➶ THE 34TH ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES • broadcast ❶ REAPING

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CITIZENS OF PANEM
Welcome to the 34th Annual Hunger Games! It's your favorite host back for another year - Hermes! I must say, it's a pleasure and a privilege to be here again this evening. It's going to be hard to top last year's Games, but do you have any doubt in our Gamemaster? Yes, ladies and gentleman, the man of the moment - the reigning king of the Arena for eight years running, a man that needs no introduction - Zeus Olympias!

Yes, thank you, Hermes. It's an honor.

So glad to have you back! Now, the question on everyone's minds is - how do you do it? How do you manage to outdo yourself each and every year?

[chuckle] Well, it isn't easy. But when I decide on a theme for the Arena, I stick with it. Any new ideas get saved for another year. I have an entire book of them; as long as I'm Gamemaster, there will never be a shortage of new thrills.

Isn't that incredible? Ladies and gentlemen, a round of applause for our Zeus!

[another chuckle] I can only hope to continue to please.

I'm sure you will, I'm sure you will. Now. Tell the audience about our sponsor plans.

Ah - yes. This year, at the end of each broadcast, you can leave a message with a graphical offering for each tribute you'd like to sponsor. It doesn't have to be your own, of course - would that we all had the talent of our tribute designers! - but it does have to pertain to the tribute and the Games. Sponsors can mean the difference between life or death, so please support your tributes!

Yes, yes. And of course, offerings are screened, so you are assured full privacy in whatever Tribute you may support! Now, I think we've wasted enough of your precious time already, Zeus. Shall we move on to the Reapings? I think it's high time we gave the Capitol its first look at this years Hunger Games tributes!

He didn't know what to feel when they called his name. Like, okay, so District Four was usually known as a Career District - but it wasn't like One and Two, where people were lining up for the chance to die. In District Four, it was more that every child trained, just in case. Just in case your name was called, just in case you had to fight. Just in case.

The worst part, he thought, was that now there was no one to look after his mother - his stepfather was a drunk and a bastard, and Percy fell asleep that first night with the thought of chucking Gabe into the arena in his place. Or maybe, he thought, in Hazel's place. Because of all of District Four, she was the one who shouldn't have to die.

She was small and stocky and brown everywhere and she didn't train. Not like Percy did, not like all the other kids did, day and night and whenever they could. Hazel Levesque would wander up and down the shores of her hometown, pick the beaches for things - shells, driftwood, odds and ends and strange things that washed up on the shore from years and years gone past. She made things from them; art pieces, and her mother sold them, but it wasn't enough and she'd never remarried after Hazel's father's death. It was a sad story and she was a sad, shy girl, and Percy wished Gabe could take her place. Because he knew she wouldn't last long.

Leo felt a little bit - no, a lot sick.

It wasn't because he'd been picked - no no no, that wasn't it at all. His name was in the damn thing four hundred bajillion times, it had actually been a miracle it had taken this long. He had just wanted his mother to be okay, but she wasn't okay, she was dead now. So he took on tesserae for every household he got shunted into, which changed every few months, because no one wanted to put up with him. Fine. Whatever. But that wasn't why he felt sick.

See, the thing was, he liked Annabeth. He looked up to her. She was like, this shining star of District Three, an architectural genius, and Leo's fiddling with wires and gears was so lame in comparison to her moving diagrams. He didn't even know if he could speak to her, let alone fight her - next to her, or whatever. Maybe he should just pitch himself off the nearest cliff in the arena, die first, go find his mother and leave it to people with futures to make the best of things.

But, well, he knew he couldn't do that. It was stupid, but it was why he hadn't offed himself earlier. His survival instinct was too deeply rooted. He wanted to win.

This was going to be hard, but Luke wasn't afraid. His mother had won, hadn't she? He could, too.

But then again, she was his mentor, and she was crazy.

