The 99th Annual Hunger Games: Restricted

Hey guys! It’s Cait here and after some consideration, I’ve decided to start a hunger games for all to join. It’s been ages since I last did any solo games (and I have yet to complete one), so let’s get right into it! By the way, these will be a follow up to my 98th hunger games so if you wish to read them, then feel free to do so.

Introduction
After the disappointing twist for the previous year’s games, President Aaron Pluto found himself in a bubble of humiliation. The only good that came out of it was how well the tributes played them, what with epic scenes, funny moments and even a tad bit of romance here and there. He spent most of his time observing the other slips of paper within his bowl, which displayed pieces of writing of twist upon twist. He discarded of all the ones he didn’t like the sound of and kept those which intrigued him. And he took it upon himself to come up with even more ideas for the games. Sounds pretty normal so far, right? But his joy would soon be shattered like a glass chandelier.

Weeks after he finished writing the twists, he felt a stabbing pain in his head. He shrugged it off as nothing but a migraine, but this soon became worse. Before he knew it, president Pluto was overcome with even more ailments. Because of the advancement of modern medicine, he was able to recover… mostly. However  his personal surgeons discovered a tumour in his head. According to them it was too risky to operate on and not even the most powerful of chemicals was enough to bring it down. He would later be diagnosed with only 1 ½ years left to live.

Skip time by a couple of months. It was time for the twist of the 99th hunger games to begin. President Pluto, as ever, took his place upon the stand. For a man who had influenced Panem for around 30 years, he would’ve appeared shaky to the keen-eyed. His hand vibrated like a sound wave, his mind constantly ticking down the amount of time he had to live. 1 year 2 months, 1 year 2 months... Despite how much self-confidence he lost, he continued on with the declaration.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the grand announcement of the twist for the 99th Annual Hunger Games,” Pluto made a slight grin to hide his inner demons, which certainly worked for the majority of the audience. “As per usual, 32 tributes will be hand-selected to become tributes and compete for the glory and riches,” He didn’t want to be stood here anymore and prolong the amount of time it took for him to return to his headquarters. “Last years twist was very little to my own taste, so let’s hope that this years twist is much better!” He gestured to Apollo, his grandson and carrier of the bowl. Inside were tens of tiny slips of paper, the same ones Pluto had written. The mentally scarred President of Panem dipped his hand into the bowl, feeling around for a ballot. Nimbly his fingers grasped around one. He pulled it out. “The twist for this year… as a reminder that nobody gets away with breaking the peace around Panem, each tribute will be given a bracelet with a forbidden action. Should they act out said action… well, you can expect them to be disposed of. They will not be allowed to show or mention what the action is to other tributes.” The crowd below cheered, even beginning to chant Pluto’s name. Their expectations, having been lowered due to the previous year’s twist, had been raised again. President Pluto once more grimly smiled. “Happy hunger games, and may the odds be ever in your favour!”

For Tributes

 * As mentioned in the introduction, each of the tributes will be given a bangle with a forbidden action inscribed within. The bangles also have a button, so if a tribute presses it the other rules regarding the bangles and actions will be displayed via hologram.
 * The bangle has two compartments within for poison. One for the action, and one if they break the other rules for this twist. The latter always leads to an instant kill.
 * If the tribute does the action, intentional or not, they will be administered a dose of poison.
 * The tribute will be notified when the poison is administered and how long it will take for it to take effect.
 * The amount will depend on how easy it is for the tribute to avoid doing said action. The poison may last 1-3 days and disrupt the workings of the tribute’s body, or it will cause instant death. One of the forbidden actions will be an exception to this.
 * Any antidotes supplied within these games won’t save a tribute if they’ve performed their forbidden action.
 * A tribute can still win even if the poison’s in their bloodstream: The Capitol have the antidote required to save their life.
 * The tributes can’t show their forbidden action or mention it to other tributes. However the other tributes can try and sneak a peek at the action without consequences for both parties.
 * The tributes can’t attempt to take off their bangles.
 * Each bangle will be disabled on the final day and in the duration of the feast. The tributes will be notified of this.

For Mentors

 * The mentors will not know what forbidden action their tribute has. At the end of each day in the arena, the mentors will be allowed to make one guess for what the action is for each of their tributes.
 * If they get it right, they will be able to sponsor that tribute with one item of their choice free of charge. I will say if they got it right in the comments.
 * If they get it wrong, they won’t be able to guess until the next day ends.
 * Of course, making guesses is entirely optional. However it is highly recommended to make predictions
 * The forbidden actions will be revealed either when the tribute dies or when the action is guessed successfully.
 * The mentors will not know how long the poison will take effect for.

Rules

 * You can submit three tributes maximum. This may change if more tributes are needed.
 * Districts 0-14 and the Capitol will be taking part.


