TERRY!" He tried again, looking around. He spotted the intertwined bodies of the young couple from before. Tears spilled down his cheeks. Gunfire rang through the air, the scent of spent gunpowder stinging his nose.

Finally, an answer. "PEREGRINE! HELP!" Peregrine turned in a wild, off-axis circle, losing his balance as he slipped on blood. Once he was righted, he saw a white figure and a smaller blonde one. There had to be at least thirty people in between Peregrine and his distressed friend.

He had to try. He began weaving through the people, shoving the slow ones out of the way. "TERRY!"

He was only a few people away. Terry was forced to the ground. "NO, NO, DON'T! DON'T DO IT!" A rifle was leveled to his head.

Peregrine was close, only a breath away. He reached out, his feet almost leaving the group as he surged forward.

A body hit him hard from the side. A man had been running without looking where he was going, and now they were falling through the air together, tangled together in a mess of limbs.

Everything moved in slow motion. Peregrine was painfully reminded of the near-squeeze of the trigger that almost killed Martin before. And now there was nobody to interrupt Terry's death.

They made eye contact as Peregrine fell sideways, an elbow smashing against his cheek. Terry's eyes were lined with the glimmer of tears, soot, and blood.

Peregrine heard the shot, saw it connect with Terry's skull and then his brain. He watched the life leave his friend's eyes in seconds, rolling backwards as he went painfully still.

Peregrine scrambled away from the other man just as the Peacekeeper went to hunt a different target. He ran to Terry's side. The boy wasn't moving at all, like a thrown-away toy. A stream of blood flowed down his lips.

Peregrine almost couldn't believe it. His friend had been so full of life only minutes before. Who was going to tell his family? Who was going to remember him? Peregrine blinked the tears out of his eyes.

Almost the entire area was empty now, with the Peacekeepers scanning for survivors. He knew for certain that he didn't want to end up bleeding out on the frost-crusted stone, so he made like a rabbit and shot off into an alleyway, checking over his shoulder.

There was a sickening crunch as his temple connected with the plastic plating of a Peacekeeper. He fell backwards, his leg smarting as his foot slipped in yet another puddle of someone's…something. He was illuminated by the flashlight at the end of one of the officer's rifles.

The Icicle stepped from the shadows. Instantly, Peregrine got his wits about him and made a quick turn to run away, but two Peacekeepers moved into place to block the exit.

"The boy from the band of troublemakers," The Icicle recognized. "What was it again? Peregrine Fraley, yes? Hm." He stepped in a loose circle around Peregrine. Peregrine's body was coiled tight like a spring, tension running through ever muscle. "Quite depressing for a rebel." The man raised an impossibly pale brow. "And yet, a rebel nonetheless."

Peregrine's mouth felt dry. "Please—"

"Don't interrupt me," The Icicle commanded. Peregrine took the easy command to shut up and live, even if it was just for a minute or two. Might as well let the guy have his crazy villain monologue if that was what he was looking for. "You have a demerit, don't you? For the defacing of a monument. Well, unfortunately , I'll have to give you another one for attempting to deface another one, namely the statue of Snow."

" Please ," the word burbled from Peregrine uselessly. He was overcome by that same feeling from before—the feeling of being small in the face of someone as legendary as The Icicle. "I was told it was going to be peaceful—just a discussion, really. I didn't know about the riot part." Subconsciously, he knew it was useless to beg The Icicle for anything.

"You are covered in the stench of blood," The Icicle observed. "That means you were involved in violence towards another member of your District. That is another demerit."

Peregrine gaped. "But that's—"

"Three, yes, I'm aware." The Icicle shrugged. "The punishment you are thinking of is rare, but not entirely unheard of. After all, who is there to remember some child from 5? How long do you think they'll talk about you after the Games, Mr. Fraley? A day or two, maybe a week if you're lucky?"

"You can't. I won't let you, I'll find some way—" Peregrine stuttered, his voice feeling impossibly weak, like an ant about to be crushed by someone's unknowing boot.

"Really? What if we up the ante, add in that little girlfriend of yours?" The Icicle asked, pure curiosity in his tone. He was testing Peregrine to see how much it took for him to break.

Peregrine's lip curled. "She's not my girlfriend. How do you even know Lark?"

"The Capitol keeps a closer eye on those we suspect of rebellious activity than you think," The Icicle said with a shrug. "Take Solara Nyhan for example. A troublesome pest. Sowing doubt among people in the most 'subtle' ways. We're aware."

The statement gave Peregrine a small twitch of confidence. "Oh yeah? Why not kill her and be done with it?"

The Icicle raised his brow. "If you think you're in a position to be snippy, then you are sincerely mistaken." He eyed the other Peacekeepers next to him, their masks hiding cool expressions. "What a tragic pair: friends from District 5, both taken to their grave by one of their mistakes."

