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we are but hopeful children

Summary:

In a Panem where the residents have powers, the Light pulls the strings from the shadows, keeping a stronghold on the citizens.

Then comes the 46th Hunger Games. There’s something off about this year’s reaping. When the tributes are coincidentally comprised of the children of Panem’s best and brightest, someone is bound to take notice - and the Justice League does.

But even if their mentors are involved in a conspiracy behind the scenes, there’s not much any of the tributes can do except accept their fate, and go along with what others have planned for them. Or, when the moment comes, create their own path…

One thing is certain: these Games promise to be anything but normal.

Notes:

Title from The Last Lost Continent by La Dispute.

So, the Young Justice Big Bang!

After… many, many months it’s finally finished. This fic is a monster; it kept growing and growing until we had to split it to be able to reach the deadline. Therefore, this fic will be becoming a series! This is part 1 of 2, and we will be posting a chapter a day until it’s finished; we’re aiming for 5 or 6 chapters.

This is a mixture of both the Young Justice cartoon canon, and the DC comics canon, and so some of the characters might be a little different from the show version. We have added many character cameos, and we’ve included several background ships, the main ones being Bea/Tora, Clark/Lois, Dinah/Ollie! Many more ships will come in part 2!

Art by the lovely and talented Mika (weepingonyx on Tumblr and noiseofecho on Instagram), which we will link on the corresponding chapter. Also big thanks to the very helpful Betsy (hawthystuff) who was our beta!

We hope you enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it!

Chapter 1: The Reapings

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

12.

Watching the woman onstage, Artemis couldn’t help but fixate on the perfectly manicured acrylic nails as she inserted her hand into the glass bowl. She felt as if her eyes had zoomed in, and she could look at nothing but her long nails scraping on the sides of the bowl, tossing the little papers around. Even though she was too far away to hear, she felt the noise of nails scratching glass as if it were happening right next to her. Finally, what felt like eons later, she picked a slip of paper (too white, too perfectly cut), and stepped away from the glass bowl and back onto the center of the stage. Her chipper voice and bright clothes were all too wrong in Artemis’s home district, which seemed to be buried in shades of brown.

"Artemis Crock." The crisp Capitol accented voice called out, the noise travelling as if through water. She must have heard it because her body reacted to it as if on autopilot and started walking towards the stage; as everyone knew you were supposed to do if your name was called. She didn’t flinch, she didn’t cry, she didn’t protest. She knew no one would volunteer for her; it wasn’t that kind of district and she wasn’t the kind of girl someone would volunteer for. She had to have heard, she had to have heard her name being called, but she didn’t really remember hearing.

The sun shone too bright in her eyes, not made better by the shiny clothes of the woman standing next to her. She tried to look at the crowd with steel eyes. She locked eyes with her sister, who didn’t look sad. But Artemis knew that didn't mean she didn’t care. It meant that she believed in her. It could be done. She could live.

But when she saw the other tribute walking towards the stage (at some point, the other woman had gone to the second bowl, scraped her nails against the glass again, picked another paper, and walked back next to her) she felt the first glimmer of doubt creep into her.

When she saw his copper red hair (against the sun it was too bright, the only thing that wasn’t shades of brown in this goddamn district) she didn’t think of herself. She felt a pang of hurt in her chest, an overwhelming feeling of this-isn’t-fair. No, she didn’t think of herself; all the thoughts swirling like a tempest in her mind were of her sister.

She swallowed down the lump in her throat, quickly composing herself. She couldn’t afford to show sadness or the wolves would be on her in an instant. She straightened her back and, trying to appear as confident as she could manage, walked down the steps of the stage to be led into the Justice Building.

The room she was bustled into had signs of age on the walls and the furniture. Artemis tried not to fidget with the hem of her dress as she waited. She wasn’t under watch now, but she had to learn to restrain herself from showing any sign of weakness from now on, lest she be branded an easy target by the other tributes. Though how she would be deemed as anything but a threat as the daughter of two victors and the sister of another, she didn’t know.

At that moment there was a small commotion from the other side of the door. It swung open and hit the wall with a thud, her dad’s booming voice carrying through the air, complaining about “the way victors are treated here, honestly.” Her mum followed after, wheeling herself in as fast as she could to wrap her thin arms around Artemis. Jade slunk in last, shutting the door behind her. Artemis studiously avoided her dad’s eyes as she slid out of her mother’s embrace.

“Winning runs in the family, right, mom?” She was trying for levity but it just sounded flat.

She heard her mother call her name, voice cracking on the last syllable, but she was too focused on Jade. She met her sister’s eyes, almost dreading what she would see there – Jade had every reason to be torn, Artemis knew she was. This would be hard on her whole family – but her sister’s eyes were certain.

She would live.

 


 

The goodbyes had been too short for Roy.

There hadn’t been much to say to Ollie and Dinah. They were going to the Capitol with him as his mentors, and the hugs they’d exchanged were more for support than farewells; which didn’t mean Roy didn’t grip them tightly in his arms nevertheless.

His siblings had all visited him, crowding around him, voices overlapping. Mia and Cissie were the loudest, relaying statistics and advice at him in equal measure. Sin was quiet, holding his hand in a vice grip, and he could tell Emiko was trying to act strong and be the cool aunt she always said she was but he could see unshed tears gleaming in her eyes. Connor held back, leaning against the table with his arms crossed, waiting patiently. Once the girls had stopped crowding Roy, Connor came up to him and clasped him tight, winding both arms around Roy’s torso and wished him luck.

His whole family had been there for him, and he would never undervalue how important that was to him. He just wished he’d had more time with Jade.

To say he knew how she was feeling would be a lie. He remembered watching her Games, when the both of them had only been fourteen years old, and thinking how he’d never seen someone as determined as she was. He’d been in awe. And then she’d come back, alive, and somehow they’d found each other. Stolen kisses, murmured confessions of love and promises for the future. Long nights out in the woods beyond the district, fumbled caresses out under the sea of stars, lying on a spread out blanket.

Now they had been separated again, but the last time they saw each other he couldn’t even think about himself, he couldn’t even think about the both of them, because Jade had just said goodbye to her sister. So yes, he wished he’d had more time with Jade, but he’d been hardly able to look at her. Because he was at a loss for what to say, and any words he could think of would’ve just gotten stuck in his throat anyway.

But they’d said goodbye, he’d left, and now that he was moping in his room he couldn’t stand himself anymore. So he gathered all his strength and went to the common area of the train, trying not to feel uncomfortable surrounded by all this wealth being wasted in pointless decorations and food that no one would eat whilst the people of his district were starving.

He saw Artemis’s form sat on the sofa in front of the television, blonde hair free from its ponytail for once, and made his way over to her. She had her legs tucked up underneath her and was chewing on her nails. The noise from the television was background music to her worrying, since her eyes had glazed over and she seemed to be staring at the potted plant on the coffee table.

“–Crock, the daughter of two victors! She’s one to look out for.”

“And her sister won the 42nd Hunger Games – maybe she gave Artemis some pointers.”

“She comes from a whole family of victors; unusual, for a District 12.”

“That’s right. That’s a family with a reputation, right there, and none of them ever shied away from the violence either. Makes you wonder: will she be as vicious as her family?”

“No matter what, Artemis Crock will definitely be a tribute to bet on.”

She was watching the coverage of the reapings, he realised.

“How long have you been watching?” His voice seemed to cut through her haze and she snapped up to attention, furrowing her brow at being caught off guard. She unfolded her legs and they dropped to the floor with a thud.

“It should start from the beginning again in a moment.”

“That’s not what I asked.” He sat down and looked at her. She must’ve been gnawing at her lip as it was bleeding. She looked smaller than he’d ever seen her, not a day older than her sixteen years. “How many times has it looped?”

She sighed, and looked down at her palms resting on her lap. “Two or three times? I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“Scouting the competition?”

“It never hurts to be prepared.” It may have been Artemis speaking, but it was Jade’s words that were coming out of her mouth. Roy sighed and shifted in his seat to face the television head on.

The reapings always, year after year, looked the same. People from the wealthiest districts volunteering, hoping to win fame and power – basically fighting each other for a chance to kill people on live television. People from the poorest districts looking like they wished this was already over – malnourished, their eyes sunken in, and resigned like they knew they were already dead. They most likely were.

Roy tried to focus on the people who would be his opponents, he really tried. He did notice some things: how the girl from District 7 had one of the fiercest expressions he’d ever seen, and how the boy from District 3 was a volunteer, even though it was not a Career District.

But his mind was elsewhere.

His mind, and his heart, was back at District 12. And he knew the only way he would go back would be in a body bag; because there was no way in hell he’d be able to live with himself and look Jade in the face if he came home without Artemis.

 

9.

Conner felt out of place surrounded by his family. Which was weird, he thought, this should be where he felt safest.

He was sitting at the breakfast table. Clark was pacing in the background talking to someone on the phone- Conner thought he could hear the deep baritone of Bruce Wayne. Lois was chatting with Ma and Pa while she fed little Jon, and Krypto was gnawing on a bone in the corner. It was as normal a scene as it could be, and the farmhouse exuded a familial comfort, yet Conner still felt like an outsider.

They’d all been awake since way before dawn, such was the way of living on a farm. The chores had been done, and the house was spotless. Lois and Clark had stopped by to say hello, offer their support and good luck, and help them all prepare for the reaping.

Clark hung up the phone, looking tense.

He walked over to Lois and put one hand on her shoulder and whispered something in her ear, just low enough that Conner couldn’t make it out without using his powers, before quickly making his way out of the kitchen. Lois sighed, and placed Jon in the high chair, brushing her hands on her trousers as she stood up.

“I think it’s time we all got ready. Ma, would you mind taking care of Jon’s diaper, Clark and I have something we have to discuss.”

