Author's Note
I do not own the Hunger Games.
District Eleven
Bakula Kalanit, 12
"Bakula, what have you done with my crutch?" Saigon demanded.
Bakula pouted. "Not fair! How do you know it was me?"
He huffed. "Because it's always you. Now where is it? In case you've forgotten, I need it for walking after you broke my ankle?"
"I didn't break–"
"Bakula, don't hide your brother's crutch!" shouted their mom from the other room.
Bakula laughed. "Maybe the birdies took it."
Saigon looked up to where he'd tucked the crutch in the rafters of their little house. "Oh, you little brat!"
Bakula stuck his tongue out and darted away. He wasn't mad at him, not really. He just liked to pretend he was. He'd get him back for this.
Bakula dashed out while Saigon was preoccupied rescuing his crutch from the rafters and scampered down the street of ramshackle houses to Jasmine's.
Jasmine was only just eating breakfast, but her mom let him in and he joined her at the table.
"What did you do this time?" she asked.
Bakula shrugged. "Hid Saigon's crutch in the rafters. He's smoking at the ears."
"You ought to be nicer to your brother, young man," said Jasmine's mom. "Especially after what happened the last time. Do you want him to get hurt again?"
"He won't–"
"He'll get him back," said Jasmine.
Bakula paused. He'd not thought of that.
"Not like that. Saigon's not so sneaky," he said at last. Especially not when his brother was still hobbling about after his fall.
Jasmine rolled her eyes. "Your loss."
Vale arrived a short time later, wrapped in his heaviest jacket. "Mam thinks I'm sick."
"Are you sick?" asked Jasmine, frowning at him.
"Naw!" he protested with a laugh. "She just fusses too much."
They laughed, and Vale joined them at the table.
"We got work for today?" he asked.
"Old Ms Bloom needs her garden tending. And Mr Tanner wants his roof cleaning off."
"I can help with that," said Bakula.
Jasmine kicked him.
The door flew open and two Peacekeepers stomped inside. Jasmine's mom yelled and jumped in front of them, shielding them with her arms. "We've done nothing!"
"Bakula Kalanit?" asked one.
Bakula leapt up. "What've I done now?"
District Six
Atlas Anderson, 17
Atlas drove a last blow into the face of the boy beneath him before stepping away. Axle spat on his chest. "Maybe you'll think twice about messing with us next time."
"Stay off our turf," said Atlas with a grin, holding up his bloody hand.
The boy whimpered an apology.
They turned and headed back towards the warehouses they'd been calling home for the last year. The Capitol rats rarely came scuttling into this area of the District any more. They were happier doubtless everything in the upper half of the District, where all the vehicles were pieced together, and cared little for the slums. Axle and Atlas's gang could happily have an old warehouse for themselves with no one caring.
"What'd we get off him?" he asked.
Axle pulled their gains from his bag. A small amount of money, some tesserae bread, a handkerchief, and a cheap watch. Not much, but better than some that they'd robbed.
"Enough to buy some cheap booze," Axle said, pocketing the cash and handing Atlas the rest.
"Be a good night."
"Atlas!"
The shout came from somewhere to his right. His sister, Audrey, came shooting from one of the alleyways. "Atlas, there are Peacekeepers looking for you!"
He laughed. "Ach, there's always Peacekeepers looking for me."
She shook her head. "No, but– This is different. They said you've been chosen for something."
Atlas frowned. "Chosen for what?"
A pair of Peacekeepers appeared at the end of the street. Turning, he found another pair behind him. Atlas swore. Audrey beckoned him into the alleyway. From there, they climbed onto the rooftops and returned to their own warehouse.
"They say anything about what they wanted?" Axle asked.
Audrey shook her head.
There was a bang, and the door caved in. Another bang, and Peacekeepers were storming inside.
"Did you really think you could run?" asked one.
District Four
Tristan O'Cleary, 16
'No more sacrifices to the Capitol,' was splashed across the front of the training centre in large, blood red letters, trickles of paint staining the wall beneath them. Tristan had to admit, it was impressive. He wasn't even sure how the graffiti artist managed it. There must have been more than one, so one could get a boost up.
Pearl, one of the Academy's trainers, was up on a ladder, attempting to scrub the paint from the fronting. "Morning, Tristan! Troy and Kelly are starting drills if you want to join!"
Tristan sighed. "Nah, it's early. Lemme toss my gear in the lockers and I'll come help you clean that mess up."
Inside, drills were starting with the Tulius siblings, Coralie Aberforth, and Riley Crest. More trainees would be arriving over the next hour. Tristan called a greeting as he stuffed his gear away and dug out another sponge.