"Don't do this. She didn't do anything." Peregrine murmured. If they wanted to punish him for things he didn't do, fine. Clearly, once someone was under the hateful gaze of The Icicle, there was no escaping. But Lark was innocent. She hadn't even known .

The Icicle's lips pressed together. He turned his back, the golden medals on his uniform swaying in response to the motion. "Better run along home. Have a good evening, Mr. Fraley."

Peregrine saw the opening between the Peacekeepers. He scrambled away as soon as he could, his heart pounding all the while.

EIRENE DRAKE , 16 Y.O. Career

District 2

EIRENE COULDN'T SLEEP. Frankly, she couldn't understand how any of her peers could. Not after her chance of finally getting out of 2 slipped away. Not after the thing she had been born for was abruptly gone.

Two more years , Nessa had said earlier through a mouthful of chocolate-covered nuts. You still have two more years to be in the Games . It was then that Eirene was painfully aware neither of her friends would understand, could understand.

She had to be in the 125th Hunger Games. She had to, because then she would be the first sixteen-year-old Career to do so. She could've won the Pugnam.

But no. Now, some sniveling kid, maybe a fourteen or fifteen-year-old, would be going in instead of someone who deserved it. They would humiliate 2, probably throw up when they had to kill someone. Probably die early.

The thought gave her such a winding, deeply-engraved dreadful feeling that she paced for thirty minutes after her mandated bedtime and then proceeded to stare dead-eyed into the wall for the next hour.

Eventually, she was restless enough that she found herself walking down the two staircases required to reach the gymnasium. All was dark and silent within the space until she flicked on the lights. They filled the room with the buzzing of beetles. A mounted clock informed her that it was 1 AM. Eirene walked over to the weapons rack and found a pair of daggers. She dug out two dummies from the selection of targets.

Eirene looked at the plastic effigies. Supposedly, they had originally been used for Peacekeeper training, when the Peacekeepers that District 2 produced had to save someone who was drowning or choking. She twisted the grip of her dagger in one hand. It was beginning to come undone, the felt bandage shifting slightly against her fingers.

Niobe had said that she had to practice her secondary weapon. Then again, it didn't matter much now. Face it , something within her murmured. Even if you try for the Pugnam next year, or the year after, the other trainees will be at your skill level, perhaps higher. You're destined to end up like that stupid barista—

She slashed at the dummy with a certain rage, plunging her other dagger deep into the softer gut of the thing. It sunk beyond the thin plastic and into its feather-and-hay interior. Her hand shook slightly—she was less certain with her left than her right. She wanted to kick a wall. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. She wanted to rip President Fling's hair out.

Instead, she heard someone behind her. "This looks very healthy," Alessia Pandisco observed, leaning casually against the doorframe.

"Thank you," Eirene grunted in response. She didn't care about Alessia's opinion, didn't care about how she thought that Niobe wasn't a good mother. ( Was Niobe even a mother at all? ) Shaking her head free of the thought, Eirene pulled away from the dummy and turned to Alessia. "What do you want?" She asked, keeping her chin level, her voice unwavering. To make it more convincing, she tossed a thick section of her blonde waves over her shoulder.

"If you're going to hate-train, at least make it productive." Alessia responded. She grabbed her own two daggers from the wall. Eirene's brow raised. Daggers were not Alessia's weapon. She used a trident, an odd decision for a non-4 tribute, but it was also the only thing that had been nearby, if Eirene was remembering Alessia's Games right.

For a moment, her heart gave an anxious flutter at the thought of not knowing such an important detail of the history of the Games. And then she remembered: there was no Pugnam anymore. Nothing to remember the history of the Games for, no Knowledge test. "What?" Eirene inquired simply, too exhausted and not focused enough to ask anymore.

Alessia pulled out a mat and let it collapse loudly against the floor, the noise echoing through the empty space, against the exposed pipes and ventilation units of the ceiling. She stepped onto it, brandishing her daggers. "I understand why you're upset, but you must see that this is for the best. A sixteen-year-old Career wouldn't have made it a second past the Bloodbath. The others would've alienated you instantly. And then you would be dead. For nothing ."

Now I won't die for nothing. An impossible rage filled Eirene's heart as she made the connection, and suddenly she had launched herself towards the mat. The metal of the daggers screamed as they scraped against each other.

It was only when Eirene saw Alessia's face did she realize that she had fallen for a bait. Alessia had a satisfied look on her face, something that said, you proved me right .

Eirene let out an oof as she felt a knee in her abdomen. She tumbled backwards but picked herself up fast enough to neatly roll away from another swipe of Alessia's knives. Eirene wondered how the woman was so adept with the weapon, and then she remembered that she had probably had years to perfect another weapon than her taught one.