Martha smiled, scooping up Jon before carrying him up to the bathroom, muttering words of endearment at the baby, Jonathan trailing behind.

Lois turned to Conner and smiled at him, “Are you ok? You haven’t said much today.”

Conner looked away from Lois’s knowing gaze and nodded, not really feeling the need for having a long conversation about feelings. Lois accepted his silence and gave him a squeeze on the shoulder.

“Good talk, kiddo.”

He was left standing alone- like he always was - unable to shake the feeling that he just didn’t belong.

 

.

 

They all walked together to the square, Conner hanging back and trying not to drag his feet too much, while he listened to Ma and Pa’s attempts at casual conversation. Lois and Clark had come back from their talk in a sombre mood, however, which fed into Conner’s worrying. Being separated from them to go stand with the other twelve to eighteen year olds was almost a relief.

The heat was suffocating; like a blanket over the whole district, smothering them. They were all stood silently, waiting.

The escort stuck her hand into the bowl, her talon-like fingernails scraping the glass bottom with a screech that Conner heard from his place in the crowd. Opening the slip of paper, the woman called out in a crisp, clear voice:

“Kara Zor-El.”

The whole crowd seemed to hold their breath, before parting to reveal a blonde girl. She was short, and she didn’t seem particularly strong to him. She seemed to be trying to hold back tears as she dislodged herself from what must have been her friends all clamoring to hold on to her. One of them even let out a small wail.

He was so focused on the girl and the commotion her friends were making that he almost missed his name being called.

“Conner Kent.”

His eyebrows lifted in surprise, before he knitted them back into a scowl. He wouldn’t allow himself to appear weak. Taking an imperceptible breath, he strode over to the stage, climbing the steps. He looked over at Clark, who wasn’t looking at him; instead, the older man seemed to be having a silent conversation with Hal Jordan, both of them looking more serious than usual.

He walked over to his place on the stage, next to where the other tribute stood and held out his hand for her to shake. She took it, her grip surprisingly strong. Conner furrowed his brows at this revelation; it turned out his district partner might be a force to be reckoned with.

 

.

 

They were sitting at the table in silence. The meal was lavish – every type of food you could think of was in front of them- but none of them had any appetite. Kara was twirling her spaghetti around on her fork. Conner was picking at his food with his knife, cutting it into little pieces.

Early on into the dinner, Clark had tried to strike up a conversation, but gave up when it soon became clear that Conner and Kara weren’t paying much attention. The silence was just becoming unbearable when Jennifer put her cutlery down with a clatter, and both kids looked up at her, startled.

“Moping isn’t going to do you any good.”

Clark turned to face her, now distracted from what he was looking at on his Wayne-Tech tablet.

“Jennifer.” He said, his voice low but still amicable.

“Clark.” She said back, her tone slightly mocking. “We can ignore what happened, but that won’t change the fact that in two weeks they’ll be in the games, fighting for their lives just like we did. We need a game plan.”

Clark sighed, considering her words, before closing whatever program he was using on his tablet, and getting up the information on this year’s tributes. There was a rotating hologram of each tribute, in district order, with their name and age written on the side.

“These games look like they might be particularly difficult; almost all of the tributes have some type of connection to past victors, even from the ones that aren’t Career Districts. So that’s District 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 10 and 12.” He pointed at the corresponding holograms, brows furrowing and lost in thought for a second. “We can talk more about a game plan when we get to the Capitol and have more information. For now, I don’t want you to think about the end result. Just take it one step at a time, okay?”

Clark looked like he was going to say something else, but Jennifer cut him off. “You’re going easy on them.” She remarked, an undercurrent of steel in her tone.

As Jennifer and Clark bickered about strategy, Conner focused on the pictures of the tributes. This year’s competition looked stiff. His eyes zeroed in on the tributes from District 2. A brother sister duo, both eighteen, both big and bulking. The boys from District 4 and 5 were both tall and muscled. The boy from 11 was grizzled, even at 18, his face sharp and angular, accentuated with a cruel grin. The boy from 12 had muscular arms, and broad shoulders, and he looked like someone who’d experienced hard labour.

Clark turned away from Jennifer to point out the tributes from District 3 and the female tribute from District 7 to them. Both tributes from District 3 were proteges of Bruce Wayne. They were small, and even though they were both lithe, Conner didn’t count them as much of a threat. The girl from District 7 was the daughter of Diana Prince, the Amazonian Princess herself. She was tall, her arms defined, and as he looked at her hologram Conner immediately knew that she was someone that was better to have on your team than against you.

The rest of the tributes didn’t look like much, and though Conner knew looks could be deceiving, he didn’t pay them much attention. He did note the boy from 10’s gnarled arms, a result of his meta abilities. The boy from 6 was a shock of red hair and freckles, and even his lightly muscled physique didn’t make him look less earnest. The girls were short and slender, the remaining boys unimpressive. The boy from 8 was sallow and gaunt. The girl from 12 looked athletic but skinny. The girl from 5 looked the most out of place, Conner thought, like she’d stepped right off of the set of one of those Capitol soap operas. Too perfect.

Conner looked over at his district partner, trying to gage what she was thinking. She was looking right at him, but she wasn’t really seeing him, instead lost in thought. She looked a million miles away. One of her hands lifted to absentmindedly rub her neck, right on one of the little bumps of the dampening collar. It made Conner think of his own collar; it was so high tech that he didn’t feel it under his skin anymore, but the place where the insertions had been made still stung.

It was a small pain that grounded him, and brought him back to what Clark and Jennifer were saying.

“-You’re going to have to make alliances in the arena, it'll give you more chances of survival.” Jennifer continued. “Clark and I already have some ideas but we don’t have that much time, so we should be finalizing this by the second day of training.”

Privately, Conner thought he’d prefer to wait to reach the Capitol and see what the tributes were like in person before giving alliances even a cursory thought.

It all depended on how they meshed with him. And anyway, it’s not like he really needed anyone else to survive. He would be fine on his own.

 

7.

Donna released a breath while she brought her axe down on the wood with a satisfying thud. She wasn't supposed to be here right now, even if this wasn't a restricted section, per se; but the woods, with the chirping of birds and rustling of leaves, gave her a sense of freedom that she could, for a second, pretend was real. Today it was harder to believe, though.

She repeated the motion a couple more times, with practiced movements, and gathered the armful of logs she was left with. It wasn't a practical way to carry them at all, but then again she hadn't really come here with practicality in mind. Making her way back, bark digging on her arms, she said a silent thanks and goodbye to the forest, and rushed to her home.

"Home" wasn't necessarily one place, not for Donna. It meant community, it meant her people. This second, however, home meant Diana's place, as arriving to the reaping ceremony with a victor was her best bet for not getting in trouble if she was, as she suspected, late.

She left the wood on the back porch and ran through the unlocked backdoor. Unsurprisingly, Diana was waiting for her ready with a smile and a change of clothes (Donna had been ready, she had, but the woods had left their mark on her clothes and she hadn't considered that when she'd made the split second decision to go there to clear her head). Donna sped through dressing up, put her hair up in a tight ponytail, and together they walked out and through the Victor's Village to the main square.

There was something different in the air. She could feel something like a strength and a resistance from her people. Their own sort of defiance, despite how they were all still doing as they were told. It was as if the people of District 7 had had enough of pretending to be meek and mild to please the Capitol. The whole district seemed to be primed to erupt, just waiting for the right catalyst.

The square was quiet enough, though. They all filed in and walked in silence to their respective places.

The heat was smothering, hanging over the district like a blanket, and wasn’t helping the mood of the district residents. Donna found herself scowling.

The District 7 escort looked ridiculous in a red and black patterned avant garde body suit. Her blonde hair was separated down the middle with a severe looking parting and then swept up into two misaligned pigtails. She had stark white face paint, a black diamond painted around her left eye and a heart below her right eye. Her lips were painted red in a garish fashionable imitation of a clown’s grin.

She pottered over to the microphone in her inane and impractical heels and leant into the microphone. When she spoke, her voice was like nails on a chalkboard. She went over the introductory pleasantries animatedly, before skipping over to one of the reaping balls.

“Welcome all, I hope y'all’re excited for the reapin’! We’ve got the female tribute up first. Can a miss Donna Troy please come up to the stage and stand next to li’l ol’ Harley?”

Donna’s ears were ringing. She caught Diana’s eyes from where she was standing on the stage next to Artemis and Pamela, and that managed to cut through her haze. She got her feet to work. She hoped her little stumble wasn’t too visible to the cameras.

There was a heat in her chest that was equal parts fear and righteous anger, but as she passed the rows of little girls that were now relieved their name hadn’t been called, the latter took over. Better her than a 12 year old who couldn’t defend herself, or an 18 year old who had a whole family to take care of. She was more prepared, and she’d have Diana to help her.

Donna got to the stage in record time. She went to stand in the designated spot while the male tribute’s name was being chosen.

“Mista Lucas Carr! Wouldja make your way up here please.”

From her vantage point up on the stage Donna could see a gangly brunet start walking up to the stage. He was skinny and extremely short, which contrasted with his surprisingly mature face. He could’ve been any age, but Donna was leaning towards the upper end of the spectrum.

When he reached the stage, and went to stand next to her to shake her hand, a murmur spread through the crowd. Donna felt unease prickle at the back of her neck. Then there came a sudden cry from the audience.

“Alalá! Alalá! Alalázō!”

The crowd seemed to follow suit and in unison chanted “Alalá!”

Then, in a ripple effect, came a gesture. As if unsheathing an imaginary sword from a scabbard on their back, they raised their fists in the air.

