Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Diana Cohen!”

For a second, Diana thought she had misheard, but no - the giant television screens that dotted the giant field right outside Six’s Centre were all showing her ID photo. Back when she had been twelve, there had been no televisions. Not like it made much of a difference. Before, she had wondered why nobody ever tried to just not go up, but the thought of staying put didn’t even enter her mind now. She just walked. What else was she supposed to do?

Even as Diana began to walk to the stage, she couldn’t believe it. Was she having a nightmare?

“Rafael Sanchez, ID number 093489236!” No photo for him, only the number.

Well, this would take a while, especially if Rafael Sanchez had not brought his documents or did not know his number by heart. Diana looked around her for the first time, noticing how the mass of other girls were trying to not look at her. Then it hit her. She nearly tripped as the realization hit that she was going to die next week. It was absurd, her mind refused to process it, but there was nothing she could do about it. She hated those girls. Why did it have to be her? This was her last Reaping, she should have been free now! She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, she suddenly needed to pee.

The walk passed as in a fog, and suddenly, Diana was mounting the stairs as a group of younger boys descended from the stage. None of them were the right one. One by one, boys walked up to the stage and had their blood taken again, sighing in relief when told they could go. Diana envied and hated them.

“Please, everyone called Rafael Sanchez - or Rafa, or anything else of the sort - please come up here,” the escort chirped into the microphone. Eleftherios Sokullu, or Elly as he usually introduced himself, was an average-sized man with light-brown skin, blue eyes that were probably contact lenses, and a short beard dyed rainbow, as was his shoulder-length hair. His suit was an odd shade of blue. Ever since Elly had come to Six a couple years back, Diana had wondered if he knew his first name was Greek and his last name was Turkish, or that the two countries hated each other.

Oh, what did it matter what Greece and Turkey thought of each other? They clearly didn’t think much about Panem, which was why Diana was going to die next week. Despite the extreme heat, she realized she was shaking. She hated herself for that, hated how afraid she was. Only cowards sat around whimpering when the nation called. Her relatives had been heroes in the Dark Days, and Diana hated herself for not being as heroic as them. She was simply scared.

She wouldn’t even get to say goodbye to her family, friends, coworkers, neighbours - anybody. Diana couldn’t imagine dying, the mental image stubbornly refused to form, but logically, she knew that she was a goner. Diana desperately tried to hold back tears. She wouldn’t give up now. She’d just keep on going, and when she died, it’s not like she would care at that point. She may have gone to synagogue every so often, which was why she knew about other countries (the rabbi corresponded with cousins in Israel), but she didn’t actually believe. Diana wished she could believe there would be something after this, but she just couldn’t.

Finally, the correct Rafael Sanchez was identified. He was also eighteen and dressed similar to her, in clothes that were fine and in good repair but not particularly expensive, by general standards. His shirt was white while hers was black, their shoes could have come from the same shop, and he wore somewhat loose-fitting trousers while she wore the baggy skirt she wore to synagogue that brushed the toes of her shoes. Rafael was probably about a metre sixty-five to her metre fifty-five, their skin was the same light-brown and their hair the same black, their short curly hair was cut in basically the same way and their builds were similar, though he was definitely scrawnier than her. The only difference was that Rafael had a short beard which made him look older than his age.

The Treaty of Treason was recited and they were bundled off to the closest Justice Building, where they were supposed to be visited. This Justice Building was very similar to the one she had gone to a few times with her family to get paperwork registered and whatever. But there was no family here. Only a parade of functionaries.

“Thank you for your sacrifice,” the District Mayor said.

“Thank you for your sacrifice,” the city mayor said.

“Thank you for your sacrifice,” the Head Peacekeeper said.

Diana felt like she should have been awed to be in the presence of such important people, but she only wanted to shout at them. She wasn’t dead yet! Then, they left, leaving her alone in the room.

Diana was resigned to being stuck alone with her thoughts, but to her surprise, the moment she leaned back on the soft couch, a middle-aged Jewish man, that being obvious from his kippah, appeared.

“Hello, Diana,” he said gently. “I’m Rabbi Miller. Rabbi Simon asked me to visit you.”

Of course he had. “Thank you,” Diana said. “But I don’t think you can help me.”

“On the contrary,” Rabbi Miller said, leaning closer to her, “I can. Let me give you some advice. In your interview, you need to make your Jewishness obvious. Not to the point where everyone realizes what’s going on, but if you allude to speaking Hebrew or recite a line of prayer, every single Jewish person will rush to sponsor you.”

Diana shook her head. “Me instead of their Tributes?” In school and at work, everyone had always told them to donate for Six.

“Of course. Do you know this Rafael Sanchez?”

“No.”

