Fetu Osmo, 18

"I? What have I done but what was expected of me?"

Fetu's muscles burn as he walks down the dock, keeping training at the forefront of his mind. It doesn't matter, because Fetu's body is also buzzing with excitement. The sunset is bathing the ocean in orange light, and Fetu would guess it's a pretty romantic setting. Perfect for meeting Caspian to share the news.

Caspian is waiting for him on the end of the docks. He looks radiant in the waning sunlight, and Fetu thinks that he's so lucky.

"Hey, Cas," Fetu says, stepping up beside Caspian.

Caspian turns to look at him, the setting sun casting shadows over his face. "I take it that you've got good news."

Fetu smiles the smile he reserves for Caspian alone and says, "I've been chosen to volunteer for the One-Hundredth, Fifty-Fourth Hunger Games."

There's a beat of silence. "Congratulations," Caspian says, sounding less than enthusiastic.

"Aren't you happy for me?" Fetu asks, as if he doesn't know the answer. He knows what Caspian thinks of his aspirations, and he knows that Caspian frets about it constantly. Really, though, Caspian has nothing to worry about. Once Fetu comes home from the Games, they'll be all set. They'll never have to worry about money or housing, and they can run off into the sunset together or whatever it is that happy couples do.

"Of course," Caspian says quickly. "I'm glad you got what you wanted."

"What we wanted."

Caspian doesn't say anything, staring out to sea as if Fetu isn't there.

"Come on, Caspian," Fetu says. "You've just got to put up with this for a few more months, and then it will be gone forever. We'll have a nice, big house, lots of money, and you'll never have to worry about me again."

"I wish I had your confidence," Caspian says, and Fetu can't tell what he means by it. Is it a compliment? An insult?

"What's that supposed to mean?" Fetu snaps.

"All I'm saying is that you shouldn't let your pride get the better of you," Caspian says. "I've seen the movies, I've watched the Games, and I know what happens to tributes who are too cocky!"

"I'm not like those tributes," Fetu says, trying to aim for humor. "I'm better. I'm smarter. I know what I'm doing."

"Yeah, so did all of the Careers before you who lost to some random from Eleven!" Caspian exclaims, eyes pleading yet angry. "What's to say that it won't happen to you too?"

"I'm better—"

"Until you're not," Caspian interrupts.

"What is this all about?" Fetu demands. "Why can't you just be happy for me getting what I want?"

"Because you might fuckin die!" Caspian shouts. "You keep saying over and over that you're better, that you're going to win, that there's no way you'll lose, but you can't guarantee that! But you know what will guarantee your survival? If you don't volunteer. If you stay here in Four, with me." His voices cracks just a little on "with me", and a small part of Fetu wants to back down.

But the rest of him doesn't. This is all he has wanted for his entire life. As long as he can remember, his only dream has been to win the Hunger Games. And now he's so close he can almost taste it. He's not going to let Caspian talk him out of it.

"I'm sorry, Caspian, but this is all I've ever wanted. I can't let it go now," Fetu says, and he's not entirely sure if he's being sincere or not.

"If you really loved me, you wouldn't go through with this," Caspian says.

"If you really loved me, you would support me in my endeavors," Fetu responds snidely.

"I don't want to support you getting yourself killed!" Caspian says. "Fetu, I care about you. I think I might actually love you, and I don't want to lose you."

"And you're not going to," Fetu says.

"And there you go with the over-confidence again!" Caspian walks a few steps down the pier, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You know what, let's talk in the morning. You're tired. I'm tired. We're not getting anyway. I'll see you tomorrow."

Caspian walks away, leaving Fetu standing alone on the end of the dock. After a moment, Fetu sits on the dock, letting his feet dip into the seawater. This isn't the first time they've had this argument, but it the worst fight they've had. Fetu wants to be with Caspian for a very long time, but sometimes he wonders if the Games are going to tear them apart. If Caspian is going to break up with him come tomorrow morning...

