Without a revolutionary theory there cannot be a revolutionary movement.

- Vladimir Lenin

Pascal Agora

13. District Three.

His knees bounced, hitting the bottom of his desk, as his teacher wandered the class. With each exam she handed out, she loomed further toward his desk, and the anticipation of his paper landing in front of him was visceral. Infamously, Pascal Agora was no genius, but for this one he really had tried. He had forced himself to sit down, pushing all distractions out of his head, and committed the information to memory. He'd even passed up on the opportunity for a movie night at Franklin's house! Surely, that had to count for something?

Ms Atoma handed out the second-to-last paper to the girl beside him before circling around to Pascal. He looked up at her with his eyebrows raised and his hope still intact. That hope died, though, when he saw those round, disapproving eyes peering at him over her glasses. "You really could've done something with your life." She sighed, placing the paper on his desk. "It's a shame you never bothered to listen in my lessons."

His eyes shot down to his paper, an F drawn in thick, red marker across the page. His heart dropped, and, suddenly, he felt all eyes on him. "At least I'll be someone else's problem next year." He remarked, Ms Atoma didn't acknowledge him, but the rest of the class giggled behind cupped hands. He wasn't in a humorous mood, really, but at least that was something he could do. It was one of the only things he could do; he had quickly learnt.

Frankie and Isaac were waiting outside the classroom when he rushed out. They looked at him expectantly, and he knew they thought he had managed to pass. He couldn't bear that though, and so he walked right past them without a word. He had already had his own hopes destroyed; how could he destroy theirs as well?

"Dude!" Frankie shouted, having to walk twice as fast to keep up with his pace. "Where are you going?" He should've known the two of them wouldn't let it go so easily. He supposed he had to tell them at some point, and so he turned to them with a sigh. It's not like he needed to say anything, though; it was written all over his face.

"I didn't get in." He mumbled. "I'm going to a technical."

The two of them tried to hide their disappointment, but Pascal noticed the way their lips downturned, and he spun back around in embarrassment. He couldn't face them like this. So, he kept walking. Again, they followed.

"Hey, don't stress over it." Isaac said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "The technical and modern schools are only a few minutes walk from each other. We'll still walk home together every day."

"Yeah, I guess." He sighed. "But it won't be the same."

"You might even enjoy tech more! I mean, you're not academic or anything, so it could really be for you." Frankie said, and Isaac shot him a look. But he was right; Pascal wasn't academic like his friends or his brothers – he never had been – and it frustrated him to no end. Why hadn't he been born like them? Why did he have to be different?

Unlike them, he would now be thrown in with a bunch of other kids from the poorer parts of the district, and they'd all get the same laborious jobs in manufacturing and live equally monotonous lives. That was all a technical school was, after all: a place to throw the unremarkable kids that nobody else wanted before they were thrown into the workforce.

The three friends continued through the district centre and toward their neighbourhood, Frankie trying to start banter while Isaac provided the voice of reason. Pascal didn't engage with either, though; he had seemed to lose that reserve of energy that he always had spare, and all he wanted to do was crawl up in bed and feel sorry for himself.

He couldn't go home, though, at least not yet. "I'm turning here." He said, abruptly, and the three of them came to a stop.

"You're not going home?"

"No, Curina and I have a project to work on."

Frankie began to tease him, as he always did when Curina came up in conversation. "Ooooh, Pascal's going to see his girlfriend!" He giggled, poking him in the ribs. Usually, Pascal would have a sharp retort and fight back, but today he only gave a half-hearted laugh.

"She's not my girlfriend."

"Not yet." Frankie mocked, raising his eyebrows.

Pascal rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up! Anyway, I'll see you guys."

"See ya, Pascal." Isaac smiled. "We're here for you, you know that?"

"Yeah, thanks, guys."

…

Curina opened the door, beaming as the two of them connected eyes. She pulled on one of her black curls, leaning against the doorframe. "Right on time, Pascal! I just got home." She ushered him in and told him to take off his shoes, as she always did, and he immediately felt right at home. It wasn't so much the house itself, more so that he was with her.