“Neither does the vast majority of the District. It is an atomized world we live in, Diana. Anything that makes people feel like you are one of them, anything that makes them feel connected to you, will make a difference. Remember how Tributes appeal for support? They mention things they like, the job they do, the social roles they have. You will be at an advantage because you will be appealing to something that has, in part, an actual network. There has never been a Jewish tribute before, the numbers are too small, so it will be totally new, every single synagogue will be fundraising for you.”

“So what do I do?” Diana asked even though she knew Rabbi Miller could hardly help her in the Arena.

“Do what you must to survive, and know that we are with you every step of the way.”

Diana nodded. “It’s alright to kill people in the Games, right?” All of a sudden, she wanted to know the answer to that.

Rabbi Miller just looked at her. “Will my answer change what you already think?”

“Well, no,” Diana had to admit. She knew full well that even if it was wrong, she’d do it without blinking. Anything to stay alive.

“Here,” he said, and gave her a well-worn siddur. “Rabbi Simon told me you can read Hebrew. He told me your family attends services but doesn’t truly believe, but I hope that the prayers will be a source of comfort, or at least routine, nevertheless.”

“Thank you.” Diana flipped through the prayer-book and put it in her skirt pocket. “Do you have any more advice?”

Rabbi Miller glanced towards the door. “So much I wish I could tell you. For now - do you have any wishes for your funeral?”

Diana felt like she had been punched in the stomach. Logically, she knew she had no chances, but she was still furious that even Rabbi Miller was telling her to prepare for death. “No. Just bury me in the Tribute graveyard like anyone else.”

“Is there anyone you would like to speak or-.”

“No!” Diana snapped. “Figure it out yourselves. I won’t be around to care anyway.”

“Alright.” Diana was surprised he just let it go, but maybe it was because of how little time they had together. “And don’t worry about your family. We’ll help them.”

Diana really didn’t want to think about that. “Thank you.”

“Don’t give up now,” Rabbi Miller said, noticing how she was feeling. “Your odds are already quite high. You’re eighteen, as are more than half of Victors, and you will have plenty of sponsors.”

He wasn’t wrong, there were twice as many eighteen-year-old Victors as seventeen-year-old ones. Given the income of the average Tribute, that extra year usually made a big difference. “But I’m not strong, I don’t know how to fight.”

“Half of the Victors are boys, half are girls. What does that tell you?”

“That just physical strength isn’t much of an advantage. But I don’t know how to fight.” Not for real.

“You can learn during training. Remember, everyone else is as unprepared as you and the Careers are just six people. Plus, they only won once in the past ten years. They seem to be dominant because they always make it into the top eight, but the Gamemakers like creating surprises. Terrain matters. Weather matters. Keep going, Diana. Don’t die before you have to.”

That, at least, she could do.

The train was fantastically luxurious, like something from a movie. Diana and Rafael were brought in by Elly and taken for lunch, which was already laid out.

“Where are our mentors?” Rafael asked. He had a heavy Spanish accent.

“They’ll be here soon.”

Diana wasn’t so sure. In sixty years of the Hunger Games, Six had won three times. Luisa Moreno had won the Fourteenth Games and died something like ten years later of complications to her injuries, leaving Diana and Rafael with Blake Young and Maria Popescu. Young had won the Twenty-Fifth - ‘everyone knew’ he had been voted in by the parents of his classmates, as he had been a serial rapist, and rumour had it he had been castrated after his victory. More plausible were the rumours that both he and Popescu, who had won in the Fifty-Third, were addicted to opiates. Young had won in a barren Arena by being the most vicious fighter in an Arena of everyone from other rapists to gang leaders, and Popescu had won in a lush forest by charming enough sponsors to get herself food and water, getting her hands on a knife at the Cornucopia, and winning all the fights she got into skulking around the woods. The second option seemed more likely for Diana.

“Let’s eat,” Elly said.

There was a massive amount of food. Diana’s family was hardly poor, she had never been hungry in her life, but what they ate was cheap, monotonous, and often flavourless, the opposite of this, and while her parents had given her and Leonella food and money for the trip - they had taken the special train yesterday evening - that had all been used up that morning, so she was very hungry. She got herself a bowl of beans, rice, and a bunch of different vegetables she couldn’t recognize. Rafael did likewise, and Elly focused on his cell phone. Over the past few years, the richest people in the city had been getting those, but Diana’s family were factory workers and mechanics. Diana had been getting an apprenticeship in boilermaking.