Luke had come to terms with this a long time ago. He'd been told that it wasn't the Games that drove his mother mad; it was getting pregnant, which she'd never wanted, and she'd tried to cut him out of her stomach and screamed and raved until her mind had finally broken. They wouldn't let her get rid of the baby. Luke had never known whether to be glad for that, or not. He'd never known what it was like to have a sane mother, so he couldn't say if it was better or worse than having one who had mentally checked out of life. She was happy, most of the time. So maybe it was all for the best.

District Six made cars and trains, so he knew exactly how to trip the switches to get up on the roof. He found her there, holding her legs and rocking. "Ma, you have to come back down now," he said, gently. "The train's starting."

May looked at him with wide eyes. He couldn't tell if they were terrified or excited. "Are we going to the Capitol?"

He nodded, feeling that familiar tightness in his throat.

"Oh, good. I can see them again. I can touch his face. I can kill them all."

Luke felt a drop in his stomach like cold ice, and he led his mother gently to her room. On the way, he passed his fellow District Six tribute - a girl named Hylla. He didn't know anything else about her. She looked strong.

"Is that really May Castellan?" she whispered, and Luke felt a sharp spike of anger pierce his heart. Who else would it be?

"Of course it is," he snapped.

"Oh," Hylla said, taking a step back and swallowing. It was him she was afraid of, not May. "I didn't mean - she's my hero."

He had no idea what to say to that. She had to have meant the May that won the Hunger Games, not the May with the broken mind and a son who could no longer feel. He didn't know what would happen when Hylla realized what her hero had become.

Frank felt terrible about this. Because, of all the lower districts, he was pretty sure he had an unfair advantage. He was strong as a bull and had practically been born with a hatchet in his hand. He'd been chopping trees since he could walk. What chance did they have?

Even Nyssa, the girl tribute from District Seven, wouldn't stand a chance. Her family had run the lumber machines, the ones that turned trees into logs and woodchips and sawdust. She was good at fixing things, but she'd never picked up an axe in her life. Unless the Arena happened to be the inside of a lumber factory, he couldn't see her lasting more than a few minutes.

Not that he'd be the one to kill her. He'd go for the boys first, or hang back until the girls died off. He just didn't know if he could kill a girl. His grandma raised him better than that. But still, she was expecting him to win. He didn't want to disappoint.

Clarisse pumped her fist in the air when her name was called, picked from the veritable pool of District Two volunteers. Fuck yes. She was going to win the hell out of this. She was almost too old to be entered, almost, thank fuck she'd made it this year. She'd have the advantage - she was bigger and stronger and more experienced than anyone. She'd win this.

Her parents screamed and pumped fists right along with her. They were proud, so proud, of their passionate baby girl.

"Oh," she said, and gripped his hand tight when he took it on the stage. Will wouldn't know her - she was just one of countless faceless girls in District Eleven, but she knew him. Everyone knew Will Solace. Mostly, she thought, because he was gorgeous. But also because he alone of all the District wanted to fight. He knew how to shoot, had been training, teaching himself how to survive. He'd taken tesserae for his entire family, so it was no surprise really that he'd been chosen. He was legend already.

And Katie thought, well, if I have to die, I hope it's for him.

No one in District One expected Octavian to volunteer, but no one stopped him, either.

He didn't bother explaining that his life was a waste and he hated himself but he liked killing, so the least he could do was do it in the Arena until Reyna gutted him and he'd die happy. He knew he was no match for her, and that was, perhaps, why this was the year he volunteered. Because she'd finally had her chance to do this, and he was just the eighth son of one silversmith too many and what did it matter? At least someone would know his name, before he died. At least like this, he could be a little bit more than nothing.

Butch knew Drew because everyone said she was a bitch. He didn't listen to them, because bitch was not a nice word and Butch didn't like not-nice words. Call him crazy, but he was actually kind of looking forward to the Games. He'd lived in District Eight all his life, imagining the kind of clothes that would be made from his mother and father's gorgeous fabrics, and he'd finally get a chance to see them - in person, that is. He'd seen things on broadcasts, but none of it seemed real. Maybe he didn't really think the Hunger Games were real, and that's why it didn't bother him, that he was probably going to die. He was just looking forward to the clothes.