 * Don't enter troll tributes please. They just waste time.


 * No spamming. Doing so will either result in your tribute being killed off, severely injured or losing sponsor money.


 * If you wish to submit a tribute, either use a link or submit them in the comments.


 * If you wish to reserve a spot it will last 48 hours. Afterwards you won’t be able to reserve it again, but you can still submit a tribute there if no one steals the slot.


 * You mustn't go on a fury rampage if your tribute dies. You are allowed to mourn them to say R.I.P and to virtually cry, but no anger.


 * Don't use somebody else's advice to keep your tribute alive (E.g: Tilia is planning on killing you, Canary. Kill her before she can do so)


 * Be respectful of others. If I see anything hateful towards other users then you will be banned from all my future games and reported to the admins.
 * Feel free to ask any questions you have about these games at anytime! There might be loopholes that I haven’t noticed or something I may not have made clear.
 * Constructive feedback and criticism are both appreciated.
 * Please bear in mind that these games are based upon the Danganronpa 3 anime (Future arc). As such, credit for the twist should go to the creators.


 * If you have read this and plan to submit a tribute/reserve a spot, write ‘Time is a borrowed gift for you and me’ somewhere in your comment, ideally at the top.

Surorian Chaos - The Capitol
“I’m going to volunteer! Just you wait and see!”

“Pfft. No you won’t. You’re just a little pussy.”

“Oh yeah?!”

“Yeah!”

“No way in hell!” Two teenage boys zip past me on the bustling streets of the Capitol. One of them knocks into me slightly, provoking a scowl from me. The idiot who did so doesn’t even pause to apologise, instead opting to go on their wild goose chase to the games. Now I’m just pissed. They don’t even recognise I, Surorian Chaos, soon-to-be tribute and victor of these games? Well, looks like I’ll have to change that. But how? Almost instantly a queasiness I can’t shake off begins to stir within my stomach. It churns harder and harder, until...

The moment I stare back towards them, shrieks of surprise erupt from the dormant boulevard. I sharply jolt my head in the direction of the commotion Slight pain emasculates from the nape of my neck, but when the scene unfolds ahead of me I can’t help but to chuckle: Those two inferior dimwits, the ones who wrongfully disrespected my presence as mere illusion… they’re now sopping wet. Within their proximity a fire hydrant gushes water over their brain-dead heads. To think that their dignity has been partially flushed away by the sea of karma. Now, I wonder who could’ve caused that…

Wanting to grant myself a more glorious view of this scene, I decide to head towards the shadows near them. I casually stroll over. They attempt to shake off the precipitation, which only clings to their clothes like a tick. Once more I’m overcome by the urge to chortle. The two of them proceed to glare daggers in my direction, but one stops straight afterwards. It’s soon replaced by another emotion like no other: Fear. I smirk slightly knowing that they know better than to mess with me.

“Arlo, do you see that?”

“See what?”

“That! Those creepy purple eyes.” The boy named Arlo’s only reaction is to scowl at me.

“Come out! You want a fight mate? I’ll give you a fight.” A challenge? Tempting. Tempting… but I wait around to see how they’ll react. “C’mon. Are you a man or a coward?” Once more I allow a low resonating chuckle to escape my lips. Arlo’s eyes widen slightly, but snap into place afterwards. From there, I take a couple of steps away from the camouflage of my shadow. Arlo’s friend whimpers and bolts away, behind a building. Meanwhile my opponent takes in every detail of me. My eyes, my hair, my movements… and still he doesn’t back off.

“Do you think it’s funny to laugh at the misfortune of others?”

“Do you think it’s funny to run into someone and not apologise?” He almost freezes, paralysed by my hypnotic-as-hell voice. Boy, I would listen to me for hours on end if I wished. But it’s not within my desire to, oh no. For me it’s all about the games. That’s the only thing on my mind at the moment, other than Arlo’s reactions to my every move.

“I-I didn’t…” He backs away a little, part ashamed and part intimidated. Good.

“Now listen, little boy. I suggest if you don’t want to piss me off you’d better run and be careful. You know that hydrant? Mostly my fault. You want minorly bad luck? Find a ladder to walk under and whatever you do, don’t. Mess with me. Got that?” Arlo nods, almost bursting into tears as he flees the area. His little pal makes a getaway too. Boy, I love dealing with tryhards.

But now I have my own path to take.