She pulled him up the stairs, dragging him by the sleeve of his white buttoned-up shirt. "Did you bring the wires?" He pulled them from his jeans' pocket, and she grinned. "Of course you did! Oh, this is going to be one of our best projects yet, Pascal, I just know it." Without warning, she stopped on the top step and turned to him with her mouth agape. "Oh my god! How was the test?" There were those expectant eyes again, another hope he had to crush. Could this day get any worse?

He looked down to his feet. "I didn't get in. I'm going to the technical school, the one down the road." Her bottom lip stuck out in a pout, and she cocked her head to the side. He hated to feel pitied; it made him feel weaker than he already did, but from Curina he found he didn't mind it. Did it mean she was as sad as he was that they wouldn't be going to the same school? His heart skipped a beat at the thought.

"I'm sorry. But you know what I always say: you're one of the smartest people I know. No matter what school you end up going to, that's just the truth of it."

Pascal blushed. "Thanks, Curina." From anyone else, he would've brushed it off as a nicety, but from her, well, perhaps there was some truth in what she said. "Can we go work on our project?"

Her infectious smile returned. "Of course we can!"

Pascal always felt most confident when he had a gadget in hand. As he sat at Curina's desk, he probed at the generator coil with an intense focus. He was quick, pulling at one wire and, in no time, replacing it with another. Curina watched, giving him instructions from the book that sat open on her lap. He had quick hands, but she had brains, and he doubted he could do any of it without her.

Once he was done, they connected it to the lightbulb, and it turned on with a quick flash. Curina squealed in excitement. "Oh, Pascal! Isn't it brilliant?"

He grinned. "It sure is."

…

Perhaps, in another life, Pascal would've left Curina's house with a newfound hope for his future. But he knew he had not yet confronted the worst of his worries. They stared him in the face now, his impending doom in the shape of his teal-planked house and its white frames. He stepped up to the door with his hands in his pockets and pulled one shakily out to knock.

His older brother, Nico, opened the door. "Oh, Pascal, hey! Come in; we're just getting sat down for dinner." He elbowed past his brother, not wanting to look him in the eyes, but Nico caught him on the arm. "How'd the exam go?"

Seriously, did everyone remember that it was today? Couldn't they just give him some time?

"Yeah, fine." He muttered.

"Seriously?" Nico's face lit up. "You got in."

"No." He snapped. "I didn't get in." He pulled his arm free and scurried off to the dining room, hearing his brother sigh from behind him as he did. It was fine; he could sigh all he wanted. He'd never understand Pascal anyway; he had been born for exams.

His mother was dishing up the plates when Pascal entered, the aroma of cheese filling his nostrils. Shoving down some pasta, at least, might ease the burden of the conversation he was about to have.

He took his seat next to his oldest brother, Albert, and faced his mother and Nico, who sat beside her. His dad was at the head of the table. "Nice of you to join us, Pascal." He huffed, picking up his knife and fork.

"'Was working on a project." He muttered, chewing on a piece of pasta.

"I see."

"Did you get your exam results back today?" His mother asked. At least they weren't going to skirt around it; Pascal would much rather rip it off like a band-aid.

"I didn't get in. I'm going to the technical."

He jumped as his father slammed his fists against the table. "Like hell you are!" He barked. An awkward silence filled the room, not one of the Agora family daring to be the first to move. "What did I tell you, Pascal? What did I say?" He snapped.

"That I had to put in the work."

"That you had to put in the work!" He echoed. "And what did you do?"

There was no point arguing back; his family didn't understand him. They never had. "I didn't put in the work."

"That's right. At least there's something happening in that brain of yours."

"Dad-" Albert started, but his mother hit him with a glare.

"Pascal needs to learn his lesson, Albert." His mother said, turning her glare to him. He didn't look up, staring down at his plate. His eyes had filled with tears, but he chanelled all his strength in trying not to cry. He didn't want them to think of him as any weaker than they already did. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"Sorry." He squeaked.

"What was that?"

"Sorry."

"Good. Now go up to your room; I don't want to see you down here again tonight."