Alessia's eyebrow raised, and Eirene took the chance to flip the sides of the map. She hacked and slashed at Alessia, not harsh enough to even attempt to draw blood, but enough to distract her and keep her on the defensive.

Despite that, Alessia was able to parry one of Eirene's strikes and she thrusted her dagger towards Eirene's exposed side. Eirene hopped to the side to avoid it. Just before she could give Alessia a confused look, she was kicked in the knee by the older woman and crumpled like forgotten paper on the ground.

"Let's go again," Eirene said, standing up and giving her a defiant look in the eyes.

Alessia smiled.

Eirene danced backwards, her sides heaving. She was sporting a new bruise across her arm from where Alessia had thrown her body into it. She watched the woman charge her again and barely moved out of the way of another well-placed dagger strike.

This was their fourth match—Eirene had been practically instantly defeated during the second, and the third had the illusion of being close, but now Eirene knew it was just Alessia playing with her food.

In some ways, the Victor fought like her sister. The endless assault, the perfected ruthlessness. Those were both traits of Niobe's fighting. But she did other things too. Some of the foot placements she did and the way she twisted her body—it reminded Eirene of a ribbon dancer.

Eirene had misjudged her before. That had been naive. She had forgotten that even if her and Alessia disagreed, Alessia had still killed seven tributes in her Games with ease. She was just as deadly as Romulus or Serpentine.

Something about it was almost admirable. Eirene squished that thought to the back of her brain as soon as it appeared. She quickly raised her dagger against Alessia's next attack.

Despite Alessia seeming relentless, Eirene could tell that the late hour and the stress of sparring were beginning to weigh on her. Her blue eyes looked just a bit duller, her usually perfect straight brown hair a bit limper. Eirene tried to push the advantage, but her body screamed in protest. There was only so much she could do, too.

Alessia abruptly used the handle of her dagger and jammed it against Eirene's rib cage. Eirene's lungs instinctively panicked, and she gasped for air as she fell to the ground.

The Victor stared down at her. "I think we're done here."

Eirene shook her head. "No, one more time. Please." I can win. I can win. I could win against 23 others my age, I can win against some lady with an ego. She stared up at Alessia.

Alessia backed away, not helping her up. Eirene clutched her side gently as support while she stood, tears welling up in her eyes.

She charged instantly, Alessia having to block a flurry of blows. However, the woman slowly began to force more strength into her blocks. Eirene didn't have enough time to react after she realized it was a countering move.

She heard her daggers clatter on two opposite sides on the mat. She dove to the side as Alessia charged, before whipping around and bringing her fists close to her face. "You want me to humiliate you?" Alessia asked. "Fine."

One thing Eirene had learned about the woman: she was just as competitive as Niobe, it just took longer for her to enter that state. Alessia jabbed her daggers at Eirene, who dodged nimbly as she edged closer to the woman.

She finally got a hit in. It bounced off of her cheek. Alessia looked disoriented for a moment before she got her wits about her again. The woman lashed out with her dagger—Eirene knew it wasn't intended, but one of the blades caught against the back of her hand rather painfully and she winced away.

Alessia looked stunned. "Oh my, I'm so sorry—" She attempted, slightly outstretching her hand as if to help .

Eirene stood still for just a moment. Then she darted forward and wrapped her hands around the woman's neck, her resolve certain. Alessia's eyes widened with fear , as if the trainee was some sort of rabid animal that had escaped a cage

She drew her head back and headbutted Alessia with all of her strength and hatred behind it. The movement was accompanied by a crack . For a brief moment, stars danced across her vision, accompanied by black fuzz. She grunted in disorientation.

As Alessia fell into a crouch from the dizzying pain she was surely feeling, Eirene stepped away, a thin rivulet of red running down the back of her hand. Her vision swayed.

Alessia looked up at her. There was clear disappointment across her face, like she had been expecting something different. She pinched her nose between two thin fingers as it began to pour blood.

Eirene stared evenly down at the woman, a singular blonde brow raised. Her first mistake was assuming that Eirene wouldn't do anything just to win, just to prove herself better than her opponent. That was something she had resolved herself to after the Quell announcement. She would win—if not the Games, then in life, but punching and kicking and screaming her way through anyone who dared challenge her.

"Never underestimate me again," she grunted simply, before picking up the daggers and throwing them aside, vaguely in the direction of the weapons rack.

The satisfying clang of metal echoed in Eirene's ears all the way up to her room. She didn't have much trouble sleeping at all after that. In fact, she felt like she was on the verge of a dream.

AN:hey guys, radio here! thank you so much for your continued support of this story! as always, big thanks to SYOT Verses discord! also, i have been horrifically tied down by random life stuff. most recently: school got threatened by a shooter and also i had midterms and a show choir competition. i am so tired and my friend found white growing in my hair. am i screwed? these are the important questions...

anyways, the song for this chapter is Headlock by Imogen Heap!