I begin to head towards the reaping square: The same place I’ve been invited to for the past 6 years. Well it’s more mandatory, but I take pride in arriving nonetheless. The increase in people in one area alerts me to the exact spot. Half of the queue could hardly be called that: It’s nothing but a large splat of children. Most babble excitedly about what it would be like to be a part of them. Some whimper behind their parents’ backs. I stroll out confidently and pick out what might be a line. One individual turns their head in my direction, locking eyes with me. I grin at them. In return they twist it back towards the front. Fear? Repulsion? Who cares? They know better than to pick a fight with me. The rabble seems to last for hours, until I eventually reach the front. The peacekeeper lazily calls for the next person: Me. I bounce forwards. Eager. Bloodthirsty. Prepared. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for.

“Na-” The man pauses halfway for some unknown reason.I can feel his gaze analyzing my facial features, observing me as if I was a distant friend from his past. I do the same to him. After a few moments I still don’t see it, but then I hear him grunt and ask me for my name once more. I make eye contact with him to be polite… only to notice a great fleshy bulge where an eye should’ve been. Now I remember…

''It was a relatively normal day. There was no sign of sunlight as it cowardly hid behind the grey sheets in the sky. Though most of these blankets were pale, a couple were slightly darker in shade. An incredibly smart and handsome young man takes a lovely trip around the city. Far in the distance, five workers are supervising how precise every little thing should be in their area. For they are attempting Panem’s tallest building yet. At the time he didn’t know. But that would never have changed what would happen next. One stare with his purple eyes, flickering with wickedness, and the next moment the whole thing came down. The workers are crushed. He swears he even saw a small trinket of blood. The puddle may have been larger, but the distance would create illusions that said otherwise. In the end it’s just too hilarious to resist. A giggle made a getaway from his lips. Then… gradually… ever so gradually… more volume burst out like a person hiding secrets under high pressure. It had grown to a mezzo-forte level, until a force knocks him down to his chest.''

''This dear, innocent boy began to hack away until a tiny bit of blood flew from his lips. He wanted to know his tormentor, the criminal scum who dared defy him. His head tilted a little, now seeing the attacker. A peacekeeper… one of the corrupt and ignorant ones. Still, this victim smiled. He knew of his luck, he knew of the calamities that came with it. Then it plays up again. Butterflies flutter around in his stomach, slowly spreading out further in a small circumference. Slightly weakened the man slumps his head to the ground. The crack of the whip signalled, but left no mark. At least not on him. There came a different scream. The bringer of despair and misery had struck again. He forced himself back onto his knees, spotting the bloodied whip. As he scours the man’s face he notices a bloodstain where one of the eyes should be. An eyeball rolled across the ground, producing blood as it did so. Justice had been served.''

“Goddammit, just give me your name already!” The peacekeeper grunted.

“Surorian Chaos. Nice to see you again, old friend.” Unlike those who previously met me, he pays little attention to what I have to stay. He almost yanks my finger out of its socket as he makes an incision in my finger, pressing it against the paper in the section with my name on it.

“Move on. Next!” I jog into the crowd, marvelling at the amount of happy-go-lucky children around. I’ve seen many of the little ones playing with fake swords and axes before, but it seems hard to imagine that even some of the most mature teenagers could go ape over a killing game.

They’re the kind of people I like.

As I squeeze my way to where I should be assigned, I notice another old friend of mine: Arlo. However he doesn’t spot me. Now his friend, on the other hand, picks me out as if I were a sore thumb. I see them conversion, occasionally sharing looks in my direction. Not taking any notice of them I finally select my own spot. The hustle of the audience is still around, but when everyone is finally organised it all goes silent. The anthem of Panem sounds off in the background as our President strolls towards the microphone in the middle. He’s the very pinnacle of us: Wealthy and proud in a black-and-white tuxedo, hair groomed and sideswept, immaculate in his appearance. The residents are cheering and clapping, before he calls for silence.

"Welcome, Capitol, to the reapings for the 99th Annual Hunger Games!" He begins. Unlike last year his grin isn’t as large, but it’s still there. "It's that time of the year again, where two courageous young juveniles will compete, for the glory of their district, and the pride of their family!" Everybody celebrates again, forcing him to hush the overhyped members of the audience. He backs away to the side, unveiling Terpsichore Pieris. Last year, she was coated in pink feathers. This year, she has a layer of aquamarine faux fur.

“So, uh, hi again guys? If you don’t remember me from, erm, last year I’m Terpsichore Pieris. Let’s just get on with the yearly speech. Umm, yeah.” The screen above her flashes with the same images as last year. I don’t watch though: I’ve had it memorised ever since I was thirteen. Before I know it the whole thing ends. Terpsichore buries her head in her scarf briefly.

“Let’s find out who our tributes are, shall we?” She inaudibly mutters to herself as she approaches the bowl containing the names of the girls in the district. Much like last year none of them are keen to volunteer. I begin to daydream about who they could be, when a name is called out deftly.