He stormed up the stairs and slammed his door behind him. There was no point in trying to diffuse the tension with his parents; this was the angriest they'd ever seen him, and even then they'd never been particularly fond of him. It had always been about Albert and his academic excellence or Nico and his sports. Nobody cared much about Pascal at all.

Only Curina.

He slumped down onto his bed.

But she was going to a new school next year, and he was sure that she'd find another friend to work on her projects with her. Probably someone much taller and smarter than him who could create something more than a stupid light bulb.

He wrapped himself in his covers, and the tears began to stream as he squeezed tightly to his mattress. He hated to cry; it made him feel more pathetic than he already did, but he couldn't help it. The world had seemed to move on, leaving him behind, and he didn't know how he could move forward. Everything had been stripped from him, just like that, and Pascal was scared because what if he led a life that nobody cared to remember?

He couldn't let that happen; he just couldn't. The thought of it terrified him too much. So, hugging his knees to his chest, Pascal resolved that somehow, he did not yet know how, he would make an impression on the world. He had to.

Adeona Okiro

18. District Four.

The waves lapped gently over her feet, their iciness cooling off her skin. She had always cherished the aroma of salt that emanated from the ocean; it reminded her of kinder times when she didn't feel so empty. But most of all, it reminded her of her father's stories.

"The great vessel was fashioned from an ancient oak, its polish glistening in the sun, and the mast that held its black banners towered above the largest structures in Four, guiding the ship to the ocean beyond. Ezra Okiro had often sailed these waters, his ship gliding across the waves like a bird through the sky." She grinned as a seagull shot overhead with a low, piercing cry. "Yet, there was always a new adventure to be had, and so he never grew tired of the experience of the boat rocking back and forth."

Her toes curled into the sand, digging in as far as they could reach. "This time, he was to steal a pearl from one of the greatest oysters in the Panemanian ocean. He dived from the ship, his strong arms cutting through the ocean with ease. Drifting into the depths, his eyes quickly grew used to the sting of the water. Once the round black and white of the roof of the oyster came into view, he began to swim stronger and faster until he reached the sandy surface. It took all his might to crack open the oyster, but he had faced more difficult tasks, and, finally, he pulled it free. There the pearl sat, and, oh, how perfect it was. Round and white, shimmering with an angelic elegance. He had never seen a gem so great; it felt unworthy of humankind. All but one. His daughter. That was the purpose of his adventure, of every adventure. And, as he kicked back to the surface of the ocean, he thought only of her."

Addy gripped tightly to the pearl at her neck, the sun reflecting against the gem with a mystical shine. It was magic, after all, and she felt power course through her veins as it touched against her skin. The reminder of what her father had faced for her gave her all the confidence in the world. Those memories were all she had left of him, those and his stories.

She took a deep breath in and fell against the golden sand, her dark curls falling around her. If Addy could stay on the shores of District Four forever, she would. Yet, reality always caught up to her, and, no matter how much she tried to run away from it, she could never hide away for very long. She pulled herself up and stepped into the ocean; the frigid cold surrounded her body, but she didn't mind. Every goosebump was a reminder, a memory, a story. She continued stepping forward, the water enveloping her skin until it was up to her neck.

When she was in the ocean, she felt her father with her. Partly because of his stories but also because he likely was. After all, he had taken off into these very seas one morning, and he had never returned.

"We'll be together again soon, Dad. I promise." She whispered, and she knew her message was carried on the coastal wind toward her father, wherever he was.

…

Addy always fought with a cutlass. She knew how typical it was, the Four girl with the pirate's blade, but she couldn't help herself. It made her feel like she was on an adventure, like one of those her father would go on, but this time she was the hero. Fighting monstrous krakens and defending ship invaders until the sun set on the endless ocean beyond.

She imagined her opponent was one of those invaders. From a rival group of pirates perhaps, or a peacekeeper trying to put an end to her adventure. Either way, the girl came at her with a ferocity that Addy found difficult to match. The key was finding her zone. The waves hitting the shore, her father narrating the fight, the adventure that was ensuing before her eyes. It was not only a strategy; it was the reason that she fought. She would need her training one day when she set out on her own ship to find the missing piece in her heart.