It was a declaration of war, Donna realized. The Capitolites watching at home wouldn’t understand, nor would any other district, but Alalá was the deity of the war cry, and coupled with the gesture it was unmistakable. She could only hope that nothing would happen to her district because of this act of defiance.

 

.

 

She was quickly shuffled into a dusty little room in the Justice Building and told to wait while her family was brought in. It still felt surreal to her. Her grandmother Hippolyta came in first, embracing her and giving her words of wisdom, while when Artemis and Akila came to see her they went over battle strategy and told her about Artemis’ experience in the games.

She barely had a moment of silence before her next visitor came barreling in. Cassie came in a little before Diana, jumping straight into her arms as soon as the door opened. Donna stumbled back at the sheer strength of Cassie’s hug. For a moment they said nothing, instead just enjoying the embrace; hoping it wouldn’t be the last time they hugged like this.

Donna pulled back first, looking down at her little sister. “It’ll be easy, squirt. I’m gonna win the games and I’ll come back and we’ll be together again in no time.” She reached down and wiped a tear from her cheek. “It’s gonna be fine Cass, I promise.”

Cassie’s little face knitted itself into a scowl. “I’m not stupid, I know how the games work. And I’m not blind. I’ve seen what’s going on in the district. It’s not easy...”

Donna was struck with how much Cassie had grown. Donna still pictured her as the little 6 year old girl with pigtails and a gap toothed smile. She’d grown into a precocious pre-teen, pigtails sheared off to be replaced with a pixie cut, and Donna wondered at her intelligence.

She was silent for a moment, chewing her lip. “I know it’s hard, but please try to win. I need you here with me.”

They heard footsteps coming from the hall. Cassie grabbed Donna’s hand again, interlacing their fingers and squeezing tight. The door opened to reveal Diana and Steve in their fancy reaping attire- Diana in her ceremonial armour and cape, and Steve in his military garb.

Diana’s face was solemn, and she walked briskly into the room and swept Donna into her arms.

“My sweet girl, so young to be going off to fight.” Diana’s embrace was tight and felt like coming home. This was one of the things she'd miss the most.

Steve followed behind Diana, and was there to take Donna in his arms the second Diana let up. Donna felt tears spring to her eyes. Logically, she’d known that her family loved her. They’d expressed that the day they took her in after the fire, and every day after that. But being shown it, undeniably, was quickly becoming overwhelming.

She cleared her throat and pulled back. Cassie was back at her side in an instant, grabbing her hand again and interlacing their fingers.

“Honestly, you’re acting like no one else in our family has been to the games. Artemis won hers, and so did you, Di. I’ll be ok.” Donna’s brave act wasn’t fooling Diana, but thankfully she let it go.

Diana reached forward and tucked Donna’s hair behind her ears. Her hands went down to cup Donna’s face and she tilted Donna’s chin up to look her directly in the eyes.

"May Hera give you strength to face whatever is waiting for you. Never lose your compassion and your faith in humanity, my wonder girl, but keep your head clear enough to know when greatest action needs to be taken.” She then touched their foreheads together; so close, her piercing blue eyes were a familiar comfort. “Be kind, fight for peace, but above all else, right now, fight so you can have a tomorrow." Diana pulled her closer and pressed her lips to Donna’s temple in a sorrowful kiss.

Diana stood aside so Steve could say his goodbyes. He clasped her hand in both of his, and shook it solemnly. “Well, there's no way I can top that,” he tried for lighthearted, but sobered quickly. “Good luck, Troy.”

“I’ll see you on the train Donna.” Diana informed her, “You’ll have to go get fitted for your power dampening collar first.”

With that, they both left the room, taking Cassie with them. Donna took that moment to let out a shaky breath. Everything would be fine.

The guards came in then, escorting her out of the visitor’s room and into one of the off limit back rooms, where she would have the collar put on. Once the process was complete, the attendant gave her a terse nod and gestured at the door. Donna understood what she meant, and was eager to leave the room. Outside there was a guard waiting for her. When he saw her, he grabbed her arm and began pulling her along.

“Time to get on the train.”

He pulled her through a side door, hidden deep inside the building. She couldn’t help but wonder why he was being so rough, and why the situation warranted secrecy. As soon as the door opened, and she heard yells, thuds and screaming, the reasoning became clear.

Was her district rising in revolt? Had the peacekeepers started the commotion? What was happening?

As they neared the train there was a sudden bang. Everyone fell silent for a minute, as if assessing the damage, before the yelling resumed in full force. If possible, it was even louder now.

The guard was now pushing her bodily towards the train, shoving her inside and closing the door behind her. The cameras had all been turned off; she didn’t doubt that none of the district officials would want this televised.

As soon as the door was closed, the train took off, leaving the platform and the district behind.

Donna couldn’t help but feel off kilter. This had been a tumultuous beginning to what could possibly be the last weeks of her life.

 

6.

Wally’s slacks were ruined.

They’d been perfectly pressed by his mother for the reaping, and he’d crumpled them already. He tried to unclench his hands from their hold on the side of his slacks, but he couldn’t seem to make them move.

Today is the day, he thought.

He didn’t know what it was about this reaping, but there was a different feeling in the air, like a premonition. Of course, he didn’t believe in that magic-y mumbo jumbo, so he would be fine. Everything would be fine. He’d get through the reaping and then speed home to where his mother would be serving her world famous feast - all of his favourite food; everything! - as a congratulations for him making it through another year.

It would all be fine.

So why couldn’t he stop clenching his fists and just relax?

Their district’s escort was dressed in a hideous dress made of garish red and yellow fabric. It looked like she was trying to imitate District 6’s Victors' ‘Flash’ costumes, but the result left something to be desired. It looked painfully constricting, constructed in an intricate way that he couldn’t really figure out, and he had no idea how she moved in it.

Wally was interrupted from his musings on her dress by her calling out the female tribute.

“Traci Thurston.”

The crowd parted and a small Eurasian girl with soft brown hair and a smattering of freckles ascended the steps to the stage. She had a pink dress on, and a matching bow in her hair, and she was worrying her lip. She couldn't have been older than 12, and Wally felt a pang in his chest the way he always did when a 12 year old was reaped.

She was surprisingly composed as she started walking up to the stage. About halfway through her journey to the stage a heart wrenching scream came from the audience. She turned, a look of pain flashing across her face, to look at the source of the sound. Wally turned too, and saw an older woman who must have been the girl’s mother. She was being held back by two young men who shared her look- the girl’s brothers, Wally thought.

He turned back to the girl and saw her stumble slightly before she righted herself. She then walked quickly over to the stage.

The escort seemed not to notice the commotion. She tottered over to the other podium in her absurdly high heels and plucked a name from the glass ball. Once she was back at the microphone she cleared her throat and called out.

“Wallace West!”

For a split second, he had the crazy idea of running off, speeding away into the distance and leaving the district behind him. Then he turned his head slightly and caught Barry’s eye. From the look on his face Wally could tell that Barry knew what idea had just come into Wally’s mind. He gave Wally a look that screamed ‘Don’t you dare,’ and Wally felt oddly comforted by the familiarity.

He took a deep breath, straightened his back, and made his way to the stage. Climbing up the steps, he turned to look at Barry and Jay, sitting in their victors chairs. Barry gave him a small smile and a discreet thumbs up.

He looked out at the crowd, where he could see his mom and dad. His mom was sobbing into his dad’s chest, and he had an arm around her, evidently trying not to cry himself. Next to them stood his aunt Iris and his cousin Bart. Iris was trying to comfort his mother, while Bart’s big eyes blinked owlishly, his little mouth twisted into a frown. He had untucked his dress shirt, and his hands were playing with the hem.

Wally felt a sudden pang in his chest at the thought of never seeing them again. He glanced back to look at Barry and Jay again, then looked into the crowd at the rest of his family. He resolved then and there to do everything in his power to come back to them and bring honour to his district.

 

.

 

Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap.

His hands were tapping on his lap incessantly, leg jiggling up and down. He knew it must be annoying but he couldn’t stop it. He’d gotten used to the excess energy after the accident, but it slipped his control in times of stress. The collar dampened a lot of his powers, but it didn’t cancel out all of that extra energy.

Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap.

He was sat in the dining carriage eating. The best part of this whole experience was the food, he thought. If one forgot about the impending fight to the death, you could almost enjoy yourself, surrounded by all the delicacies of the Capitol. Spread out across the table was every food type imaginable. Sweet crumbly pastries and rich soups, refreshing fruit salads and crunchy vegetables, all freshly cooked and served. There were no less than 8 different types of rice. There was chicken, turkey, venison, veal, pheasant; any type of meat you could possibly want. He ate until he couldn’t any more. He was going to savor this.

He stood up then, suddenly desperate to move around and stretch his legs. He exited the food carriage and made his way through the train, passing through the different train cars and making notes of the smooth glide of the train on the tracks. He passed the refreshment carriage first, coming across the absurdly dressed escort. The lounge car was next, the room all but filled with luxury sofas and chairs. Wally thought he even saw a massage table in the back.

The dining car was where he found Barry and Jay. They were too busy going over strategy to notice him at first. He coughed. Barry looked up and met his gaze.

“Hey champ, are you looking for something?” Barry’s tone was supporting, and Wally was beyond grateful to have Barry with him here.

Wally nodded, and gave him a grin. “I’m just going to find Traci.”

That seemed to satisfy him.

Jay looked up at Wally’s voice. “She was in the entertainment carriage last time I checked,” he said.

Wally thanked him and they both went back to pouring over the papers they had scattered across the table; they’d always preferred analog technology to digital, which is why they didn’t use the new WayneTech tablets. Wally assumed that on those papers was all the information they had on every tribute.

He kept going, walking through the hallway, making note of the paneling on the walls and the connectors between each train car.

