The tributes were marched into the Justice Buildings of their respective districts. All got locked into twenty-four waiting rooms, alone but waiting for visitors. Some had tried to escape in the past, and it is clear that it won't be happening this time.
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Tristan McLean came running through the door. Piper stood up to greet him, only for him to wrap her in a hug.
She gasped in surprise, "Dad! Easy, I'm not going to be gone forever."
He continued to hold her, and she let herself enjoy this rare moment. He was usually so busy with work at the Capitol, and sometimes he didn't even come home, leaving her to dine alone.
When he released her, she was dumbstruck to see the tears streaming down his face. "You don't think I'll win," she realized, heart sinking. "Dad, I've been training —"
"It's not that," he cut her off, voice hoarse. "I think you have a great shot at winning. It's just...Piper, you're so beautiful and charming. The Capitol won't just let you come back."
Piper shook her head, "I don't understand. You're here. We have a house at Victor's Village."
"No," he sank into a nearby armchair. "You don't need to know what they've done with me. I don't want you to die in the Arena...but—"
"Can you please explain?" Piper cried. "You're scaring me. What happened when you won?"
"It doesn't matter, it's nothing," he waved his hand, and suddenly he was filled with vigour. He sat forward, "Pipes, I want you to win. And whatever you decide to do afterwards, you do not need to take me into consideration. Do what you want with your life afterwards. You'll have all the money you could ever want. And I'll be proud. No matter what."
He embraced her again, but Piper wasn't quite sure what to think anymore.
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The door flew open with a bang, "You volunteered yourself?!"
Harley jumped to his feet, crossing his arms sassily. "Yeah, I did, mom."
His mother was advancing towards him, her husband close behind.
She bent down to eye level, shaking his shoulders. Her brown eyes were wide open and filled with terror. "What did I tell you, Harley? You're twelve years old! I thought I told you if you wanted to enter that badly, wait until you're older!"
He shook himself out of her grip, "Then I'll have less of a chance of getting in!" He waited for his dad to back him up, but he just stared at him hopelessly.
She pulled him back, "You also have less of a chance of surviving! Listen to me, Harley. This is not a game! This is life or death!"
Harley tried to yank himself away again, but her grip was harsh. "Stop being ridiculous. You old people don't understand. The TV show is called the Hunger Games. Of course it's a game."
Shaking his head, his father whispered, "Please listen to your mother. You better take this seriously. This isn't like capture the flag or your three-legged races. You could die." His dad was one of the buffest guys in the district, but he was gentle and kind. But also annoying.
The twelve-year-old turned away, "I don't care what you think! When I win, I'll have my own mansion and I won't have to listen to you anymore." He stormed to the door and rapped on it, "Peacekeepers! Take them away!"
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His mother burst into the room, picking him up in a tight hug. "Oh Percy," she wailed.
"I'll be fine," he promised, patting her back. She hadn't supported his decision of volunteering, but he didn't see why, when it was what everyone did. "Hey Mom, please don't worry, okay? I'll fight my way back to you. We'll have a mansion at Victor's Village and Smelly Gabe can live in the shed."
She laughed, pulling away. But her smile died quickly, "Percy, I want you to promise me something."
His mother had done everything for him. She was the kindest person he knew, so of course he would always do anything she asked of him. "Anything," he said readily.
"Don't kill anyone."
Whatever he thought he'd hear, it couldn't be farther than what she'd said. He could only stare, her words alien, "Not...kill anyone?" It went against the whole rule of the Games. If he didn't kill, he'd be killed.
"Yes," she insisted. "Only if you...really have to. I couldn't stand it if — if I knew that you had to kill someone in the Arena..." She broke down in tears, which she tried her best to keep in.
Percy touched her shoulder, "Okay, Mom. Mom. I promise, okay? I promise I won't kill anyone if I don't need to."
She nodded shakily, wiping a tear from her cheek. "Alright. Are you going to team with the other Careers?"
He wasn't sure what to answer. "I-I think so. It was my plan, since I'd have a better chance of surviving, but if you don't want me to..."
"No, do whatever you need to do," she murmured, covering her face. "But remember your promise. Please."
"I will," he vowed. "Will you be okay with Smelly Gabe?"
She laughed. "You don't have to worry about me." His mother gave him a kiss on the forehead, "I love you, Percy."
"Love you too, Mom."
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The second the Peacekeeper ushered his tearful parents out of the room, his brother Connor came rushing in.
They shared a long hug, in which Travis was the first to pull away. "Don't worry about me," he told Connor firmly, "you can't do anything, so there's no point in it."
Connor nodded, sniffing. "I got you something." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wide steel ring. It was simple and old, and had rubbed out words carved along the side. Travis didn't recognize it, so it must've been stolen.
"I got it from the market," Connor explained, confirming his suspicions. He dropped it into his waiting palm. "It can be your token. It doesn't mean anything, but..." he lowered his voice, "you could give someone a nasty punch with it."
Travis grinned, "Thanks, Con. Good thinking."
"Tell me you'll do anything to win," his brother demanded.
He hadn't said to promise, because what did a promise mean anyway? It was just a word you used to get others to trust you.
"Of course I will."