She wouldn't win this fight, though. A volunteer slot in the Hunger Games was not her goal; this tournament was simply practice, and she was content with giving it up for the girl who had worked so hard for it. Yet, Addy found it difficult to break from the zone to give the girl the upper hand. As she came at her with her blade swinging toward her ribs, she planned to let the girl get a hit.

Quick, Addy! We mustn't let them take the ship.

Her cutlass flew to her side, blocking the incoming attack. Her arms struggled with the force as she pushed the blade back, but, sure enough, she regained the advantage, and the two started to circle one another. The girl's eyes narrowed, her breathing heavy. Most had thought the fight would be over within the minute, but their underestimation of her had always been her advantage.

Alright, Addy, give it up now.

And she was so close, her mind screaming at her to drop the cutlass to the floor and raise her hands in surrender. But she was defending her father's ship, the ship that he had loved so dearly, and she struggled to break away from that thought. So, why break away at all? She had trained for the last six years either way; what point was there in giving up? Besides, she could always give up the volunteer spot if she won.

With her mind clear of doubts, she became more focused than ever.

Crash!

The waves.

Whoosh!

The breeze.

We won't go down without a fight!

Her father.

Addy charged with a cry, lifting her cutlass in the air. Then, she sent it crashing down.

…

The fishing shop's bell rang as Addy entered. She rarely visited her aunt's place of work, and the crowded nature of the store reminded her why. "Sorry!" She squeaked as she squeezed between aisle and person, pushing through to get past the crowds and to the front desk. When she finally got there, she was met with her aunt's kind smile and ushered over.

"I didn't realise you were coming today." She said, pulling her into a side-hug.

"I was on my way home, and I thought I'd pop in."

"Well, I'm glad you did! We don't see each other nearly enough."

It was true. Despite living in the same house, Taisha had her shop to run, and Adeona had her work at the academy. They were rarely home at the same hours, and, when they were, they tended to stay to themselves. Addy didn't mind that. Besides, her aunt let her do her own thing, and that's all she truly needed.

"Did you need anything?" Her aunt asked as she finished dealing with a customer. Taisha was known for her store across the District; she always had what you were looking for, and, if she didn't, she would sure as hell have it in stock next time you came along. "How was that tournament thing today?"

Addy's face turned bright pink. "Well, actually that's what I wanted to…"

"Adeona!" Someone cried, and Addy spun around in surprise. A boy with bright red hair leaned over the cashier's desk, his bright green eyes staring up at her. "It's good to see you, District partner." He said, his grin wide and full of teeth.

"District partner?" Her aunt asked.

At the same time, Addy said. "Oh, hi, Ferral."

"Good to see you!" He said, and, looking at her aunt, his smile dropped slightly. "I'm sorry, did I ruin the surprise?" He had certainly made things more complicated, but Addy wasn't planning on any surprise… "Addy and I have been chosen as District Four's volunteers for this year's Hunger Games!" He grinned.

"The Hunger Games?" Taisha gasped, turning to Addy with her eyes wide. "You're volunteering? Oh, Addy, why didn't you tell me?" Her eyes filled with tears, and Addy couldn't bear how much that hurt her.

"I'm not volunteering!" She exclaimed. "I mean, I got the spot, but I…"

"You're not?" Ferral gasped, his jaw hanging open.

"Or, well, I don't…" Addy turned back to Ferral, letting out a frustrated sigh. "I'm sorry, do you think you could wait outside? Just for a moment while I talk to my aunt."

He nodded several times. "Oh, sure thing." Once the door had shut behind him, Addy turned back to her aunt. She took a deep breath. She had never been great at dealing with people, but, jeez, how had she screwed this up so badly?

"So, you're not volunteering?" Her aunt asked, wiping at her eyes.

"I haven't decided yet." She said, looking down at her shoes. She felt awful for throwing all of this on Taisha without warning, but it had all come to her just as fast. "It's a great opportunity. I mean, out of everyone, they chose me…" She trailed off.

"It's okay if you want to do it." Her aunt took her hands in her own, and Addy lifted her head to face her.