As long as they stay together until Fetu comes home from the Games, it will all be okay. Once he proves to Caspian that he was right, and that he won, they will never have to have this fight again. In fact, Caspian will never have to think about the Games again if he doesn't want to.

A small voice in his head whispers that that isn't how it works. But Fetu doesn't listen to the voices in his head. He knows he's right.

Besides, Fetu is no coward. He would be shunned if he backed down now, even with a reserve volunteer in place. He's leagues better than Calder Williams, anyways. He would be doing the District a disservice by letting anyone other than himself go into the Games this year. And he and Cascina Armas have been preparing to compete together off and on for years now. It would throw a wrench into everything.

Caspian just doesn't know what he's talking about. He never trained. He has never even set foot in Faustus. He has no idea what it's like to want something like this so bad, and to finally get it. Fetu has secured his spot as the volunteer. He's halfway to being a Victor already. It's Caspian's fault if he can't see that. It's Caspian's fault if he can't understand why Fetu wants this so badly.

Fetu knows that. He knows that Caspian just doesn't get it. But Fetu doesn't see the Games in life or death. He sees it in winning or losing. And Fetu is a lot of things but he is not a loser. Even in the most high-stakes game he'll ever play. Caspian will either have to learn to live with it, or leave Fetu behind. Fetu doesn't want that, because he wants to be with Caspian for as long as he lives. But he won't let anything get in between him and winning the Hunger Games.

Not even the love of his life.


Hildy Stowe, 15

"I just have to have faith."

"Come on, Den," Hildy says. "We owe it to her to be there."

"No, we don't," Denver says, avoiding her eyes. "We don't owe her anything."

Hildy glares at him. "She would do the same if the roles were switched. I know she would."

Denver doesn't answer, instead choosing to look out the window at the snow lazily falling to the ground.

"Seriously, Denver. I knew her better than you did. And I'm going to be there, whether you come along or not."

"What about Troy? Why don't you make him go with you?" Denver snaps. "He owes it to her just as much as the rest of us."

"I…" It's different for Troy. She tried to kill Troy. "It's not the same. Troy wouldn't go."

"Then I'm not going either."

"Fine. Be that way," Hildy says, grabbing her coat off of her bed. "I'll be in the square if you need me."

She starts to leave, taking slow steps, hoping Denver will change his mind and come with. Really, she doesn't want to go alone. It would be so much better if Denver would just suck it up and come with her. They've suffered through worse together.

Hildy starts down the stairs, each step sending pain rocketing up her spine. She's never going to be the same. She's never going to be on the track team like she'd considered once or twice. The doctors told her it would get better with time, but it was too dangerous to try to set her up with physical therapy. They sent her off with a few exercises she could do on her own, but they don't seem to help.

The January air is biting but fresh. That's one of the positives of being here. No air pollution. She did always say she belonged in District Ten…

Hildy joins the throngs of people heading for the square, struggling to keep up with the fast pace of the crowd. She looks around for any of her friends, but all she sees are strangers. That's one of the things she doesn't like. She doesn't know anybody. Nobody but Troy and Denver, and they hardly counts.

All she wants is a little normalcy. She wants to be able to participate in gym class. She wants to have a network of friends and acquaintances. She wants to have career goals. She wants to have a life again.

Sure, she loves Denver and Troy. They have the sort of bond that can only be created through shared horrific experiences. And they're the closest thing she has to family anymore, so she knows not to take them for granted. But…she misses her real family. Late at night when she can't sleep, she wonders what's become of her parents. That is, perhaps, the worst thing of them all. Her parents will never know she's still alive.

Hildy mentally kicks herself. She's alive. There are hundreds of tributes who have preceded her who cannot say the same thing. She has no right to ask for more.

But she cannot help the jealousy that flares in her chest every time she sees one of her classmates with their parents. Even when she sees the other orphans in the Community Home with their siblings. Why is it her who doesn't get to have a family? Why is it her who doesn't get to live a normal life? Why is she the one who had to be chosen for this, to live in hiding, to never be able to go home?