Finally, he reached the carriage where Traci was sat. The entertainment carriage was busy whilst still managing to be non-cluttered; a flat screen television took up almost a whole wall and was showing a playback of the reaping. There was a surround sound speaker system on either side of the screen. The couch where Traci was curled up on was a monstrous thing, big and plush, made of soft cream coloured cotton with red and yellow accents embroidered on. Wally rolled his eyes at that. He wondered if the other tribute’s train carriages had nods to their previous victors too.

“Hey,” he called out. It felt too simple a word for the gravity of the situation.

She looked up at him, her wide eyes reminding him so much of Bart. She was barely older than him, and Wally felt a rush of guilt at wanting to win. He knew it was absurd, one of them would have to die for the other to get back home, but he felt guilty nonetheless.

“Can I sit there?” he asked, motioning at the spot next to her.

She nodded, unfurling her feet out from under her to rest on the floor. “Go ahead.”

He sat down gingerly, painfully aware of all of his unruly limbs. She was so small, and way more graceful than he was.

The silence didn’t stretch out very long but to Wally it was almost unbearable. He needed to break the ice.

“Have you had something to eat? The food carriage is amazing - everything you could ever want!”

She turned to look at him then, letting out a startled giggle. The giggle quickly evolved into a laugh, and soon Wally found himself laughing along with her.

“I stopped by earlier but you were too consumed with the food to notice me,” she informed him, “I thought I’d come here and at least see who our competition is. I did press the button on the wall that brings up a menu of food to choose from though- I chose chocolate cake.” She sounded proud of her decision.

“A worthy choice,” he grinned at her, feeling happy when she grinned back.

“Did they give you a collar too?” She asked, seemingly out of the blue. “My neck is still sore when I press on it.”

He could see her rubbing at it, and he felt a sympathetic twinge in his own neck. “They did. You see, I have the same powers as both of the victors. I’m super fast. And if I had my powers, then the competition would be - well it would be over in a flash.” A goofy grin spread across his face at his own joke.

Traci grimaced and shoved his shoulder, unimpressed. “That was an awful joke.” She informed him, but she was smiling so he counted that as a win.

“What’re your powers?” He asked her kindly.

“Magic,” she replied, sagely. “It’s complicated.”

They looked at each other in silence for a moment before bursting into laughter again.

“I like you, kid,” he told her. She smiled at that.

“Would you mind starting the playback of the reaping over again?” he asked, “I need to scout out the competition too. Maybe we can even compare notes.”

With that, she picked up the remote and pressed the rewind button, bringing the recording back to the beginning. The Capitol fanfare played out from the speakers and the playback started.

The girl from District 1 was stunning. Wally’s eyes were drawn to the dip of her neckline and the swell of her breasts, skin glowing radiantly. Her district partner was a pale slip of a man with a cruel smile. Wally decided that he didn’t like him very much.

The girl from 3 looked elegant and refined, and had a smattering of freckles along her collarbone. He thought her red hair and freckles made her incredibly attractive, if he did say so himself. The boy from her district was shorter than her, and had smooth light brown skin and slicked back thick black hair. He had a calm expression on his face, and a small smile. He looked like someone Wally would want to be friends with.

The girl from District 4 also had orange hair and freckles, and she looked sweet but sad. Wally could relate. Her district partner’s dark brown skin looked striking alongside the turquoise of his clothes.

The green skin of the District 5 female tribute peaked Wally’s interest. Even her freckles were a darker shade of green. The scowling boy from District 9 held his interest for a passing moment, as he held some similarities to his district’s most famous victor.

The most interesting tributes were the pair from District 12. The boy had red hair like Wally, but a deeper shade, and his eyes were blue instead of green. What caught Wally’s attention though was how broad his shoulders were, and how muscled his arms were. But the real catch was the girl. She had light brown skin which contrasted nicely with her thick blonde hair, swept back into a high ponytail, the end reaching her waist. She had muscled arms too, though she was smaller. She had high cheekbones and warm brown eyes. Her full lips were turned down into a frown, much like the boy from District 9. Privately, Wally thought she wore it better.

The reaping ended and the Capitolite commentators appeared on screen, expressing their thoughts and opinions about the reaping a mile a minute - and Wally would know what that sounded like. Wally tuned them out, running through all the information he’d just taken in.

Whatever the outcome, this was sure to be an interesting year, and Wally found himself oddly anticipating meeting the other tributes.

 

5.

Big crowds always gave M’gann a headache. On a good day, she was great at hiding her powers – she was always great at pretending, as she had to be. The downside of hiding so much, and pretending so much, however, was that when she got overwhelmed she wasn’t entirely sure how to deal with that.

And crowds were overwhelming. Especially on a day like this.

It wasn’t that every person was being loud, themselves. No, it was more of a constant rumble of people worrying, a mangling of thoughts and wishes that some people were telegraphing so clearly, as if someone could listen to them and make them come true. Take everyone but my son. It’s my sister’s last year, let her survive this. I don’t deserve to go. We don’t deserve to go.

Well, someone was listening. There was just nothing M’gann could do about it, except join the chorus of voices in her head. Please, let me live one more year.

The rumble got quieter when the Capitolite man waltzed onstage, with that hideous flair that existed nowhere but in the Capitol. Though M’gann couldn’t help being a little in awe.

“Welcome, everyone, to the annual reaping for the 46th Hunger Games! It is now time to select the tributes that will have the honor of fighting for your very own District 5.” He seemed to actually enjoy the role he had, and M’gann instantly hated him. “As always, ladies first!”

He walked towards the reaping ball on his left, shooting a mischievous look at his audience, as if this was all a game they were willing participants for. Maybe that’s what it was like for the people in the Capitol.

M’gann M’orzz.

Hearing her own name was the one thing that managed to make the rest of the world fade out. The chorus of the crowd disappeared from her brain, and she reeled back, disbelieving, unable to breathe for a second. But she caught herself and made sure she was presentable – as if she hadn’t double and triple checked before leaving her house –, tucking her hair behind her ear and flattening her skirt.

It was only when she took a step forward, that she realized the man had never opened his mouth, and was only now leaning towards the microphone. Hoping for a dramatic effect, probably, he had paused after reading her name and before saying it out loud. Stupid, stupid mistake. But one nobody seemed to have noticed. Now, when he did call for her, at least she was prepared. All the emotions she was sure had showed on her face at first – the grief and the desperation and the hopelessness – were carefully covered up when the cameras zoomed in on her.

So she lifted her chin up, put on a pleasant smile, and tried to seem as innocent as she could. She was compliant with the peacekeepers that escorted her; she was no troublemaker. There was nothing about her that should scream threat. She’d made sure of that. There was a reason she went around with green skin.

“Now, M’gann, we do need to find you a partner.” The man said, like they were buddies. M’gann wanted to punch him, but instead, she kept her smile up. “It’s time for the boys!”

He made a theatrics out of picking a slip of paper, and when he settled on one, he waved it triumphantly at the crowd with a flourish of his hand. Was this guy completely oblivious to what this meant for all of them, or did he think acting like this would take some of the pain away?

He cleared his throat, let the silence linger for a few seconds – there was that dramatic pause she had missed before – and announced: “Victor Stone.”

There was a cry from the crowd, and M’gann’s eyes found their way to the couple holding each other, clearly the boy’s family, only keeping themselves in check at the thought of not causing any problems for their kid. They weren’t a hard read, their thoughts all over the place, almost screaming at her. And the tribute (Victor, she corrected herself; he was a person, he had a name, he wasn’t just a player in all this) when he stepped forward, face stoic, seemed to be more calm – but only seemed to be. He couldn’t be any older than her. She tried not to let her heart break for him, and for his family, and was almost successful. Almost.

Then, in a second, it was all over, as it always was, and they were off to say their goodbyes. Except there wasn’t much to say goodbye to, not for M’gann. Goodbye to J’onn, who’d always taken care of her, who she’d thought was cold, at first, but now he gave her the warmest hug. He would be going with her, anyways, as a past victor and now her mentor. And there were no more goodbyes; not for a district that had always made her feel like an outsider, where she’d never quite fit in.

 


 

The car ride to the train was already making Victor feel uncomfortable. The synthetic leather seats seemed to be specifically manufactured to look expensive and feel like sitting on concrete. The driver was incredibly impersonal, not even once looking at them nor saying a word. The glass was tinted, but not tinted enough that he couldn't see the peacekeepers lining their path. And the other tribute, next to him, seemed to be studying him, shifting a couple times like she was about to say something, but never doing so. Or maybe Victor was just upset and hyper aware of his surroundings.

Saying goodbye to his parents was even harder than he'd thought it would be, not only because of the separation and the possibility of never seeing each other again – of them having to see their son die live on television –, but also because he felt suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. It was like a heat spreading from his chest, choking the air from his lungs and making his limbs tingle; and sitting on the car, unable to go for a run to make himself feel better, he couldn't shake it off.

He felt so childish, in retrospective. Not that he was entirely wrong; his parents had been overbearing, and sooner or later he would've had to somehow break free from them. But he'd gone at it the worst way. He'd barely seen them for the past year, throwing himself at any hobby that would mean never crossing paths with them (hard, given their position as Head Scientists), only going home to eat and sleep; and sometimes not even that, when he had whatever excuse to go somewhere else.

The day before the reaping – as if, subconsciously, he knew something would happen, even though his family had money and his name was only in the reaping ball a handful of times – Victor had gone back to try to make amends. However, when no involved parties saw themselves in the wrong, "making amends" only ended in a screaming match, which in turn ended in him leaving to spend the night at Ron's, avoiding his parents until after his name was called up.

So, hugging his dad and trying not to cry on his mom's shoulder, he had felt like a complete hypocrite.