"It is?" She asked, confusion flooding through her. She had never been close to her aunt, but they were blood, the two of them holding Ezra's memories with them as they navigated the waves of life. In that way, her response to this meant everything to her, which made this only more complicated. "Thank you, Taisha."

"I'd never want to hold you down, Addy."

She nodded. "I love you."

"'Love you too, kid."

…

Sure enough, Ferral was leaning against the window of the store when she left. The two of them had never spoken to each other before; Addy didn't speak much to anyone anymore, but, to her surprise, she had been roped into walking home with him. "Is your house around here too?"

"Nah, I live in the dorms." That was curious. The Academy dorms were often reserved for the kids whose parents just wanted them out of the house. Her heart softened for him then, and she allowed her guard to come down, just enough to engage in conversation. "So, you're not volunteering?" He asked, and she was surprised by the amount of genuine disappointment in his voice.

"I am." She sighed. "Or, I might be. I'm not sure yet." She knew how dumb that probably sounded, but she had only just been given the opportunity today, and if she just had some time to think…

"Might be?" He questioned. "Addy, this is the greatest opportunity of our lives! We've worked so hard for it. Why give it up now?"

"I was never training for a slot in the Hunger Games." She shrugged.

"Then what were you training for?"

"It doesn't matter." It had been a long time since she had let anyone in this deep; the fear of how she was perceived was often domineering. "Just some other adventure."

He laughed so hard that she was taken aback. "What adventure could be more incredible than this? Seriously, you've never wondered what the Capitol was like?" She had, of course she had; her imagination had run wild all over Panem. But her father wasn't in the Capitol; she knew that much, and it felt like leaving him behind.

"This is me." She said, pointing to the first home in a row of identical white-planked homes. "I'll see you around, Ferral."

"Just think about it, okay?"

She nodded and began to walk up the paved concrete drive to her front door, but something stopped her in her tracks. There was a thought in her mind, and she knew that if she didn't get it out of her head now, she likely never would. So, she spun around and found Ferral still watching her. "Why do you want me to volunteer so badly, anyway?"

That grin returned, spread wide and all teeth. "Because, Addy, we're outcasts. This is our chance to show the world who we really are."

She supposed that perhaps he was right.

Cosmo Marzipan Virelli

18. District Five.

TW: Mental illness

On the border of District Five, the whole world seemed to stop. There sat power plants collapsed and blackened, a result of the meltdowns of old, and towers of power lines lay on their side as if succumbing to their exhaustion. Cosmo couldn't blame them for that. It couldn't have been easy for them, having to power electricity to the entire district, maybe even beyond, and, at some point, everybody seemed to lose sense of their purpose and gave in to the world around them.

He trudged his beaten-up shoes across the concrete, his tattoo-covered hand trailing lazily across a still-standing fence. He knew what it was like to feel lost in the world, a piece in a puzzle that never seemed to fit no matter how hard you shoved it in, and, so, he empathised with the structures that had once stood so strong. Nothing lasts forever, though, and he knew that only too well.

"Not even your tattoos." It said.

He lifted his shirt and peered down at his torso, which had been covered in a range of symbols, ranging from a bright yellow sun across his chest to two black parallel lines above his navel. They were hardly impressive pieces of art, bruised and botched, and Cosmo had to admit he had no idea what any of them actually meant. All he knew was that he enjoyed doing it, and that's what mattered, right? "That's a shame; my tattoos are pretty awesome."

Something clattered across the ground as the tip of his shoe made contact with it. It was a quiet sound, but everything was quiet around these parts; not even the typical hum of District Five could be heard, and so Cosmo looked down to find a paperclip kicked a few metres in front of him. His face lit up. He rarely felt so excited these days, but damn, fate had just led him here, hadn't it? What were the chances he'd find exactly what he was looking for?

"Very slim."

"Very slim, indeed." He nodded, grinning to himself. He bent to pick up the paperclip and popped it into his leather satchel, where it mixed around with a range of other scrap Cosmo had found on his trip. Madam Lyra had been kind enough to let him borrow the bag, and he had been very careful not to lose it. He couldn't let down one of the only people who'd ever given him the time of day, could he?