Yet, at the same time, why was it her who survived? Why not someone else? There were others that would have been easier to revive. So why didn't they? Why did they pick Hildy?

It just means that Hildy has to make it worth it. She has been given a second chance, with the ghosts of the dead watching what she will make with the life they were denied. So she has live a good life. She has to live enough life for all of them. She has to make sure her survival won't be in vain.

That's why she spends so much time doing her homework. She used to be terrible about it. She used to turn assignments in late, or not at all. But she can't afford to do that anymore. She has to make something of herself.

Hildy arrives to the square. The edges are lined with Peacekeepers. The stage is empty except for a microphone, but Hildy knows exactly who will be there soon.

She pointedly does not look at the platforms for the families. She does not need any more reminders of what she has to live for.

Within a few minutes, the doors to the Justice Building open, and out steps a haggard-looking Ashe Illyrian into the icy air. She's flanked by her mentors and followed by her escort, but Hildy has eyes only for Ashe.

The mayor introduces Ashe to the crowd, presents her with a bouquet of daisies, and shakes her hand. Then Ashe steps up to the microphone and begins to speak.

Hildy hears the words but doesn't process them. All she can wonder is if it would really be the same if the roles were switched. Would Ashe come watch if Hildy was up there giving a speech? Or would Ashe stay home like Denver?

She wishes she knew. She wishes she knew a lot of things.

The speech is over quickly, and Ashe and her posse disappear back into the Justice Building with little fanfare. The Peacekeepers quickly disperse the crowd, and Hildy begins the long, painful walk home. The cold makes her legs even more stiff than usual, and about halfway back to the Community Home, Hildy drops onto a bench. She just needs a little break, then she'll be back on her way.

"Hildy? What are you doing out here?" Troy's voice says from behind her. Hildy lifts her head and notices the bench she's sitting on is right in front of the bar where Troy works.

"Just…taking a little break. Give me a second," Hildy responds.

Troy sits down on the bench beside her. "Did you come from the square?"

Hildy nods.

"How was it, then? Worth the walk?" Troy asks.

Hildy shrugs and says, "I dunno. It was…good to see her."

"You miss her?"

"I guess so," Hildy says. "I barely knew her."

There's a few beats of silence before Hildy painstakingly stands and says, "I'm going to head back to the Community Home, Troy. Denver and I will come by tomorrow after school."

Troy nods. "See you then. Stay safe."

"Stay safe," Hildy echoes and hobbles off down the street.


Rogan Rellad, 18

"I like stability. Stable is comfortable."

The woods are always calm at dusk, when the workers are heading home and the trees are bathed in waning sunlight. Sometimes, Rogan likes to spend an extra minute or two just enjoying the view. He spots Cress coming down the hill from the administration office with a dejected look on his face.

"Hey, Cress," Rogan calls. "Everything alright?"

Cress stops and looks at Rogan like he doesn't know what to say. After a bit of stammering, he says, "Yes. Everything is fine."

"Doesn't look like it," Rogan says. "Come on. You can tell me."

Cress seems to consider it for a moment. "I've…been accused of stealing wood from the stack." He points a finger toward one of the large piles of freshly-cut wood as if Rogan may not know what he's referring to.

Rogan finds he doesn't know what to say, but also finds it doesn't end up mattering, because Cress steamrolls him anyway.

"I just needed some firewood. I live up in the mountains, where it's cold even in July, and I need to be able to cook. I didn't think it was enough for them to notice. I was being careful. But…not careful enough, I guess. And now the Peacekeepers are going to raid my house to get it back, but I burned it already, and I don't think my grandmother can take the stress."

A lie to help someone is different from a lie to hurt someone. Rogan makes a split-second decision and says, "What are you talking about? I was the one scalping wood from the pile."

"What? No—"

"Yes, I was," Rogan says. "I'm going to go tell the supervisor so we can get this cleared up."

"Rogan, you don't have to do this for me," Cress says, stepping in front of Rogan to block his path. "It's my fault I got caught. I wasn't being as careful as I thought was. Let me take the fall for it."