“Kennedy Marks!” Many members of the crowd mutter as a pretty girl  with brown and blonde solemnly shuffles out of the crowd. I continue to observe her as she goes up onto the stage, finally revealing her face for me to see. And now that I see it I recognise her: Two years ago her boyfriend competed in the games. I can remember watching the interviews and getting bored halfway through, but at least I could comprehend how close they were and how devastating the loss must’ve been.

I take a closer look at her again. Surprisingly she doesn’t seem too shocked… almost as if she predicted it. Although she seems relatively calm, I can tell she just wants to be as far from there as possible. Her legs restlessly quiver and she fiddles with something in her hands.

“Myrrho Gelandum!” Crap, I didn’t even notice her head to the other bowl.

“I volunteer!” A somewhat large number of boys raise their hands in the air, myself included. Terpsichore scans the crowd before she points her finger… at me! Haha! Yes! Oh glorious revolution! Oh mighty prophecy of kismet! I’m the tribute! Smugly I run up on stage, putting up my middle finger at some of the other wannabe tributes. Terpsichore backs away to allow me some space to speak.

“Surorian Chaos. And I shall win for the pride of my district!” My fellow hunger games lovers cheer for me. I raise my hands in the air hoping for an even larger reaction. And I get it. Some also raise their arms, others leap up and down on the spot. It’s just how I dreamt it as. Terpsichore swerves around me to approach the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, give a round of erm, applause to your tributes: Kennedy and Surorian!” I reach out my hand for my partner. At first she shuffles slightly in awkwardness. But just when I thought she was going to be improper, she takes my hand and lightly shakes it.

“Nice to meet you, Surorian.” She says with a wry and gentle smile. Her voice warbles slightly displaying her fear, nonetheless I respond as respectfully as I can.

“Nice to meet you too, Kennedy.” Terpsichore requests for us to follow her into the justice building, beckoning us with her hand. Kennedy goes first behind her, still playing around with whatever’s in her hands. Her token, maybe? Something from her departed boyfriend? I can’t tell. But it does at least seem to bring her into a tranquil state of mind. Meanwhile I have nothing with me.

As I step in I notice something different to what I’ve seen in past years. Previously I heard of renovation rumours within the justice hall, but I didn’t think they would be true. Before the tributes had to sit together as they waited for their families, but now there is a corridor with one door per side: A much needed improvement if you asked me. Grey walls tower over us, containing paintings of some of our most famous pioneers and political figures. One I take notice of is a man with hair that looks like somebody poured an omelette with lumps of cat fur over his head. However his name is too high up so it is unclear who he is. All I can say that he would be fitting as a circus clown.

I step through into my room on the left, glad to see a sofa in the middle. All the standing around, drama and my old memories have sapped me of some of my energy. I slump down onto there, allowing myself to be absorbed by its comforting properties. I could fall asleep on here, if it weren’t for the knowledge that my parents would be here soon.“Quickly guys.” I whispered to myself. “The sooner you get here, the sooner I can get on with winning.”

Heaven Burke - District 0
''‘She’s nothing but a science experiment; a mutt! She doesn’t belong here! She belongs in a cage in District 14!’''

For some, those exact words could be enough evidence to pinpoint where I should be. For others it may seem far-fetched. But really, in a universe like Panem where technology has advanced beyond that of anyone’s expectations, how could anyone be skeptical of such possibilities? We’ve perfected the art of forging traps that defy the course of mother nature. If we can do that then animating a child from DNA shouldn’t be a fantasy for the ultimate science lovers.

It makes me wonder why most of the districts are impoverished and rundown.

“Heaven, come on! We’ve got more terrain to cross!” My thoughts snap back to reality as my mother calls for me. Above the trail, ahead of me, my parents stand there smiling at me. She and my father invited me on a private hike trail, just the three of us. They claimed it was to allow me one last look at the wilderness before the reapings, just for some fresh air. Well, I got what they promised… perhaps a bit too fresh: Whenever I try to inhale I just end up sneezing due to the frost that dances in the air. Considering that we’re the Northernmost district, it’s no plot twist.

“How long do we have left before the reapings?” I ask, catching up to my fellow expeditionists. Father rolls up his sleeve and reveals a watch.

“About two hours. However we’re on the outskirts of the city so we should have time to explore for a little bit more.” He responds. And sure enough, as I hop onto the next layer of the mountain, I barely spot the outline of the towers that surround the justice building. The translucent mist below feebly tries to mask it, only obscuring the tiny details that nobody cares about. In a way it’s similar to how my parents covered up my creation: Though I was walking proof of a successful test, nobody noticed until my parents let it slip with their own recklessness. Somehow the whole experience hadn’t made me furious at them: Just distant and distrustful of others. Personally I believe that holding a grudge doesn’t get you anywhere, so that might be part of the reason why.