With a renewed kick in his step, he continued along the concrete path that led toward the edge of the world. Maybe things weren't so bad, after all; fate always had a way of making things work out, and Cosmo knew that more than most.

…

The bell let out its familiar ring as he entered the little shop on the corner of a street that looked as if it hadn't seen life in weeks. He was often unsure of how Madam Lyra kept business, but she had never forgotten to remind him that lost people tended to find their way to her room of trinkets. It was a chaotic place, really, with broken gadgets and electronics strewn across the floor and lazily hanging off of shelves, but, to Cosmo, that only added to its endearment.

"Hello?" A frail voice called out, and he quickly hid behind one of the shelves as the voice grew closer. "Do I have a customer? Or am I hearing things in my old age?"

"Boo." He rasped, creeping behind the old woman as if he had been there all along.

She didn't even jump, and Cosmo couldn't help but feel disappointed as she turned to face him, wagging her finger in his face. "You've tried that trick on me too many times now, lad." She tutted. "Though, one of these days you're going to give me a heart attack. I don't doubt that. What have you got for me then?"

She didn't wait for him to tell her, beginning to rummage around in the satchel. "I must say, I have no idea what you're going to do with half of this stuff." She furrowed her brow, holding out an old, twisted key. "But I trust you'll make use of it somehow." She sighed, placing the scrap back in the bag. "Right, off to work then. I don't pay you to stand around all day."

"You don't pay me at all." He smiled.

"With my time, dear boy. Panem knows I don't have much of that left; very valuable stuff it is."

Cosmo didn't doubt that Madam Lyra was close to seventy now, and very few in District Five made it another few years before they caught something or, worse, died in some horrific accident. Those were typical for Five, believe it or not, and Cosmo had enough experience with disaster to know how atypical Madam Lyra's long life was. Soon, she would leave him, as everybody seemed to eventually. But that was just the way of District Five, and he supposed he had grown used to that, as sad as it made him.

Once he cleared a path for her through the trinkets and gadgets to get back to the front desk, he made his way into the workshop.

"It's not a workshop, not really."

"Well, I suppose it isn't." It was only a small room, with walls plastered in white that were peeling off to reveal the concrete underneath and furnished with a green, tattered desk which sat in its centre. On the desk was his current project, a square television. It was in poor condition, as much as he hated to admit it, with scratches across the screen and a few holes here and there, but who was he to complain? He had never had a television before, and now here one was. Sure, it didn't work yet, but that only made it all the more fun for him.

He sat with crossed legs in front of the desk and poured out the scrap from the morning's work. As soon as he collected all he needed into a separate pile, he began his work. Fixing circuits with rubber bands and scrap wire, mending the holes that gave it its tattered look, and, finally, unbending the paperclip and attaching it to the top of the TV.

"The signal."

The TV flickered on, and he fist-bumped the air with excitement. The film was black and white and hardly high in quality, but Cosmo watched intently all the same. "The Peacekeepers of Two are then sent across Panem to maintain the mighty law and order of the Capitol. Each is trained rigorously in a 5-year process in which they hone skills in combat, discipline and investigation. Peacekeepers are the pride of Panem, and we welcome our new generation." The camera shifted down a line of young men and women in white breastplates and helmets in their hands; each of them stared at Cosmo with blank faces. He stared back, unblinking, until something caught his eye - or, rather, someone.

"What?" He gasped. "No, it can't be!"

He pressed the middle button on the bottom of the television, pausing the film, and then the button to the left to rewind. Peacekeepers flew by, frame by frame, until it landed on a boy with a large nose that took up half his face, which was littered with freckles. It had been years since Arlen Fischoff had left the district without a word of goodbye, but Cosmo recognised his tousled hair and large nose all the same. It wasn't the joyous reunion that he had expected; instead, it was rather painful to see the only person he had ever dared call a friend in an entirely different world from him in Five. He had moved on; Cosmo had not, and, in many ways, that seemed to sum up his life.

"Everyone leaves eventually."