"But you didn't steal the wood," Rogan says loudly. "I did. I should get punished because I was the one who did the crime."

He steps around Cress and marches up the hill to the administration offices, leaving Cress standing alone in the grove.

The supervisor of their sector is just packing up to leave when Rogan knocks on his office door and lets himself in.

"Rellad," Mr. Hu says, not looking up from the files he's putting away. "What can I do for you?"

"You've got the wrong man," Rogan says.

"Hm?"

"I stole wood from the pile, not Cress," Rogan says. "It's me you should be punishing."

Mr. Hu sets his briefcase down on the desk. "We both know that you didn't steal the wood, Rellad."

"I did. I stole it to…" Rogan thinks fast. "Build a doghouse for my dog."

"Your dog?"

"Yes. My dog. His name is…Woody."

"And you stole wood from your job to make this house?"

"Yes."

Mr. Hu heaves a long-suffering sigh and says, "Have a seat, Rellad." He indicates the chair on the other side of his desk.

Rogan sits.

"You're a good worker, Rellad," Mr. Hu says. "We need people like you. Don't make me fire you over something you didn't do."

"But I did do it," Rogan says. "I swear on…my dog, Woody's, life. Money is tight right now, and we didn't have the extra caps to buy wood for a doghouse. But Woody needs a doghouse, because we can't keep him in the house but it storms where we live a lot. So…I decided to steal the wood. I'm sorry. I'll take whatever punishment you deem necessary."

Mr. Hu sighs again. "Fine. You're fired, Rellad. Get out." He snatches up his briefcase and sweeps past Rogan, muttering about his employees as he goes.

Cress is gone when Rogan emerges from the administration building, but maybe it's for the best. Cress is proud, and Rogan is…maybe stupid. He hasn't decided yet.

It was the right thing to do. Rogan can find another job, and in the mean time won't freeze to death and potentially kill an elderly woman. So it's all okay. He'll be fine. Isabella might call him stupid when he tells her but it's okay. Rogan can deal with it.

He starts to walk home and passes Cinderwood Academy on the way. He doesn't understand why anyone would want to go into the Hunger Games, but apparently it's gaining more popularity in Seven. He wonders if Cinderwood will ever start providing volunteers. It would certainly make things easier on the rest of the District. Rogan wouldn't mind not having to fear getting Reaped next week.

As his home comes into view, he spots Isabella sitting on the porch with his mother.

"Isabella!" he exclaims. "I didn't know you were coming over today."

"Well, I was in the area. Thought I would drop by and say hi," she says as their mother hands her a glass of water. "How are things with you?"

Rogan purses his lips. "I…lost my job."

"What?" his mother says.

"Did you just say you lost your job?" his father says, stepping out onto the porch. "Did I hear that right?"

"Yeah," Rogan says. "It's a…long story. I had to stick up for a friend. If anyone at the grove asks, we have a dog named Woody."

He tells the story, and when he's finished, his father says, "Well, I admire you for sticking up for someone. But, Rogan, you have to learn that sometimes you're better off looking for yourself. In the world we live in…loyalty like that can get you killed."

"I'm not an idiot, Dad," Rogan says. "I know when to call it quits."

His father doesn't look convinced, but he gets up. "You'd better start looking for a new job in the morning."

"I will," Rogan says to his father's retreating back. His mother goes inside too, leaving just him and Isabella on the porch. "What about you, Isabella? How is your life going?"

"Better than yours, I'd wager," Isabella says. "The Reaping is next week, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Guess so."

"Tell you what," Isabella says. "After the Reaping is over next week, we'll go out to dinner again. We'll celebrate the fact that we both made it."

"Don't jinx it," Rogan teases. He teases, but it's not like he isn't afraid. He has taken a lot of tesserae. It's not outside the realm of possibility. That would really throw a wrench into things…

"There are thousands of kids in this District, Rogan," Isabella says. "It's not going to be you. Or even anyone we know. For all we know, those crazy kids down at Cinderwood Academy will volunteer and no one will have to deal with it."