When he was a child, Four had still been riding the coattails of its former glory, and his parents never considered not putting him into the Academy. But almost every day a new outcry against the Capitol and the Games went up now, and sometimes Tristan wondered if he was doing the right thing.
Sacrifices.
He was strong, but in the arena he'd be against twenty-four others that were strong.
He shoved his sponge in the bucket and set about helping her scrub the window clean. With how few trainees there were here now, he had a better chance than ever at being able to volunteer without opposition. He'd be a hero when he came home as a Victor.
A dark van parked at the top of the driveway.
"Visitors?" Tristan asked.
Peacekeepers poured from the van. Pearl jumped down from her stool. "Can I help you, sirs?"
The Commander pulled a communication device from his pocket. "We're looking for Arika Tulius, Zale Tulius, and Tristan O'Cleary?"
Pearl looked at him. "Tristan?"
"I haven't done anything!"
"You need to come with us."
Tristan ran.
He ducked back into the Academy and darted across the room, waving for Zale. "Dude, what have you dragged me into?"
"What?"
"There are peacekeepers here, looking for us!"
"What?"
The door flew open behind him as the Peacekeepers stomped inside. "Ah, you're all together."
Arika picked up her brother's spear and flung it at one of them. "We haven't done anything!"
"You've been chosen for a very special event."
District Seven
Adrianna Orita, 17
The newest welt from the whip cut straight across her face. Adrianna winced as Iris's mother tended to the wound, washing it clean with antiseptic. "You must be more careful of the foreman."
Adrianna huffed. "He was being an ass."
"You were being an ass," muttered Terro.
"I was not!"
"You show up late, drop buckets, damage fruit, and then fight with the foreman! It's like you're trying to get Iris and Poppy into trouble!"
"That's not true–"
"Why do you keep showing up to the orchards?" He slammed his hands down on the table. "All you do is cause problems for everyone!"
"I'm sorry–"
"I don't fucking care!"
Several bangs came at the door. Ivy hurried to flee her son and open it. "Oh. I assume you're looking for Adrianna?"
"We're looking for Terro and Iris Fields," came the reply. Distorted, using a helmet communicator.
Adrianna stood and straightened her dress out.
"They're not here," Ivy said nervously, signalling behind her with one hand. Something slammed into her head, knocking her aside, and four peacekeepers marched into the house.
"What did you do?" Terro hissed.
"I didn't do anything–"
"Are you Terro and Iris Fields?"
"What do you want?" snapped Terro.
"That's us!" said Adrianna, kicking him. "I'm Iris; this is my brother Terro."
The peacekeepers produced cuffs. "We need you to come with us."
District Nine
Jarrod Palash, 16
Preventable.
His brother's death had been preventable.
If the equipment had been better maintained; if the watchmen had been doing their job…
Jarrod's eyes burned with tears.
Reaper had been all he'd had in this world, he'd raised him like his own child despite his own youth, and died a terrible, preventable death.
He stuffed the last of his shirts in his bag. These rooms, this little house, was the only place he'd ever lived.
He had to leave.
He stepped from the house. The meeting point was out at the edge of the field, where according to his contact, they'd be collected and taken to the base. Jarrod took a last look at the houses belonging to his neighbours and set off.
Below he reached the end of the road, a large black van pulled to a stop there. For a moment he wondered if this was the people his contacts did he was to meet, and then Peacekeepers poured out.
Jarrod jumped aside, but stood straight as they passed. He'd not cry and grovel for a crime he'd not committed.
It looked as though they might continue and pass him, and then one stopped and looked at him.
"Jarrod Palash?"
"What is it to you?"
They whipped out their cuffs. "You need to come with us."
Author's Note
Tribute list!
DISTRICT ONE
Female: Daisy Jetson-Brie, 15
DISTRICT TWO
DISTRICT THREE
Male: Toshiro Micron-Bundar, 13
DISTRICT FOUR
Male: Tristan O'Cleary, 16
DISTRICT FIVE
Female: Rusudan Murtov, 13
DISTRICT SIX
Male: Atlas Anderson, 17
DISTRICT SEVEN
Female: Iris Fields, 17
Male: Terro Fields, 18
DISTRICT EIGHT
Female: Meredith Singer, 18
Female: Nadine Stitcher, 16
DISTRICT NINE
Female: Amarine Feller, 14
Female: Wren Willows, 18
Male: Jarrod Palash, 16
DISTRICT TEN
Male: Callum Tanner, 15
Male: Diego Butcher, 17
Male: Hunter Maren, 16
DISTRICT ELEVEN
Male: Bakula Kalanit, 12
Male: Dove Greenling, 14
Female: Cashew Murphy, 12
DISTRICT TWELVE