Whilst I continue to trail behind my parents, I notice the presence of a plant that I’d never seen before. It’s prickly like a porcupine, yet the layers of leaves seem to be regular rather than randomly distributed over its surface area. I begin to walk towards it, naturally intrigued by its nature. I reach out and feel the waxy texture of the leaf. Of course, the edges and point put me off due to its sharpness.

“Mum? Dad? Look what I’ve found.” They bound towards me, which may not be the wisest decision considering the uneven edges of rock all over the ground we were strolling on. Father is the first to reach it, and without even needing time to think he comes up with its name right away.

"Yucca filamentosa,” He murmurs. “Wonder why it’s even in this climate…”

“Maybe it’s adapted itself for these conditions.” Mother suggests. “I don’t think so… Still I can’t help but wonder,”

“Wonder what?”

“Heaven, do you remember how I told you about the lost civilisation that roamed these parts? You know, the Chuburaig?”

“Yeah?”

“Well,” Father glances up to the sky as he usually does when making predictions. “For these centuries we’ve been on Earth, the climate must’ve changed right? Well the Chuburaig was known to have introduced new plants and species to these parts. Despite our location in Panem, it’s surprisingly moist and warm up here. The tribe remained in the mountains until they vanished after an earthquake. What I’m wondering is-”

“What if these were their burial grounds?” I butt in. Father nods.

“My thoughts exactly. I’d best report this to work when we get back from the reapings.” I almost feel my heart thump faster. Of course! It makes sense! We might’ve uncovered some vital information… imagine if it was spread? What if it’s one of the finds of the century? Then I’ll actually prove that you don’t need to be fully human to make the finds of the century.When I turn to mother I notice that she has her notebook out. She’s always jotting down ideas, even if they seem ridiculous.

“Believe it or not Heaven, yucca is actually edible. You could boil or roast these white flowers, or even eat them raw?”

“Really?”

“Yes, but doing the latter of the three tastes bitter and gives you an upset stomach. You could also eat the fruits however you wanted, ground up and roast the seeds, or even go for the young flower stalks.”

“Is that so?” My mind suddenly becomes fascinated by the thought of these yucca plants. Imagine coming across one in a hunger games: You wouldn’t need to go to the feast or anything. Not for a while if you’re resistant to hunger.

“Yep. And not only that, but if you extract liquid from crushing the leaves and roots and pour it into a river, you’ll temporarily paralyze fish, making them easier to catch. And they’re quite effective for making fi-”

“I get it mom, I get it. Sounds like it’s very important for survival.” I try and take in as much of the physical detail as possible: They may come in use later on. Eating them, fires and catching fish… it’s pretty impressive for a plant.

“Anyway, we’d better get going to the reapings.” Father says. “Any longer out here and we might be late.”

~*~*~

We barely got to the centre square in time, and even then the peacekeeper warned us to try and make it earlier. That left my parents to go round the back, whilst I stood in the line along with the other sixteen year olds. Not too far from me, I see the very same person who outed my true nature: Jasmin. To think that a snob like her could expose something I didn’t know at the time is preposterous. Especially when she only used it to ruin my reputation. It’s not anything I care for anymore because you’ve just got to carry on.

Though I can’t seem to let go of the day…

“Welcome, all, to the reapings of the 99th hunger games!” My mind is interrupted as the district’s escort, Socrates Theogorem, speaks into the microphone. I mentally groan: If there was an award for most annoying escort, there is no doubt it goes straight to him. I get the idea he wants to find the real truth of life, but annoying people with ‘why’ after every statement is no way to do so.

He allows the speech to play on the screen above him, which I focus on for some parts. The skulls, the treaty, footage from the two rebellions, it all feels the same to me.

Socrates wraps his abnormally long beard around one arm and dips into the bowl with another. I don’t understand why he has so little common sense, wearing a Greek robe instead of a fur coat. Probably to build up his character, willing to risk illness just to be recognisable. How piteous.

“Heaven Burke!”

At the mention of my name, I hear a few snickers in the crowd. Around me the heads of the other teenages turn to try and catch a glimpse of their female representative. I begin my ascent to the stage in order to get this ordeal out of the way. And when I do get the to stage, I see horrified expressions forming over my parents’ faces.

But then I see Jasmin’s smirk…

Nobody dared move an inch. Not many of the kids in the district know me, but those who do know of my supposed ‘perfection’ don’t even care. They probably believe that because I’m an experiment, that I’ll make it out alive. Well, they’re wrong: Victory isn’t guaranteed for me. A person’s fate in a killing game depends on the actions of the other players.

“Salem Finnigan!” Before I knew it a raven-haired boy strolls out from his line. I wait until he gets closer to analyze him. And when I do, I notice his startling blue eyes. He doesn’t seem that nervous, but not exactly confidant either. In fact he seems pretty… average. I’d be willing to bet he won’t last far without a bit of luck. Unless he’s acting, in which case he had me fooled there. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt, it’s that people aren’t always who or what they seem to be.