And Drew wasn't half bad, really. She'd be scary good at this, probably, and he definitely didn't trust her for a single second, but she was pretty and liked to talk fashion and he figured, if things had been different, she might've been all right.

Piper hated cows.

That was all she could really think about, actually, that she was at least going to have a few days where she didn't have to be surrounded by cows. She might die, but it was probably worth it, to die without cows. And anyway, she was sure as hell taking as many people out with her as she could. Because they were cattle, too, following the Capitol's orders and putting up with the sort of crap that made her want to hurl almost as much as actual, physical cow crap. Almost.

And when she saw who else was picked from District Ten, she was almost certain that this thing was winnable. Hell, she'd never actually seen Clovis do anything but sleep. He certainly didn't seem to be frightened at the prospect of certain death. Good, then. She'd off him first and then lay into the others with a cow-hatred-fueled-vengeance.

Plus, the MacLeans were butchers. She knew how to kill.

Ethan Nakamura should not have been allowed to volunteer. He was a victor, that gave him an unfair advantage, didn't it?

But he bartered. Let them take out his eye, just to get back in the arena. He said it was for revenge - wouldn't say what, but most everyone assumed he meant that he wanted to die, because two years ago, someone he loved very much killed themselves rather than him, so he would win. It had been quite a stir in the Capitol, with everyone showering the poor love-torn boy with heaps and heaps of affection and attention. But he wanted to go back in the arena, and he must have threatened to do something drastic, because they let him. Took out his eye and covered it with a black patch and entered him in as the boy tribute from District Five.

Silena Beauregarde of District Nine was too beautiful to die.

But she would. He would kill her himself if he had to. Because he had to come home. He had to.

Connor was crying silently, unable to stop the tears from flowing and flowing and flowing. Travis just held on. He wasn't even upset - he was just glad it was him, not his beautiful, sweet brother. His twin. His better half, truly, and the reason Travis had to win this Game. For Connor. For the only family he had left.

Nico was frantic with grief when they called her name.

No. No. Anyone but her. Anyone but his big beautiful sister, strong and proud, bartering anything she could to keep herself and Nico alive after their mother's death. After their father had deserted them, left District Twelve without a word, and everyone assumed he was dead. Nico hoped he was, the bastard. But Bianca, she still held out hope, that maybe he was out there somewhere, that maybe he'd find them and take them away to a better life.

There would be no better life, now. Bianca was going to die, and Nico was so hysterical that for a minute, he didn't even hear who'd been called from the boys' names. But the crowd hushed, and the boys around him parted slowly, and he realized, with a sickening sense of dread, that the impossible had truly happened.

"Nico di Angelo!"

He was going to have to face his own sister in the arena.

Zeus glanced through the final footage of the Reapings, though he trusted his techs to do their job. Nothing untoward, no crying, positive with just that edge of gruesome reality that made the Games so very interesting.

He'd been Game Master for quite a long time now. He was very good at it.

But nothing prepared him for the shock of seeing his son's face up on the platform.

Jason. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen him; it must have been at least ten years ago, when he'd been touring District Two with the game committee. He hadn't been Game Master then. Game Masters didn't leave the Capitol. Game Masters didn't have illegitimate children scattered across the districts.

He felt sick. Maybe it would've been better if he'd never known, never requested files on the women he'd slept with, never followed up and learned the names of his children and looked into their eyes without identifying himself. Easier, yes. Better? Maybe not. Maybe it would've killed him, not knowing.

He'd only just reconciled himself to the thought of Jason entering the arena, maybe to win, when District Five's Reaping began to play.

No. It couldn't be. But it was.

Another of his children, a girl named Thalia, had been chosen.

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