He'd not looked at his district partner yet, not even once. Hell, he didn't even remember her name from the reaping; he'd been so caught up in his own head. Here, feeling her piercing gaze on him like a fiery brand, he felt like an open book. Like his every struggle was on display.

He was thankful for the two seconds of fresh air he got before they were rushed from the car to the train. At least in the train – a short ride, as they were close to the Capitol – had enough space for him to move.

As soon as he got on the train he was accosted by his district partner.

“Hi!” She lifted a hand in a sheepish wave; her voice was too bubbly for the current situation. It was grating on his already less-than-stellar nerves. “You’re Victor, right? I’m M’gann. Can I call you Vic?”

He shrugged. It didn’t matter what she called him, it wasn’t like they were gonna be friends.

She didn’t seem to mind his lackluster response, or if she did she took it in stride. “The train is really cool, don’t you think? It must have 20K horsepower at least.”

“Mhmm,” he said, noncommittally.

“Have you tried the cookies? They’re really good!” She attempted again.

“Nah.”

She seemed to notice then that he wasn’t exactly being very forthcoming with his responses.

“I’ll leave you to it then” she said, smoothing down her skirt as she stood up. He felt bad for not trying to engage with her, but his personability had taken a huge hit that day. “I’m going to go talk to Uncle J’onn.”

 

.

 

He was sat in the refreshment carriage, sulking over a bottle of soda like it had personally offended him, when Ted found him.

“Lost in thought?” came his voice. Vic looked up at his mentor and took him in. He didn’t look like much at first glance, but if he’d won the Games there had to be something more to his harmless appearance. He looked like someone’s kind uncle. “I noticed M’gann leaving here in a rush earlier. She seemed kind of upset.”

Vic didn’t answer.

“Is avoiding and isolating yourself from everyone your strategy for the games too? Or is this just how you plan on attracting sponsors and making allies?” Vic gave a noncommittal shrug. He didn’t trust himself not to be short with the other man if he tried to actually reply.

Ted let out a resigned noise, and walked over to stand next to Vic. Pouring himself a 2 fingers of whiskey, he turned casually to face Victor. “How about we watch some of the older games together? Go over them, analyse what went right and what went wrong. Maybe do something that’s more constructive than just standing here ruminating over some drinks.”

Vic pondered that for a moment; he didn’t see any downside to that. They could sit in silence and watch the games, and he could get the old man off his back at the same time as getting valuable tips. “Sure.”

Ted smiled at that, and gestured for Vic to follow him, exiting the refreshment carriage and leading him down the corridor to the entertainment car.

“Sit down there Vic, I’ll just be a moment,” he said before disappearing through another door.

He returned with a box in his hands, filled with old VHS tapes. He selected one from the pile, running his fingers over the spines of the tapes until he found the one he wanted, before placing it into the open slot.

The Capitol fanfare blared out loudly through the speakers, and then the games began.

The video started with a shot of the entire arena viewed from up high. It was a dry landscape decorated with plateaus and shallow looking ponds. There were huge trees scattered around. Everything was like that: huge. The cornucopia was small in comparison, in the exact center of the arena, and the camera closed in on it as the tributes started rising from their pods. Vic had a vague memory of having watched these games, but he couldn’t place them yet.

“These are the 42nd Hunger Games, from four years ago.” Ted said, answering his unasked question. “The victor was Jade Nguyen, District 12. Fourteen years old.”

The screen showed a close up of all twenty-four tributes’ faces as they took in the arena for the first time, their names and stats written on the side. Jade was the last to appear, a determined look on her face.

The gong sounded and chaos erupted. He tried to keep his eyes on Jade, focus on anything that might help him win as she had. She went straight to the cornucopia, a fast runner and the first to reach the mouth. She started stacking weapons on herself, sticking them into slots in her suit; mostly knives and daggers. She had just grabbed two short swords when a second tribute got to the cornucopia, going straight towards her.

Quicker than he could process, she had spinned around and slit his throat. The camera was too far away to see her expression; he could only see her grab a backpack and make her exit, all on her own. She swiftly dodged anyone else that came near, slashing with her swords if one of them came too close. No mortal wounds other than the first one, Vic thought.

The highlights showed a few different moments of the bloodbath, and when it finished – nine tributes already dead – Ted paused the tape and turned towards Vic.

“Can you tell me what people’s mistakes were?”

Vic was stumped by the question. He’d been looking for what people did right – the people left alive were fast, strong, knew how to fight, or had run off immediately. Jade had also caught a lot of his attention. He was supposed to look at the one who’d win, right?

Ted wasn’t deterred by his silence. “Every time I do this my tributes focus only on the victor. I probably didn’t help by telling you who it was immediately. I guess that’s part of the exercise.” He shrugged. Vic really wanted him to get to his point.

“It’s as important to look at the ones who lose as it is to look at the one who wins.” He pointed at the screen, where it had paused on Jade running, swords still in her hands. “No two victors win the games the same way, but usually people lose them because of the same mistakes. In the bloodbath, it’s things like not watching your back, not knowing your limits, being too greedy. Even just the decision to run towards the cornucopia can be a mistake in itself. I didn’t.”

“Should we watch it again?” Vic asked, to his own surprise.

Ted shook his head. “No, it’s okay. We can focus on that again for the next games we watch.” So they were going to be here a while.

He pressed play again, and they watched Jade look for water, food, and shelter – in that order. Ted made a comment about almost every decision she took. She knew how to handle herself; it was jarring to see the small fourteen year old be so resilient, never letting any pain show on her face.

Food and water seemed to be abundant at first, at least for Hunger Games standards. Then the real threat showed up: the mutts. They all looked like prehistoric animals, but were probably more bloodthirsty than the real animals had been. Just seeing them on the screen made Vic glad these weren’t his Games.

They were looking at a pair of tributes trying to escape a crocodile type creature.

“It would be a smart decision to climb the tree like they’re doing–”

“–But they’re trapped up there now. They didn’t notice the pterodactyl flying above them.” Vic interjected. Ted - still mid sentence - turned to look at him, a small smile on his lips.

“That’s right. You’ve got the hang of this already.”

Sure enough, the pterodactyl attacked them next, and they both fell off the tree right into the crocodile’s jaw. Vic suddenly wished he hadn’t been right.

In the end, it came down to Jade and a tribute from District 7. The mutts backed away, leaving them to face only each other. The guy from 7 hesitated. Jade didn’t.

When Ted got up to put in a different tape, Vic realized he was enjoying spending time with his mentor, despite the grizzly activity of watching past games. It was nice having a conversation with an adult who actually listened to him, and made the effort to understand and communicate with him. He only wished that it didn’t take getting reaped into the Hunger Games for it to happen.

 

4.

Kaldur was floating on his back in the turquoise sea; his hands cutting through the water’s surface in slow circles. The sky was clear, the water was the perfect temperature, and as still as a mirror. By all accounts, it should’ve been a perfect day.

“I should’ve known I’d find you out here,” came a voice to his left.

He straightened himself out immediately and turned around, treading water. There was a figure coming towards him, obscured by the sunlight shining behind him, but Kaldur would know him anywhere.

“Garth, my friend.” He smiled warmly, reaching out to clasp the older man’s hand in greeting.

“You always come out here when you need to think, or be alone.” Garth’s eyes crinkled as he smiled.

“Today is the day,” was all he said.

He lay next to Kaldur and they both floated side by side for a while.

“Garth, how did you feel the day of your reaping?” he asked, disturbing their comfortable silence.

Garth looked over at Kaldur with an inquisitive look.

“Nervous, mostly. It’s a big honour to be chosen to volunteer. You’re only a year older than I was. I didn’t really grasp the situation at the time, the full magnitude of it. You want to succeed to bring honour to your district, but they never tell you just how hard fighting for that honour can be.” He studied Kaldur’s face intently. “Why do you ask?”

Kaldur looked down at his toes, peeking out of the water. He took a minute to gather his thoughts before he spoke. “I don’t know if I can do it. What if I fail? What if I bring shame to my family and my district? To Arthur...”

“Kaldur, you’re one of the most skilled fighters in our district,” Garth’s face was deathly serious. “I have all the faith in the world that you will win the games and come back the exalted hero.”

Kaldur stared into Garth’s eyes, seeing the sincerity the shined in them. He started to reply, but found himself choking up. “Thank you my friend.”

Garth reached out and grasped Kaldur’s hand firmly in his own. “Of course, Kaldur. You’re my oldest friend.”

All the talk of the reaping had sombered their mood slightly. The stayed in the water a little while longer, splashing each other and joking around, but their hearts were no longer in it.

Eventually, they made their way out of the water and dried off, hugging each other warmly before parting ways.

Once he got home, Kaldur showered quickly to wash the salt water off of his skin, and then got dressed in his ceremonial clothes once he’d stepped out of the water. The clothes had been given to him by previous Hunger Games victor, Orin - Arthur to his friends.

It was a deep turquoise kaftan, the border embroidered with an intricate design in gold. His fitted trousers were a slightly darker turquoise and his black dress shoes had been immaculately polished. He felt older in the ceremonial garb, more confident.

He looked the picture of a perfect victor.

 

.

 

The wind moved the salt from the sea inland through the air, and ruffled his kaftan.

Though the whole district was assembled in the square it was oddly silent, the only sounds coming from the waves crashing against the shore.

He saw Arthur on stage, dressed in his ceremonial Atlantean armour, radiating strength and nobility. Mera was sat at his side. She looked radiant in a green loose flowing dress which contrasted pleasantly with the loose red waves of her hair, her baby bump barely visible under all the layers.

Kaldur’s attention was pulled back to the escort, as he watched her pluck out the slip of paper from the girl’s reaping ball and announce the name of the female tribute.

“Tula Marius!”