"That's the dream," Rogan says.

"Don't go worrying yourself about the Reaping, Rogan," Isabella says. "Worry about more concrete things—like the fact that you're currently unemployed. That's going to last much longer than next Tuesday." She gets to her feet and gathers her bag. "I'd better be going. Don't want to miss dinner with Glen. See you soon."

Rogan waves as she leaves, staying seated on the porch for a while longer. The sun dips lower below the horizon, and Rogan watches it go. His father just doesn't know what he's talking about.


Thespy Bruss, 18

"I just want to be better today than I was yesterday."

It snowed almost a foot overnight, but Thespy promised the kids at the Community Home he would be there. He has to dig himself out of the house, but he'll be there. He won't forgive himself if he's not there.

With his arms full of supplies, he starts to pick his way through the snow, careful to avoid any ice that might have cropped up. He can almost enjoy snowstorms, because the air feels so much clearer after snowfall. The air is disgusting even in the Hills.

Thespy is well aware that he was born in privilege. The majority of District Six citizens are so poor they can't feed themselves. Thespy knows he is a part of a very small minority of the sheltered and wealthy.

Well, sheltered isn't exactly the right term. His parents tried to shelter him, but as soon as you leave the gate of their neighborhood…being sheltered just makes things worse.

The guard at the neighborhood's entrance nods to Thespy as he passes. According to Thespy's father, the gate is guarded because the Slummies might try to break in if it's not. Thespy hates his father's "us versus them" mentality, but it's the only world the citizens of Six know.

The change is apparent as soon as he exits the neighborhood. The snow-covered greenery of the Hills is gone immediately, replaced with stark, uniform buildings. The farther he walks, the more the buildings fall into disrepair. Homeless people huddled in alcoves stare at him as he passes. They know what he is, because he's wearing a nice coat and hat and carrying expensive supplies.

Thespy stares back at them and mentally laments that he cannot help everyone in Six. Someone will always be left out to dry. But he'll help as many people as he can, starting with the kids in the Community Home. Thespy feels particularly connected with the Community Home, considering he spent a few days hiding out there years back.

He doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't want to think about why he's doing what he's doing—why he's out in the snow at six a.m. dragging gifts all of the way to the Community Home. It's so much easier if everyone thinks he's doing it out of the goodness of his heart.

Thespy scoffs, earning him a weird look from a woman setting up her shop. The woman must be familiar with him, he thinks. Everyone on this route knows him. They see him walk to the Community Home three times a week at the same time, and they must think he's like the Victors who dedicate themselves to the less fortunate once they win.

In a way, Thespy can understand those Victors. The ones who throw away their fortunes to charity to make up for their sins. It's not far off from what he's doing.

All of the little kids at the Community Home are ecstatic when he comes in. He passes out his bundles—teddy bears wrapped in heavy blankets, books, non-perishables, warm winter coats—and turns to leave. A voice stops him.

"Who do you think you're fooling?"

Thespy turns back. It's Gavin, an old friend. It's Gavin, who saw everything. He witnessed Thespy's spiral. He witnessed Thespy's fall from grace.

"Excuse me?" Thespy says.

"Who do you think you're fooling?" Gavin repeats, slow and drawn out.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Thespy says, but he does, he does.

The entryway is empty, all of the other kids having run off to enjoy their new toys and books. Only Gavin remains, glaring daggers at Thespy.

"The younger kids may not remember, but we all do," Gavin says. "It's been…what, two years?"

Thespy flinches. "Almost to the day."

"Yeah. Exactly," Gavin says. "We all remember when you stumbled in here, high out of your mind, hiding or running or whatever. None of us are fooled by your acts of charity."

It takes Thespy a moment to get his composure back. "I'm just trying to…make amends."

"Hm. Well. It's not working," Gavin says.

"What does it matter? The kids get nice things. It doesn't matter if it comes from sincerity or not," Thespy says but it does, it does.

"Just…get out of here," Gavin says.