And as Connor nodded, satisfied, Travis felt the line between morality and desperation blur even further.
When it was time for him to leave, Travis examined the ring he'd slipped on his hand. He still couldn't figure out what the words said, but it was just as well. It would sure match his personality.
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Luke paced the room, wondering if his mother would come to visit him.
She was his only remaining family member, after his dad had abandoned them by disappearing into the forest and never coming out again.
Luke had been nine years old.
And his mom hasn't been the same since. She'd gone insane, and she frequently had hallucinations and fits that terrified him. Although food would always be on the table, she would sometimes ignore him for days, like he didn't even exist. She'd scream and throw things at unpredictable times, and Luke often had to run to Annabeth's house in the middle of the night, dodging Peacekeepers, so she could tend to his wounds.
The only reason the Peacekeepers hadn't killed his mom was that she began obsessively weaving, as if working hard enough meant everything would be fixed. The number of times he'd come home to see a pile of newly knitted scarves was staggering.
Now that he was gone...
Luke clenched his fists. It didn't make much of a difference. He and Annabeth had planned to leave their families anyway. They were both a burden and weren't loved by them.
The door of the visiting room remained closed for the whole hour, and all he could feel was blind anger.
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Frederick Chase entered the room first. His salt and pepper hair suddenly appeared whiter than usual, and he came to an awkward stop in front of her. "Annabeth."
"Dad," she acknowledged. "Are...is she coming?" she asked, referring to her stepmother. Annabeth didn't it find it fair that she blamed her for her mother's actions.
"Yes, she's next and bringing Matthew and Bobby, but I wanted to see you alone."
She nodded, knowing what was coming. "You don't need to worry about me being gone. I think the boys are learning to weave fast enough, so they can earn some food too."
He shook his head, "Annabeth. I'm worried because you're going to the Games. I love you, you know that? When they called your name, I realized that I don't tell you that enough. You are not less important to me just because I married another woman and had two other children."
Annabeth felt tears prickle at her eyes, "I love you too, Dad. I'll try my best to come back."
His eyes grew stormy, though they weren't directed at her. He seemed to be angry at the Capitol. "And what about Luke?"
She couldn't tell him that she planned to get them both out. It was obvious that the Capitol had bugged the Justice Building and even the textile factories. That had to be how her mother's plans of rebellion had been discovered, and why she'd been executed.
"Whatever happens," Annabeth said slowly, picking her words carefully, "we'll fight for each other until the end."
"You are so much like your mother," he said quietly, touching her cheek. "You are incredible, just like her. If you come back home after this, I wouldn't be surprised at all."
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Bianca waited for visitors, nervously clutching her hat in her hands. This hadn't been part of the plan. She'd only taken on the false identity of Zoë's dead sister so she could get supplies from District 11 without being asked too many questions, and now she'd been reaped.
And Nico...how was she supposed to go back to her little brother? He didn't even know what happened to her after she'd left. Would he even recognize her on the television?
She looked up when Zoë came marching into the room, long dark hair flowing out behind her. Bianca always thought she resembled an ancient princess.
"I'll be rooting for you, Maria," Zoë said, and she hugged her close. Then she was whispering, her mouth covered by Bianca's hair. "Don't worry about us. We've almost gathered enough supplies to go get your brother. When I'm gone, people will assume I died from starvation, especially with all focus on the Games."
"I don't want to go into the Arena," Bianca mumbled.
"We can't get you out," Zoë said sadly. "Peacekeepers here are too strict." She released her, giving her a meaningful look. "Try your best to win, alright? Then we shall meet again, in the place that we first met."
The forest between District 11 and 12, Bianca remembered. "Definitely."
Zoë pulled a metal clip from her hair, and pressed it into Bianca's thin hand, curling her fingers around it. "I don't have much to give you, but perhaps you can use this to think of me and the others." She smiled sadly. "Good luck, sister."
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Nico lay back in his comfy velvet armchair, still in shock at the day's events. He hadn't expected anyone to visit him, so when the door opened he resigned himself to get taken away to the Capitol.
It wasn't a Peacekeeper, but it was a lady from the Hob, a young woman with long tangled dark hair that curled down her back. Her face was beautiful but deathly pale and gaunt.
"I am Persephone," she said formally, bowing her head slightly. "I'm from the Hob, and I've seen you admiring this trinket for a while." She held out a thin frail hand, and in it sat the statuette of a stern man with dark robes made of what looked like human souls. Even though he was tiny, he seemed to give off a powerful aura, unlike himself.
It was the figurine he'd wanted to steal.
Nico shook his head, guilty at the thought of even touching it, "What...are you giving it to me?" He wasn't used to this. People in District 12 didn't give something to a stranger for nothing in return. Otherwise, everyone would starve to death.
Generosity didn't fill empty stomachs.
"You are going into the Games," she murmured, voice tinged with pity. Normally Nico hated pity, but he hadn't known kindness in a long time, so he treated her words like a rare treasure unearthed.
Persephone reached out to stroke his matted hair, and to his surprise he let her. "You are so young. You have no family, so I'd like you to have at least something. Do not despair. I know you don't know me at all, but trust me when I say that I hope you win."
She held out the token, and he took it.
"Thank you."
Who else would you have liked to see?