The crowd seemed to come alive then, gasping and whispering amongst themselves.

For his part, Kaldur was struggling to take in a breath. He couldn’t quite believe it. The year he was meant to volunteer, he would be competing against one of his closest friends.

He saw Tula slip through the crowds and approach the stage. She took her place next to the escort, looking beautiful in her dress but her face was full of sorrow. Kaldur had to steel himself, the boys would be next and he had to be ready to volunteer. The consequences for his family of him not volunteering were too horrible to think about.

When the escort called out the name of the male tribute, Ronal Triton, Kaldur was ready. He recalled Garth’s words. I have all the faith in the world that you will win the games... They gave him a sense of calm.

“I volunteer as tribute.” he called out, his voice clear and crisp.

Yes, he would be going into the arena alongside his best friend, but he knew that he had the skills necessary to bring one of them home. Which one that would be, he supposed only time would tell.

 

.

 

His goodbye’s were heartfelt. His parents came in first, his mother covering his face in kisses and singing his praises. His father close behind to offer his support too. Garth came next. As soon as the door opened he strode over and pulled Kaldur into his arms.

“It’s ok. I am ok.” Kaldur informed him.

“I know,” he mumbled into the crook of Kaldur’s neck. He pulled back to look at him.

“Promise me you’ll at least try. I can’t -” he cut himself off there, his voice wavering. “I can’t lose both of you. Bring her home, or come home yourself, just make sure District 4 has a victor this year.”

His classmates from the conservatory came in last, crowding him and giving him tips and advice.

He was then taken to a side room and sat on a cold metal chair. The attendant’s rubber gloves were cold against his skin and made him shiver, along with the chill from the chair.

The contraption that was to insert the collar looked like one of those medieval torture devices from the time before Panem that Kaldur remembered from his history textbooks. It was a flat sheet of metal that went around his neck, and had thick needles jutting out at 7 different points around his neck. Inside each needle were the chips that would be inserted underneath his skin.

The attendant had an assistant with them, who looked too chipper to be working there. When she saw Kaldur looking dubiously at the machine, she leant in and whispered good naturedly, “Don’t worry, the collar only dampens your powers, it doesn’t remove them completely. It’ll get removed with no fuss if you win the games, and you’ll be back to normal!”

The attendant pressed a button and the machine whirred to life. It lit up in a light blue and the needles extended out and sunk into his skin. There was a beep and Kaldur felt the small chip coming out of each needle and embedding itself into his epidermis.

The attendant who operated the machine muttered something to her assistant that Kaldur didn’t seem to hear. It made sense to the assistant because they got out a little control and pointed it at his neck. Yet another button was pressed and Kaldur felt little tendrils emerging from the chips and extending out to intertwine with the tendrils from the chip on its right. It was the weirdest feeling, like an itch you were unable to scratch.

“What- what is happening?” He croaked out.

“It’s completely normal,” the assistant assured him, “The chips need to connect to each other for it to work properly. Of course each singular chip has power dampening properties but when they’re all linked together they work the best!”

The attendant leant in and examined Kaldur’s neck. She seemed satisfied with what she saw and nodded to the assistant, removing her gloves and disposing of them.

“Ok!” the assistant chirped, “You can get up now - why don’t you look in the mirror?”

Kaldur did as he was told, walking up to the mirror to look at his neck. He lifted up his chin to see his neck better. The chips he’d felt be inserted left little raised bumps on his skin. That was the only indication that anything had happened though; the tendrils he’d felt were invisible, deep under his skin.

He turned back to look at the attendant and she gave him the universal go ahead sign. He nodded and exited the room. Arthur was waiting outside, ready to take him to the train.

“It all went all right?” He asked good naturedly.

“Yes. Everything is fine.”

“We better be on our way then. We don’t want to miss the train.”

 

.

 

The train car felt like another universe.

The contrast between the cool aquatic tones of District 4 and the plasticky fake golds of the train was stark. It made Kaldur feel slightly off kilter; like he didn’t belong there.

He looked at the girl sat next to him; his best friend, Tula. She had not spoken a word since they had boarded the train. He had thought she would retreat to her room, but she surprised him by making her way to the television car. An hour had passed, and she was still sitting in front of the screen watching the reaping.

It was not fair that she had been picked, and Kaldur wished he could do something, change something, make her feel better. He placed his hand on top of hers, trying to offer some semblance of comfort. She looked at him then, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and gave him a watery smile before turning back to the reaping.

Concentrating his eyes on the screen as well, he tried to consume all the relevant information on his opponents. There were some who caught his eye.

He knew he should focus on the tributes from 1 and 2, since they would most likely be expected to team up, but his gaze was drawn elsewhere. The sulking boy from District 9. The copper haired man from District 12 and his scowling blonde district partner. The slender boy from 3, with the intelligent glint in his eye. The fresh faced red headed boy from 6.

He felt Tula shift beside him, and turned to look at her.

“Did Garth come to see you?” she asked. She’d been worrying her bottom lip, and it was all puffy and red.

“He… He did.” He didn’t know how much to tell her, worried that it would make her already delicate mood even worse.

She seemed to sense the reason for his hesitation. “It’s ok Kaldur, he told me the same thing as you. He said one of us will have to win.”

It’s silent for a moment, an awkward silence that they’d never experienced in their friendship before. It was hard to think of something to say when you were faced with the possibility of you or your best friend dying.

Tula sighed. “Half of me wishes he were here with us. He always knows the right thing to say to make you feel better.”

“That’s the thing about being in a Career District, there’s no shortage of victors. Garth will have to wait at least a few years before he can become a mentor.” Kaldur said. “Though, him being here would make things less painful.”

He paused for a moment, fully considering Tula’s words. “He always knows the right thing to say? Were you not there the day at the conservatory when he tried to talk to Lori? He fumbled his words so badly she asked him if he was ok.”

Tula let out a startled laugh. “I missed that day! Did he ask her out in the end?”

Kaldur’s lips quirked up in a wry grin. “Not at all. After she asked if he was ok, he made a strangled noise and just sped away from her. He avoided her until he graduated.”

At that, the pair dissolved into laughter once more. It felt nice to laugh with her, a sweet respite in their bleak present.

They fell into silence again, but this time it was comfortable.

“What do you think the Capitol will be like?” Tula asked him.

“I don’t know,” he told her, and it was the truth. He’d heard stories about the Capitol of course, from Arthur and then from Garth. It always sounded so spectacular in the stories. Towering skyscrapers full of windows that glittered in the sunlight, and everyone dressed extravagantly in the latest fashion.

But those were all stories. He didn’t have a clue which were real and which were embellished.

“I bet it’ll be magical.” Tula breathed, her voice dreamy.

Kaldur turned away from her, to look out the window. It hurt too much to see her smile like that, knowing that only one of them was going to make it home.

He answered without looking at her. “I bet it will, too.”

 

3.

Barbara’s glasses kept sliding down her nose as she looked down at the circuitry on top of the table. She only had a few things to tweak before she could add this part to what was becoming a monstrous computer taking up half of her room; it was slowly but steadily shaping up, a mix of parts she could get through the regular channels, and parts that she’d... borrowed... during her internship at Wayne Enterprises.

She’d crossed paths with Bruce Wayne often, anyways, and she got the distinct feeling that he knew but didn’t really care – at least, not yet –, so Barbara refused to feel guilty about it.

She didn’t know what she’d use it for yet, but she knew she wanted to build something to help others. She was so intensely focused that she missed when the door to her room opened, and she barely stopped herself from startling when she felt someone leaning over her shoulder.

Her dad hummed appreciatively. “It’s looking better every day,'' he said. Barbara knew he didn’t really know that, as technology and her dad didn’t entirely get along, at least by District 3 standards. But she appreciated his effort to get involved with her interests.

“Thanks, dad.” She smiled at him without looking up from her work.

He was silent for a few seconds, like there was something he wasn’t sure how to word. “I need to stop by Mayor Montoya’s to sort some things out to make sure everything runs smoothly today. Are you… okay going to the square alone?”

Barbara finally put down the tools she was working with and looked at her dad; his ginger hair was becoming grey on the temples, and the crinkles by his eyes made him look even older, and tired. “Yes, dad, go do what you need to do.” She tried for reassuring, and there was no lump in her throat or knot in her stomach, but she still wasn’t sure how successful she was.

He looked at her for a few more seconds, then kissed the top of her head and walked out. She took a deep breath and let go of the air slowly, steadying herself. Barbara had always been good on her own.

 

.

 

The walk to the Wayne manor in Victor’s Village was brief, and she’d made it so many times it was practically muscle memory by now.

She lifted the brass lion door knocker and slammed it down a few times. The door opened shortly after, and the sight of Alfred greeted her.

“Miss Barbara.” He welcomed her in with a warm smile, gesturing towards the hallway. The whole family was already ready to leave, gathered together and sorting out their finishing touches. Jason was tugging at Tim’s collar while the younger boy tried to stop him, Cass was helping Damian put on his shoes and Duke was already ready, standing to one side and looking proud of himself for beating his siblings.

Barbara went down the line of Wayne kids, greeting them all one by one. She squeezed Damian’s chubby cheeks, gave Duke a high five, fixed Tim’s collar, hugged Cass and smoothed down Jason’s hair.

She came to a halt in front of Dick, who gave her what he must’ve thought was a subtle once over.

"Wow, Babs, did you put effort into your outfit this time?” The words coming out of his mouth were in contrast to his facial expression, softening the blow.

She sighed and reached out to straighten Dick’s tie.

“You should focus on your own appearance, Boy Wonder.” She teased. His cheeks grew pink and he ducked his head.