"You know I'll be back on Wednesday."

Gavin doesn't say anything as Thespy walks back out into the cold, but then he calls, "You know this doesn't change anything, right? This doesn't change what you did."

Thespy doesn't respond. He doesn't have to. His silence is answer enough.

Gavin isn't wrong. Thespy knows that, too. Thespy knows a lot of things. He knows that he will never get his parents back. He knows that the itch under his skin for another hit will never quite go away. He knows that he will never get forgiveness. He knows he doesn't deserve it.

The air is, somehow, colder now. Or maybe it's just Thespy's imagination. It's snowing harder too, and Thespy has to make even more care to not slip on the ice.

Thespy stops in the middle of the street and stares at the white sky. It's not really white. The smog is too thick for it to be truly white.

It's been two years. The body is probably nothing but bones by now. Or maybe not. Thespy doesn't know anything about decomposition.

But he does know that he hasn't suffered enough for it. He killed two people in a drug-induced haze, and all he got was six months house arrest and court-ordered rehab. It's not because he was innocent. It's because he's rich.

Or, rather, his father is rich. And even after one of his sons killed the other, he still paid off the judges to get Thespy out of prison. It's about as close to forgiveness as Thespy can ever hope to get.

Fallon is standing by the gate as if she is waiting for him. "Really, Thespy? Again?" she says, disappointment coloring her features.

"Always," Thespy says tiredly. It's not true—eventually Thespy will have to find another way to atone for his sins.

"Always, my ass," Fallon says. "First you spend your parents money on drugs, then on court costs, and then on charity. When does it end?"

"It ends when I die," Thespy says.

"You're so dramatic," Fallon says. "Get over yourself."

Thespy tries to walk past her, not in the mood to be told off twice in one morning. Fallon, however, steps into his path.

"Seriously, Thespy," Fallon says. "Everyone is worried about you. When do you ever do anything for yourself?"

"The last time I did something for myself, I got myself a drug addiction," Thespy says pointedly, and Fallon takes a step back.

"I just…don't get this, Thespy. What are you hoping to accomplish by doing this?" she says. "You know none of this will bring them back."

"I just don't want anyone to end up like me," Thespy says.

"So go after the crime lords!" Fallon exclaims. "Take down drug rings! Do anything other than parade around pretending you're the patron saint of orphans!"

"I'm not trying to—!" Thespy cuts himself off and takes a deep breath. "I am trying to be a better person, Fallon. I'm trying to—to do better. And I'm doing it in the only way I know how."

"Throwing money at a problem and hoping it will go away?"

"Giving supplies to the people that need it!" Thespy says. "And—and don't you go telling me that "everyone is worried about me"! I know that everyone in the neighborhood just can't wait until I'm gone. I'm a horrible blemish on the storied history of the Hillies."

"Like I said," Fallon says. "Get over yourself."

"Please, Fallon, just leave me be," Thespy says. "I—I didn't mean to do any of it. I was out of my mind, Fallon. And sometimes I think I'm still out of the mind."

The wind is even colder now.

"And like I said," Fallon says. "Dramatic."

"Go away, Fallon," Thespy says, tired and defeated. He just wants everything to go back to the way it was, but he doesn't really know what that way. There's no way to go back to, because Thespy got himself dragged into Six's grimy underbelly when he was eleven.

He sighs and starts down the street, leaving Fallon standing alone in the snow. There's nothing waiting for him at home except uncomfortable conversations with parents who stopped loving him a long time ago and a ruined future he'll never see. But Thespy goes home anyway, because where else is there to go?


A/N: It's been a very busy couple of months for me but things are calming down now. Which brings me into an announcement…

I'm doing a small summer side project called Storm Of Chance. It's a non-traditional more-or-less first-come, first-serve SYOT where each tribute gets one chapter focused on how they win in this arena. All of the submission info can be found on my profile. I hope you'll consider submitting!

Next up, we will meet Cannon, Des, Cascina, and Diggory. It's going to be a drama filled chapter.

-Amanda