Everyone. No exceptions. Fate had not even allowed his parents to stick around long, although they would remain in his memory forever. The way his mother used to hum as she soldered the wires of her newest project or how his father returned home, exhausted and smelling of grease, but not forgetting to pull his son into a bear hug before he shut himself off into his room. Their home was no longer with him, though, and he had forced himself to accept that. Instead, they lay on those outskirts of Five in a charred and beaten-up power plant, their bodies unrecognisable.

As the door to the workshop clicked open, Cosmo swiftly wiped his eyes and jumped to his feet. He did not even trust Madam Lyra with the pain of his past, and so he shut it out to all but himself in those rare, dark moments when the world seemed so hopeless.

"Ah, you got the TV working. Good lad, good lad." She said, pinching his cheek with fondness. "You better keep it, I think; it's an older model than most would want in their homes."

"Seriously?" He questioned, his dark eyes wide. "But you said you could always sell anything, no matter how old or useless it was?"

She shook her head and tutted. "Too good a memory, you have. It's a shame it can't be put to better use than this old workshop. Yes, boy, take the television home with you. You fixed it; it's yours now."

"But—"

"I'm trying to give you a free television, lad. Won't you just take it?"

Cosmo grinned. "Okay, thanks."

"Sure, just don't be asking for free stuff every day now. Say, who is that on the screen? He looks familiar."

He stumbled over his words. "Oh, some peacekeeper. Just paused it to get a better look at the uniform."

He was grateful that Madam Lyra's mind never seemed to stay in one place. "Peacekeeper". She scoffed. "What a word! Panem knows they don't keep much peace; they're pretty useless at that indeed. Perhaps we need peacekeepers to keep the peace between us and peacekeepers." She chuckled. "That would be something now, wouldn't it, boy?"

"Sure would!" He nodded along; he was never quite sure what she was saying or why she expected him to care, but he had found it best simply to agree; that kept her happy. "I better get going." He said, hauling up the TV into his arms, it was heavy, but it wasn't a long walk home from the shop.

"You can manage."

He waved goodbye to Madam Lyra as he left and then began his walk home.

…

"This is not a home."

He sighed in agreement. "You're right, it's not." In reality, it was only four walls and a roof, but what more did a home need? It kept the cold breeze out, and there was a corner for his pillow and blanket, both of which were thin and filled with holes. And now he had a television. He placed it just in front of his makeshift bed, growing excited at the thought of watching it before sleep took him.

But first, he had something to do.

On the other side of the room sat a bucket of dark, red paint. Cosmo opened its lid and dipped his hands in, covering them in the substance. Then, he placed his hands on a blank space on the wall and began to paint.

When he was done, he stood back, with his hands on his hips, and stared at his drawing in admiration. It was the outline of a power plant, a bright red fire atop it. And there it stood, filling the last empty place on the walls of his home. The symbols that covered it gave it more character, but they were more than that. They were everything Cosmo had ever experienced and everything he would experience.

It was the story of his life. And the path that it was destined to take.

A/N: Okay all! This chapter has introduced a couple of full pairs for us, being Districts Three, Four and Five, let me know in the reviews how you think these pairs will interact! Of course, we already have a little bit of Addy and Ferral's dynamic set up. I do like to have the Careers meet at least a little in the Intro chapters just because I think it's implausible that they don't meet before the Games and its fun to set some groundwork for interactions later on.

If you didn't pick up on it, my District Three follows an education system similar to that introduced by the Butler Education Act in Britain. Essentially, students take a test at aged 12/13 and get assigned to a Technical, Modern or Grammar Secondary school based on their results. Technicals will usually focus on practical skills, Moderns on general academia and Grammar on more rigorous academia.

I'd also like to clarify that Cosmo does experience psychosis. Of course, I am not an expert on the subject but I've done my best to research the subject matter to be able to write the topic sensitively. Please let me know if there's anything you feel is not portrayed in the correct manner and I'm happy to discuss and change things up!

We have 5 more introduction chapters to get through. Next up we have Selyse, Elliot and Jessamine! So, I'm very excited to introduce you guys to a couple of new Districts!

Thanks to Blue for Pascal, Moose (Team Shadow) for Adeona and Luke (CrocodileReader431) for Cosmo!

- Neb