“Heaven Burke and Salem Finnigan, everyone! Wish them good luck everyone!” Salem holds out his hand to me, which I reluctantly take. They feel warm, inviting, as if he was an employer hiring a new worker. Maybe he is a weakling after all.

After my meeting with my parents, I’m lead away from the justice hall into a large, grey train. Upon entering, I’m stunned by the grace and luxury of the interior: Lush red carpets are paved onto the floor, the walls are matt black and shiny. There are leather couches and paper lanterns dotting the carriage. Salem peers at everything with his seemingly warm eyes, but for the flash of a second I see malevolence. Arrogance. A monster… But then he returns to his normal, innocent persona. Hmm...

I take my place by a window, taking in the scenery of the district for the final time. There is a small crowd outside for those who want one last look at us in human. Among them stand my parents. They’re right at the front, nobody there to block my view. Swiftly I wave to them. But they don’t see it. My mother is sobbing now, probably still in denial about what happened: That’s exactly what she was like when I met her after the reapings.

Now I continue glancing out, noticing the few classmates and co-workers that stuck up for me even after the truth came on them like an anvil. Unlike my family members they aren’t suffering too badly, rather settling for blank stares towards the train. Once more I’m grateful for their existence in my life. One of them makes eye contact with me, flashing a tiny smile.

Then I see her…

Sickeningly Jasmin is almost as close to the front as my family. She and her few friends peer into the windows, probably trying to find and ridicule me. I turn to move seats, but Socrates slides next to me. Out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of Salem, but then I face outside the window. They’ve still not found me, but just when I’m confident they can’t see me, Jasmin finds the same window I’m in and-

‘Oh god she’s staring at me...’

All I’ve ever wanted was to forget that I was a test tube child. But whenever I see, no, even hear about her it brings back those horrid memories. Sometimes I wish for the extroverted, cheery me. That’s gone now. For good. Absorbing her face again, I spot her smirking and even making the beheading motion with her finger. The biggest question I have for her hatred of me, is why? Why couldn’t she have left me alone? Does she even remember the prom? Maybe. I don’t care. It won’t change the past. Even now, I can remember those exact words:

"Heaven Burke has been a favorite since her baby years. Always loved, always looked up to. Always praised. But who couldn't praise a perfect, glorified science experiment? She is from a bottle. A test tube child. Of course she's perfect. She was made to be that way. She doesn't have to work for anything! SHE'S NOTHING BUT A SCIENCE EXPERIMENT. A MUTT! She doesn't belong here! She belongs in a cage in District 14.” If she had said those words today rather than back then, I wouldn’t be as bothered. Why? Because I’ve grown older, I’ve grown wiser when it comes to the people who want the ground to fall beneath others. That, and I haven’t had any other formal or enjoyable occasions. But still, I can now tell myself reasons why she was wrong.

At least that’s some progress, right?

‘But who couldn’t praise a perfect, glorified science experiment?’ I’m not perfect. I’m not glorified. I yearn for the day I can be classed as human again. And who wouldn’t praise me? Haters like her. As rhetorical as the question is I like to argue against it just to make myself feel better for my past.

‘She doesn’t have to work for anything!' Of course I do: If I didn’t work and learn then I wouldn’t be nearly as intelligent as I am this day. I mean let’s face it, nobody is good at anything without trying multiple times.

‘She’s nothing but a science experiment; a mutt! ''She doesn’t belong here! She belongs in a cage in District 14!''’

Of every single line mentioned, those ones hurt the most. I may be a science experiment, but surely my parents only wanted to test how perfect I was. In their eyes I’ve already proved that. If they were done with me then maybe I would be in the cage. But they see me as one of them, meaning that I’m no mutt.

And I will prove it.

Uzi Kystrel - District 1
“Uzi…”

''I leap out of my skin. Amidst the decaying abyss of oblivion, a voice resounds around my spirit. For one moment it deafens me, then the next it fades like the life force of a murder victim. Sometimes it wants to distance itself from me, at other times it creeps up silently. Once more, the raspy voice reverberates making me jump out of my skin. It beckons for me again, this time refusing to let go of me. What doesn’t help is the instant recognition of it.''

''“... Why did you kill me, brother?” As if on cue, a small flashing light pulses in front of me. From there, a clawed hand rips its way into the atmosphere. I watch on horrified, as it plucks at the air in order to pull out the ghost from its casket. More of it rises, revealing an arm… two arms… and now a head. His head. Nova. A gleaming knife shines, bored into the side of his skull. From it drips sanguine, fresh yet lumpy. Now, his torso squeezes past its container.''