Dick was saved from more teasing by Bruce’s looming presence coming down the stairs, gruff as always, and seemingly in a rush. He nodded at her in greeting and rounded up his kids like rowdy zoo animals.

“We should’ve left 5 minutes ago. Are you all ready?” He paused, waiting for a reply. When none came, he repeated himself, slightly louder this time. “Are you all ready?”

There came a chorus of yeses and Bruce made a noise of confirmation. He opened the door to usher them all out, and off they went.

Babs slipped out after Dick, and the slam of the door had an air of finality to it.

“Today is the day,” Dick’s voice was uncharacteristically serious.

They walked together to the reaping. Barbara held Cass’ hand in comfort, keeping up a steady stream of conversation to stop the younger girl from dwelling on her first reaping. It was Jason's first time as well, and he was uncharacteristically quiet. He’d been gnawing on his nails and Dick had to pull his hand away from his mouth.

Once they reached the square, they all split up. Alfred took the younger kids off to stand with everyone else who was ineligible to be reaped, Bruce took his place on the stage with the other victors, and Dick, Jason, Cass and Babs waited in line to get their fingers pricked before going to stand in their designated areas.

The escort seemed to take her time selecting the name of the female tribute, as if he were taunting them. He plucked the slip of paper out of the bowl and leant in close to hiss into the microphone.

“Barbara Gordon!”

Babs felt like all the air had been punched from her lungs. She swayed a little in place, and felt a hand at her back steadying her. She looked to her right to see Bette Kane.

“You can do this,” she whispered, and gently nudged her along. Babs straightened her back and took a step forward, and then another, and another until she reached the stage.

She locked eyes with Kate as she made her way up the steps. The older woman gave her a reassuring smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes.

Then the escort picked out a name from the other bowl and leant into the microphone. Clearing his throat dramatically, he called out the second tribute’s name.

“Jason Todd.”

If her name being called was a worst-case scenario, this was one she’d never anticipated. She spotted Alfred in the crowd; the older man looked shaken in a way Babs had never seen before. In his arms he held Damian, who didn’t seem to understand the gravitas of the situation. He seemed to be looking for Jason, confused by the familiar name. Next to them, she could see Steph covering her mouth with her hand, tears spilling from her eyes. On Alfred’s other side, Tim and Duke didn’t look better off. Tim was gripping the barrier rope so hard his knuckles had turned white, and Duke had buried his face into Alfred’s blazer, as if hiding his face would make this less real.

She looked for Cass then, worried for her because she was alone; at least the other kids had Alfred. She was almost swallowed by the sea of people, but Babs could see her standing there, tears streaming down her face. The girls around her were trying to comfort her but Cass didn’t seem to notice them, instead staring straight ahead with unfocused eyes.

This was a monumental event for the whole family; it was their whole world shattering in two. Babs couldn’t help but be bitter at the unfairness of the whole situation. She sought out Dick in the crowd and saw him steel himself. She knew what he would do even before he opened his mouth. He didn’t even hesitate.

“I volunteer as tribute.”

 


 

The train carriage was decorated with golds and silvers, Dick noticed. The colours of the season. It was garish and excessive, even for Dick, who’s district was one of the wealthier ones. The walls were accented with gold, the chandelier dripping silver, even the rim of the television had not escaped the craze. The huge flat screen television was embedded into the wall opposite the couch (gold thread woven into beige fabric, of course) and on either side of it were two tall snapdragon plants in glass vases.

It was only when Babs slapped his hand that he realized he’d been picking at the calluses on his fingers. Dick made a conscious effort to stop, splaying his hands on his knees; but he had too much nervous energy, and seconds later his leg started bouncing up and down.

He’d been watching the reaping playbacks and mentally cataloguing the tributes – the ones who were visibly metas, who were volunteers, or who made his instincts scream threat and dangerous. He knew Bruce would give him a better run down of everyone. Still, it kept his mind busy.

It was Dick’s second time watching, so he already knew the order the districts played in, and he knew his district was coming next. He didn’t know what to do with his arms; he tried crossing them, but it felt too stiff. Barbara must have felt him shift, because she grabbed his hand and gave him a light but reassuring squeeze.

Barbara got reaped first. Scattered gasps came from the crowd at her name being called; the name of the commissioner’s daughter was one the entire district recognized.

Then: “Jason Todd,'' came the voice from the television, sounding weird through the speakers. Babs pinched his hand and he realized how hard he was gripping her.

He closed his eyes to avoid the sight of his brother, only twelve years old, on the screen. But the image of Jason’s little hands curled into fists and his eyes brimming with tears he would never let fall was burned into his brain. His chest tightened at the thought of him, so small and too young to be faced with this life or death situation; and it was wrong that Jason would ever think that Dick wouldn’t sacrifice himself to save him, that he’d just leave him to go to the Games. It was just wrong how Jason was so ready to believe he’d be abandoned.

In that moment, it had taken all of his strength to not scream his brother’s name and shove him out of harm’s way. Instead, he’d walked confidently over to where Jason was and pushed him back, softly but firmly. He’d given Jason a look that he hoped conveyed his message: “don’t say anything, just go back to your place.” Now, he opened his eyes just in time to see himself say the words.

“I volunteer as tribute,” he’d called out once he’d turned back to face the stage. His voice was solid, relaxed almost, and he’d made sure to paste a smirk on his face.

Looking at himself on screen, even if Dick hated how smug he looked, he was glad his expression never betrayed the fact that he was breaking inside.

He couldn’t look at this anymore.

He got up and walked through the doors to the back of the train, where the last carriage had a window that spanned the entirety of the walls. Barbara’s steps followed him until they were both standing next to each other, looking at the scenery change as they travelled farther and farther away from District 3. He took a couple of steadying breaths.

“I don’t know how I’d stand being here without you.” What he didn’t say: if the both of us are here, at least one of us isn’t going back home.

“You’d still have Bruce.” What she didn’t say: Bruce being here makes it even harder.

Barbara always had so much to say about Bruce, but Dick was glad that she wasn’t saying any of it right now.

“I don’t want him… I don’t want him to be away from home when he loses me.” To the untrained ear his voice sounded steady, but Dick could feel the quiver in it. He swallowed roughly, as if that would fix the feeling of his chest tightening and his stomach falling out of his butt.

Babs turned to him with a glare, “Don’t say that.” She chastised. “Anything could happen in the games, don’t count yourself out so soon.”

Dick looked down at his feet scuffing the perfect carpet of the train carriage. It felt like his fate had already been sealed. He couldn’t –wouldn’t… shouldn’t– kill anyone. He knew that if there was ever a special circumstance where killing would be considered a necessary evil, it would be during the Hunger Games. Being raised by the one victor who’d come out of the Games with a no kill record, though, how could he hold himself to any other standard?

Except Bruce was different; special. Even at thirteen years old, he was larger than life.

Dick could never live up to that.

 

1.

Kory was leaning against the table in the middle of the room, tapping her foot. She was waiting for her family to be let into the interview room so they could say their congratulations and farewells.

The reaping had gone smoothly. She and Klarion Bleak, the male tribute chosen to volunteer, had known for a few months of their good fortune. When the morning of the reaping dawned, Kory already had her outfit planned. She’d picked it with her mother exactly three weeks in advance to make sure she looked as beautiful as possible.

Her dress consisted of a tight purple bodice covered in a million tiny glinting jewels, with a neckline that dipped just a little bit too low to be considered proper, and a skirt in varying shades of purple tulle and satin which flowed out from her hips to reach her knees. She had a pair of purple ankle boots with a stiletto heel, which only emphasised her already impressive height.

Her hair was elaborately styled so her mane of shining red curls was pinned and braided back from her face and tumbling down her back. She had made sure to leave loose her curly fringe. Her mother had placed a glimmering lace hairnet onto the crown of her head that was encrusted with jewels as well, and it shimmered as her hair moved. The jewel theme had continued down her body as she’d glued a trail of diamonds across her bare shoulders and down her arms and chest, glittering like freckles made of diamonds.

When it came time for the tributes to be chosen, she’d been ready to call out ‘I volunteer!’ as soon as the female tribute’s name was called out. Once she was on stage she’d made sure to smile winningly out at the crowd. She could see the sea of jealous faces, the girls who’d been eager to be chosen as the volunteer gritting their teeth and clenching their fists at the fact that she’d been the lucky one.

The rest of the ceremony had been fairly easy to get through, as Kory knew exactly what to expect and how to behave. Klarion volunteered next and walked onstage with his usual air of superiority, fueling the same jealous reactions Kory had gotten. When they had shaken hands she couldn’t help thinking how small he must have looked next to her, but his attitude surely made up for it.

Her parents swept into the room, interrupting her thoughts. They strode over to where she had jumped up from her perch on the desk. Her mother peppered kisses all over her face, hands mindful of ruining Kory’s hair. Her father stood a little behind her mother, a beaming smile on his face.

They had been ecstatic to hear that their little girl would be volunteering for the games. After all, it was an honour to be chosen to represent your district, and Kory’s family had never gotten the chance so their dreams fell on her shoulders.

There was an undercurrent of discomfort running through her veins at the whole situation. Nevertheless, she vowed to make her family proud.

Komand’r had chosen not to come. An obvious slight. She was jealous that she was not the one chosen to compete in the games, as the older and more skilled fighter of the two. And as she was 18, this was her last chance to attend the games.

Kory felt a lump in her throat; what if she lost the games and died without ever saying goodbye to her sister? No. She would win, and come home to fanfare and extravagant celebrations. She had to. She would see her family again.

Ryand’r was the last to enter the room, his demeanor excitable as he raced over to where she was standing. He had to jump to be able to put his arms around her neck in a tight hug, and Kory quickly wrapped her arms around his waist in order to keep him aloft.

