Chapter Text
The first rays of dawn settled over the gray buildings of District 3's slum neighborhood, the light crawling up the crumbling stone and thick vines, tinting them a bright yellow.
Usually, at dawn, the majority of the residents would be streaming into the streets on their way to the factories for their shifts. Today though, an eerie silence filled the streets, not a soul in sight.
On the third floor of one of the buildings, George sat at his kitchen table, watching the clock with acid roiling in his stomach. Through the thin walls, he could hear his neighbors talking in hushed tones, occasionally punctuated by a quiet sob.
Swallowing the dry feeling in his throat, George pulled out his cracked phone and, looking through his messages to distract himself from thinking about what was going to happen in the next hour.
ignoring most of the messages which were for business, he focused on the one from his best friend and partner in crime.
WILBUR(6:37): U up?
Quickly, he typed out a response:
GEORGE(7:15): I'm up
WILBUR(7:18): Wanna come over?
GEORGE(7:18): Yea, I kinda need to. Be there in 5.
WILBUR(7:19): Door's open just come in.
Pocketing his phone, he left his single room apartment and quickly made his way out the door and down the stairs, trying to tune out the distressed whispers behind the doors. After leaving his building, he slipped into the many dark alleyways, following the mental path to his destination. As he traveled, his brain did the familiar exercise it did whenever he was stressed and began to map out the course of the coming future.
In another hour or so, he would be standing with the other 18-year-old boys in the town square, facing his last and final Reaping. in other words, in another hour or so, he would receive his verdict on whether his life would end at the age of eighteen or not.
George had no illusion that he would ever set foot in his district ever again if he was chosen. While he was reasonably nourished, he was also skinny, a trait that came with sitting in front of a computer, rewriting codes all day. And even if he was jacked as hell, he didn't think he could bring himself to look at another person and be the one to end their life.
Just the thought of committing such an act made him feel nauseated and he had to stop and lean against the stone wall for a few moments to catch his breath. Shaking off the feeling, he shoved his hands into his pocket and walked faster through the alley.
Reaching Wilbur's apartment complex, George quickly climbed up the stairs and walked down the hallway on the second floor, stopping in front of the door labeled 2C.
Turning the doorknob slowly, George opened the creaky door and walked inside, closing and locking it behind him. A brown-haired 19-year-old man stood in the tiny hallway that leads to the kitchen, leaning against the wall.
"Hey," George muttered in greeting. The tense atmosphere hovering over everything seemed to demand silence.
"I've been up with Niki for about an hour," Wilbur replied. They walked into the kitchen where a blonde girl was sitting at the table, knees drawn to her chest.
She looked up as George entered, giving a weak smile. Niki stood up from her chair and gave George a small embrace. "Hi, George."
George returned the hug perfunctorily. He released Niki after a few seconds and took in her splotchy face and tangled hair. "Hey, Niki." He felt a pang of guilt for never taking the time to think about how she was holding up. After all, this was also her last Reaping.
The trio sat down, George occupying Niki's vacant chair while Niki curled up next to Wilbur on the small sofa.
"So," Wilbur starts, interlacing his fingers with Niki's. "This is it. The final hurdle." George and Niki nodded mutely, both of them too strained to make words.
"And both of you've taken tesserae before." Again, both of them nodded.
"I took it four times," Niki said in a faint voice.
"Five times for me," George added, his voice cracking slightly. He wiped a hand across his face, trying to clear his thoughts. "So I'll have twelve slips in there. Twelve chances of winning the ultimate price." He gave a slightly crazed laugh.
"George..." Niki said sadly. Wilbur leaned forward and took one of George's hand in a death grip.
"We're going to get through this," Wilbur said furiously, his knuckles losing color. "We're going to get through this and once it's over, I'm going to buy the most expensive cake in town and we're going to goddamn feast."
It was something that Wilbur couldn't promise but George appreciated the man's words. He met Wilbur's unfaltering eyes and gave a strained smile. "Well if there's cake on the line, I guess I don't have a choice."
It was a weak attempt at a joke but Wilbur gave a smile anyway.
"How's your family?" George asked, looking at Niki.
"They're fine," Niki answered, not looking at him directly. "I was with them last night."
"That's good." The three of them fell into silence, watching the clock tick by, each tick matching George's heartbeat.
All too soon, their hour of peace was up, and as if by a collective will, the complex was filled with the sound of chairs scraping back and the creaking of old floorboards as everyone left their rooms and began the trek toward the town square.
George also stood, and waited by the door as Niki washed away the remains of tears and fixed her hair. Together they joined the crowd streaming into the streets.
Following the river of people, they stuck together until they reached the square and stopped at a checkpoint, where peacekeepers identified them. As they entered the square, Wilbur took him and Niki into a right hug, not saying anything. George understood anyway and with his head raised, he joined the other eighteen-year-old in their pen.
Everything seemed to move in a blur around him as more and more people joined the square and more kids entered the fenced-off area. Not acknowledging anyone, George took the time to look around the square instead, taking it all in. Storefronts displaying meat, electronics, cake, all detailing a comfortable life, and yet not even their children were spared from the Reaping.
When people stopped trickling into the square, the mayor stood up, followed by the Capital representative and the last surviving victor of District 3, the others dead of old age or drug overdoses.
Philza was a hefty blonde man, whose eyes were usually twinkling with amusement or kindness, though right now the eyes were grim as they swept throughout the crowd. He looked over the assembled children and George was close enough to see the stony set of his face.
As the mayor began the dull speech about the creation of Panem and the Capital's victory over the rebels almost a century ago, George didn't even bother to take it in at all. Instead, he examines the Capital representative.
By Capital standards, this man looked relatively normal, especially compared to the previous one who looked like the demonic clowns that George saw from the movies he pirated. The man had bright orange hair with little tuffs of the hair shaped like pointed ears and a pale angular face with an orange goatee. The only thing that looked remotely engineered was his eyes, which were brown and too animalistic to be natural. As George watched, the man's gaze swiveled to his for a split second.
After fifteen more minutes of the mind-numbing speech, the mayor stepped back, allowing the Capital official to step up to the microphone, causing the queasy feeling in George's stomach to intensify violently.
"Morning, fine people of District 3," the man said in a smooth Capital accent. "My name is Fundy and I will be the one representing and guiding the tributes from your lovely district from now on." He paused for a second and then continued, saying the words that George had been dreading all week. "And now without further ado, we will now begin the selection for the 98th Hunger Games." Fundy leaned closer to the mike, giving a feral smile that showed his sharp canines.
"May the odds be ever in your favor."