''“I-I didn’t mean it Nova! I should be the one taking your pla-” A deep, warped chuckle pierces my eardrums. Almost on instinct I lift my hands to them… but I can’t bring myself to cover them completely. As if I’m almost relieved by this hideous ghoul.''

''“Honey… we would’ve forgiven you.” I feel my eyes narrowing in disbelief as they whisper from behind. Sighing with a heavy regret, I turn back in the direction. And what a mistake it is: Much like how ‘Nova’ appeared, two lights thump and contort. Before I know it, my parents free themselves from their prisons. Rather than laugh at my misery, they sniffle and wail. Their arms extend greatly, scratching towards the collar of my top. Adrenaline guides me to sidestep their pitiful limbs, but it brings me into a fountain of crimson liquid. No doubt it came from the very same throat I slit to cover up my tracks. Wiping it out of my face I also get a close view of my mum’s abdomen, where another blade juts out. ''

''All of a sudden, something trips me up from behind. I have no choice but to let gravity do its work, falling to the floor with a heavy thump. Another corpse drops besides me, an arrow embedded in their chest. Its head slowly rotates in my direction, causing me to scream when I notice the pitiful facial expression. Mackenzie… not her too. ''

''I feebly attempt to scuttle away, but before i can do so a heavy boot crushes my ankle. I grit my teeth together, resisting an urge to cry out. I swear that I can feel my ankle crack and crumble under the massive amount of pressure enforced onto it. In my rush to escape I reach out my hand and tightly clench onto the blades of grass, but another boot crushes my wrist. From above me huffs of rage blow into the back of my head. Taking notice of all the other people who have made a guest appearance, I coin together the only possible candidate for my current attacker:''

Magnum…

''The moment his name comes into mind, I feel something sharp sink its way into my back. It’s not something effortless like a stone sinking in water, or a knife slicing into butter. If only it were so. An even larger volley of stabs launches into me, causing my screams to grow more audible.''

''“W-why?” I feel small tears form in the corners of my eyes. “Why are you-”''

''“Shut up! This is for Mackenzie!”''

“But I didn-”

''“LIAR!” The hairs on the back of my neck bristle up as I sense the blade come down towards me. I squeeze my eyes tightly together and wait for the impact.''

It doesn’t come.

Instead I bolt upright from my bed. Well, not my bed. It’s for the next victor of District 1. The only reason I’m here and not in my usual refuge is because I almost got caught in the act of stealing food. How close, I don’t know. Nonetheless terror had flooded through me. Of course, adrenaline guided me out of a window. The parts after that… I don’t remember. At least I got away with it though.

Unlike the rest of my family…

I clench my hands tightly. The games had claimed two of my siblings and started the cataclysm for the end of the Kystrel clan. And after watching those dreaded, dreaded games… well, what else can I say? It triggered my mind. The only thing I had my sight set on was abandoning my grief. Back then I believed that if I were to take my own life, that it would end the chances of my life going further downhill. Boy, how wrong was I? Nova unwittingly swapped places with me. Soon afterwards came the penance of my parents. Since those dark times I’ve discovered that suicide eradicates any chance of life getting better. Shame it doesn’t apply now.

The guilt still ebbs away at any optimism within me. Even now, my mind is still configuring how I had been so sporadic after the… incident. There was still time to figure it out, yet the most violent option came up first. Maybe it was influenced after the ending of the games, considering they’re gruesome, but it doesn’t matter.

My family is dead.

And nothing can bring them back.

Outside the window, I hear the sound of some kind of vehicle parking right outside. For a moment I consider taking the risk of peeking out to see what it is. I stand rigid before I thrust my head upwards, pining for a view. I squint until I can spot somebody wearing a black cloak with other bits of old-fashioned clothing. Her ginger hair is braided, but then it suddenly seems to be blown off by the wind. Underneath is a messy black mop of hair. There’s only one person I know who would wear wigs in the district.

Crystal Aughra.

I mentally slap myself for not remembering. The reapings. Ever since Mackenzie and Magnum were selected as the tributes, I’ve never been able to free myself from the past. The fact that I’m stealing is probably the biggest reminder of such.

''But if I win, then I won’t have to resort to it. And if I lose, I can join my family.''

Before I leave for the reapings, I stare distastefully at the dagger on my bedside. The very same weapon I used to cloak the truth from my parents. My hand shivers as I reach over for it, despite knowing I’m not going to use it for anything violent. It gets closer, and closer, and closer. At the very last second I jerk my hand backwards. I shake my head, ashamed that I’m so fearful. But at last I take a hold of it. My fingers still tremble, but I keep my grip steady. Then I cut into my clothing, creating small cuts and holes in them. Well, the public would be suspicious if my attire appeared relatively unscathed. With one last moment of appreciation for the effort put in, I tuck the knife away under the bed.