“You looked so cool up on stage, Kor!” He grinned up at her, and she couldn’t help but smile back. She leant down and placed a kiss on his temple.

Luand’r came in between them, pushing Ryan back softly and fussing over Kory’s dress. “You have to be careful not to wrinkle anything! There’ll be cameras outside on the train platform.”

Ryan’s smile dropped, and his behaviour became more subdued as a result of being reprimanded by their mother. He reached out to hold Kory’s hand instead.

Myand’r moved to stand in front of her, turning her chin so she could look him in the eyes. Her father was an intimidating man. He was tall and broad, with their family’s signature red curly hair covering his body, including a thick beard which had a few tiny braids weaved in.

“You will have to win, for all of us. You’re the first Anala to go into the games; our family’s hopes rest on your shoulders.” His voice was gruff and commanding, but when he smiled his face changed and became more gentle. Kory could see the love shining in his eyes.

“We know you’ll make our family proud.”

 

.

 

Sitting across from her district partner gave Kory the opportunity to examine him properly. She’d met him before, in passing, at the training facility back in District 1.

Sprawled out on the seat, as if he owned the place, he was the very picture of the arrogant District 1 volunteer. His face held an amused look, like he knew something the rest of the world did not. His hair curled into two points on either side of his head, like devil’s horns; his signature look. The dark glossy sheen of his hair contrasted nicely against the pallor of his grey skin.

The bored look on his face dissipated when Kory placed her glass down on the coffee table between them. His head snapped up to look at her.

“We made it,” It was both a statement and a declaration of excitement

“There was never really any doubt that it would be us.” His sneer was more amused than cruel.

“There were other hopefuls.” She reminded him. “Abra Kadabra. Brion Markov.” For herself, Brion’s sister Tara was her biggest competitor.

His smile was vicious. “None of them stood a chance. It was only ever going to be me who would volunteer.”

A cold shiver ran down her spine. She didn’t like what he was insinuating.

“The train is adequate.” He changed topics, surveying their surroundings with a sniff of his nose. “Of course, we deserve nothing but the best for the best of District 1.”

She let the change of topics go. “Our accommodations once we reach the Capitol will be even better. I can’t wait to see them.” Back in District 1 there were stories about the majesty of the Capitol. Kory had grown up dreaming of finally being able to see it one day.

“It’s an honor being able to visit the Capitol. I only wish I could share it with my family.” She swallowed thickly and her next words seemed to tumble out of her mouth. “I miss them.” Her voice came out barely above a whisper. Almost immediately, the atmosphere in the room changed. District 1 tributes weren’t meant to feel that way. They were meant to rejoice over their good fortune.

Her eyes flicked up to meet Klarion’s, almost afraid at what his response would be.

Klarion was uncharacteristically solemn. Kory had never seen an emotion that wasn’t smug contentment on his face before.

“My family never cared.” He bit out. “I don’t need them anyway, all they would do is get in the way.”

“There must be someone. Someone that you miss, someone that is rooting for you to win.” She prodded, making sure to keep her voice soft.

“Being away from my familiar Teekl-” he cut himself off, pain flashing across his face briefly. She understood what he’d let slip. She’d heard about what happened to witches and their familiars when they were separated, the pain that they felt. She wondered if the dampening collar helped stabilize the feeling of pain, or if it would be a liability in the arena. She didn’t think the Capitol would do that.

Klarion stood up from the chair, and motioned towards the refreshments carriage. “Well, I don’t know about you but I’m just starving. Shall we get food?”

They found their mentors stood by the drinks table. Zatanna was saying something, trying to make Nabu laugh. The older man didn’t look impressed.

Zatanna was magnetic, eyes drawn to her whenever she stepped into a room. Kory could vividly remember the moment Zatanna had won her games. It was a bittersweet moment, and one that marked a change in Zatanna’s personality. During the post Games interviews and ceremonies she never looked celebratory, and after she returned to the district, she seemed angry and troubled. It was out of the ordinary for a victor of the Hunger Games, especially one from District 1.

She seemed isolated from the other victors; they didn’t want anything to do with her. She acted out, going to the swanky clubs and bars and staying until the early hours of the morning before stumbling out rowdy and drunk. She started hanging out with some… unsavory characters. People who were rumored to cause dissent and sow rebellion. Madame Xanadu, Alec Holland, Jason Blood.

The following year when she arrived at the Capitol to start mentoring, something must have happened to her, as when she returned to District 1 she was more subdued and compliant. She still had a glint of resistance in her eyes, and she was still set apart from the other victors, but she was playing by the rules.

Nabu was more withdrawn, but his presence was no less imposing. He covered his face with a golden helmet, closed but for 2 eye holes, which showed off his blue eyes.

When their mentors saw them enter the room, they invited them to sit at the food table. Laid out on it were finger sandwiches and other hors d'oeuvres. As soon as they sat down, Zatanna and Nabu pulled up a list of information about the other tributes. They focused on Districts 2 and 4, as those were the ones who would be the most relevant, and were usually the biggest competition.

“District 2 seems amenable to an alliance, if you can talk to them.” Zatanna said, “They look like they’d handle themselves well, which will be useful in a fight.” She swiped at the screen and it zoomed in on District 4. “The male tribute is a protege of one of the former victors; Arthur Curry. If there’s water in the arena, he will be a force to be reckoned with.”

“The girl from four wasn’t a volunteer this year but you should still keep an eye out for her. You never know, she might surprise you.” Nabu added.

Kory understood what they were saying underneath all the pleasantries: they’d already talked to the District 2 mentors, and Kory and Klarion would be expected to ally themselves with the tributes from District 2.

Of course, District 1, 2 and 4 didn’t always end up as allies in the arena. There was one year where the District 1 tribute, Mercy Graves, had decided to go it alone and hid up until the end where it was down to 5 tributes. She picked them off, one by one, but not before the last one severed the artery in her right arm too badly for it to be patched up again. She’d been given a fancy prosthetic arm courtesy of the Capitol. More often than not though, they teamed up; lest they risk a knife in their backs.

 

.

 

Afterwards, Kory retired to her room. The boning from the corset was digging into the fleshy part of her hips. She didn’t dare adjust it though, she had already made sure that she looked flawless, and touching anything would ruin that. She took great care when perching on the bed to not crease her skirt.

She looked down at the tablet she’d borrowed from Zatanna. She pulled up the same list that Zatanna and Nabu had shown them. She scrolled through the list of tributes and looked at the ones they hadn’t discussed; while some of them were underwhelming, some of them did look like good potential allies. She doubted they’d want to associate with her though, as some of the tributes from the higher districts were reluctant to interact with the tributes from District 1 and 2. Whether it was because of resentment over the privileges that were afforded to them because of their district, envy over their extra training, or some combination of the two, she didn’t know.

If it was envy over the training, well; they could take her place in the academy. It wasn’t like she’d had a choice, and she’d been beaten and abused in the District’s quest to produce strong victors. Their instructors even made them train with collars on to practice. They weren’t anything like the sophisticated collars made in the Capitol, they were clunky and were made to be worn on the outside of your skin, around your neck. Kory had received many bruises from those collars.

She pressed her hand to her neck. She could feel the bumps of the collar under the skin. It made her feel like she was back at the academy in District 1, under the cruel watchful eye of the Gordonian instructor. She wanted nothing more than to rip it out and destroy it with her starbolts.

There was a soft chime and then: “We are now entering the Capitol. Estimated arrival at the Remake Centre, 20 minutes.”

Kory stood up from where she’d been perched on the bed. She smoothed down her skirt, checked her appearance in the mirror, and pressed the button that slid open the door. She saw Zatanna and Nabu standing next to Klarion by the windows. The shades were still drawn.

“Koriand’r,” they beckoned her over. “The blinds usually get lifted when we get 10 minutes from the Remake Center. When they do, we want you and Klarion to wave and smile at the crowds. Use that District 1 charm to work your magic and leave everyone wanting more.”

The moment the blinds went up, and the crowd saw them, it was chaos. There was screaming and waving, the Capitolites clamoring for their first looks at the tributes; a few were even crying. Kory was giving them her winning smile, showing off her gleaming white perfectly straight teeth. Waving at the crowd, throwing them a few winks and kisses here and there. Klarion

“See, they love you already. And they’ll love you even more when they see you tonight at the tributes parade.” Zatanna said, “Beatriz and Tora have been planning this look for weeks, and having someone you as their model is just about their greatest wish. You two will be the stars of the show.”

They were close now, Kory could see the building looming from the corner of her eye. Once they reached the Remake Center, all the tributes and their mentors would be led off of the trains one by one, to the elevators to make their descent to be poked and prodded, primped and polished until they were ready to be shown off to the citizens of the Capitol.

She, for one, couldn’t wait.

Notes:

Thank you for making it this far!

Kory's surname comes from Hindu or Sanskrit - depending on the source - and it means fire. I (sunreyesss) chose it because I thought it was fitting for Kory, and because we had to give her a surname.

Regarding the scene that happens on District 7; neither of us know greek, but we had the Amazons chant a war cry and we wanted to reference their Ancient Greek connection. Excuse us for any inaccuracies, since we're mostly going off what we've found online. From Wiki: Alala (Ancient Greek: Ἀλαλά (alalá); "battle-cry" or "war-cry"), was the personification of the war cry in Greek mythology. Her name derives from the onomatopoeic Greek word ἀλαλή (alalḗ),] hence the verb ἀλαλάζω (alalázō), "to raise the war-cry".

We will be releasing an extra fic after this one is concluded (but before the sequel) full of tidbits like this, and more of an in depth look at all the characters and ships included in this series, as well as what districts they come from, and some interesting facts, scenes that didn't make the cut, and some bloopers (because we had lots....)

Until next time, Reyes and Sofi!