I jog downstairs. The victors village tends to be guarded by a few peacekeepers, so picking the best way out might get a bit tricky. Luckily my years of living in this area will pay off: There’s only ever three peacekeepers at the front entrance, sometimes a couple more on reaping and celebration days. They’ll be escorting the escorts around for their protection so I have nothing to worry from them.

Taking my chance, I open the first window I come across. Once I squeeze outside I shut it behind me, revealing little trace of anyone breaking into there in the first place. Across from me is a stone wall which marks the boundaries of the entire village. It’s not too high, so I should be able to climb over it. That is, if I don’t slip first.

With a nimble hop, I test the height in case I overestimated it. Luckily I seem to have judged it correctly. Once more I take off from the ground, wrapping my fingers over the top of the smooth wall. Meanwhile I drive one leg into the wall as I use the other one to push myself upwards, until at last I’m on the top. Just to be cautious, I scan the province for any more Peacekeepers. Before I can fully do so, I find one of my feet slipping from underneath. I let off a small grunt of surprise as I effortlessly fall from the ledge, landing on my butt. A slight twinge follows on. Merely the shock of impact. Nothing more.

Once more I take off, sprinting off in the direction of the middle of the district. From what I remember the two locations aren’t actually that far apart. So if I carry on this way then I should be able to reach there in time. Hopefully.

~

“Name?”

“Uzi Kystrel.” The Peacekeeper glares suspiciously at me.

“You’ve missed the past few reapings.” Crap. I forgot: Anyone who doesn’t attend the reapings usually gets given the death penalty. Before the Government never bothered after my ‘disappearance’. But now that I’m here, I’ll probably be sentenced to the death penalty. Why didn’t I think about this thoroughly? Now if I want to live I really need to be selected as the tribute. Unless I can lie out of it.

“Well how else am I supposed to attend after I’ve been kidnapped?” They widen their eyes at me. There’s an obvious undertone of mockery in them.

“You’re strong. Couldn’t you have busted out. Listen, after the reapings I’m going to report you to the Head.” They still take my blood either way, allowing me into the area. Around me many teenagers gloat and boast about becoming the next victor. Good for them, I guess. They never had to face the pain of losing a beloved one in them.

After I select my spot, the audience is told to hush as Crystal Aughra steps onto the stage in her odd little costume. Next to her is the mayor, as ready as ever to begin the reapings. Sometimes he reminds me of my father, mostly due to everything he;s done for the districts.

"Hello, to all of District One! I hope you're all looking forwards to another exciting games!" Looks like he hasn’t changed at all since the first time I watched the games: He’s always used that line. I’m sure it was no different to last year. Not that anyone cares: The majority of the crowd cheer as they await the speech, which now projects onto the massive screen over the stage. Though I don’t focus too much on it I hear six words that bore into my skull: ‘Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever.’ Previously it didn’t resound too much within me, but now I hold some kind of emotion towards it. Panem may not seem like the best place at times, but is there really anywhere else for us to go? Maybe that’s why I feel a connection with it.

Crystal takes her place in front of the microphone. As if on cue, many girls volunteer. Her steely eyes gaze outwards until her hand comes into action. The result: She selects a girl from somewhere behind me. I crane my head around to see a pretty-looking girl with luscious chocolate brown hair. She casually strolls to the stage as the other girls mutter in envy, especially the 18 year olds. They must feel shameful for wasting their chance to become a tribute.

“Name?”

“Jacqueline Houston. But I prefer Jacqui.” Crystal sighs depressedly and pivots on the ball of her foot. She begins to stroll towards the microphone just as the boys volunteer, myself included. For I moment I see her mouth move as she mutters something under her breath, before she aims her finger in my direction.

Wait…

She’s chosen me!

Relieved that she saved my life, I jog towards the stage in case any of the other wannabe tributes attempt to steal my space. Both girls on stage watch me intently, especially Jacqui. As if she knows me.

“Name?”

“Uzi Kystrel.” Many of the crowd members murmur: They’ve heard of the purging of the Kystrel family. Hopefully none of them suspect me of doing it, but somehow I doubt that being a revenant would help my case. Once more I glance at the crowd, noticing the peacekeeper who threatened me earlier. They must be scowling under that helmet of theirs.

“Everybody! Jacqui Houston and Uzi Kystrel!” As Jacqui and I shake hands, I feel myself relaxing slightly. She seems like she’ll be a good ally to work with, that is, if she decides to enter the careers. I guess I’m also a little reassured by the fact I’m working with some of the most lethal contestants. They could either lead me to victory and a better life, or they could be my downfall. Whatever happens, I'll accept the outcome.