That was irrelevant now. Diana ate her beans and rice, which were amazingly flavourful, and tried not to cry. When she finished, she took a blueberry bagel and ate it, too. It was tough on the inside and soft inside, and had a lot of blueberries. There was a wide variety of fresh fruit available, all cut up into small pieces. Diana ate a funny-looking large red berry with a tough skin that looked like a gooseberry, a peach quarter, a piece of what must have been pineapple, and a little white fruit she had to clean of its tough pink rind.

“Let’s watch the recap, then?” Elly offered. He turned on the television and left. Diana looked at Rafael, who also looked confused, and focused on the screen.

In One, there were two volunteers, like always. In the past few years, the Careers had become far less fearsome than before. Granted, they had always been the targets of a disproportional amount of Gamemaker traps, but now, they were awful at any kind of survival skills, often couldn’t even climb a tree, and didn’t know how to swim. Nobody had any idea what had happened there, but Diana was glad for anything that made her opponents weaker.

In Two, more volunteers. In Three, the boy was seventeen and the girl eighteen, and they looked to be quite poor. From Four, volunteers. From Five, the girl was fourteen and the boy fifteen. Those were both goners. Only three fifteen-year-olds had ever won, and all had been fully grown by that point. Strength did matter, to a certain extent. It was just that so much was determined by the Arena and how the Gamemakers were feeling, just being a boy Career was only an advantage, not a guarantee. That was why boys and girls were thrown in together, unlike in sports, where you were divided once you got to twelve - bone density and musculature meant nothing when you had a sprained ankle and were malnourished and exhausted. The reason for the age range was the Dark Days. If twelve-year-olds had been called up to fight side-by-side with adults back in the day, they could do it here. Even if there was a big difference between war and the Hunger Games.

They were next. Diana was surprised to see herself looking so calm. Then came the rest, with no surprises. This year, there was a twelve-year-old, the boy from Ten. Diana’s younger sister Leonella loved math (which was why at fifteen, she was still in academic school, unlike Diana who had finished elementary and gone to trade school) and had done the numbers. Given the cumulative slips, and presuming the same number of kids in each age cohort, the chance of a twelve-year-old being picked was 3.5%, or one out of twenty-eight, which meant that there would be one kid that age picked most years. Of course, a quarter of the time, someone would volunteer for them. Conversely, the odds of it being an eighteen-year-old were a quarter. Even assuming the volunteers were all replacing younger kids, that would be half the field being eighteen, so the odds of a Victor that age were still disproportionate to their amount in the Arena.

The girl from Ten was fourteen but strong-looking. The girl from Eleven was eighteen and the boy was fifteen, both short and scrawny. Both from Twelve were seventeen. Purely from the point of view of strength, Diana could probably take all of the non-Career girls in an unarmed fight, and all of the boys fifteen and under. The problem was that the fight could easily be not so even.

They sat there for a while, watching television. Eventually, Elly came back and told them to go sleep. Wasn’t he and the Mentors supposed to be helping them? Full of rage and fury, Diana wasn’t sure if she’d be able to sleep, but she eventually was.

When she woke up, Diana said morning prayers, more out of lack of anything else to do than conviction. She went into the nice bathroom, which had no mold or silverfish, and washed herself with the warm water and a bar of soap. It was hard to enjoy the warmth. Diana was going to die and there was nothing she could do about it.

Just days ago, someone had come to the factory and talked to the adolescent workers and apprentices about how they were supposed to hope they would be Reaped, and Diana had ignored him, certain that her name would never be drawn. It was so unfair that she only had seven slips in there and one of them was the one picked by Elly. When Diana had been little, she had daydreamed about going to the Games, but she had been too small then to grasp the certainty of death that waited, and she had never been one of those people who wanted to die. The Games had always just been there, something that happened to other people. Nobody had ever been Reaped from her school, her work, or her neighbourhood. Even Mom, who was always scared of everything, had simply waved when Diana and Leonella had left the apartment yesterday evening to head for the train station.

When she had been little, Diana and her friends had played ‘Hunger Games’ in the lot encircled by several apartment buildings including hers, chasing each other like in tag but fighting to decide who would be ‘it’ next. At school around this time, all the teachers talked about the glory of the Games. Diana didn’t want to imagine what Leonella was thinking right now. Every year, the families appeared on television to talk about how proud they were that their child was a Tribute and how glad they were that they were going to die in such a glorious way. It hit Diana now that they had all been lying. Sure, her family would be proud, but she couldn’t imagine them being glad.

Despite the hot water, Diana felt cold and she had to fight back tears. What would her relatives have thought had they seen her now? They would have been so disappointed to know their descendant was such a weak coward.

Diana stood there for a while, eventually calming down enough to make a plan. Do everything she could to gain sponsors, both the usual way and by speaking Hebrew. Learn to fight in training - sponsors could send her water and if it came to it a person could live a long time without food, but if she couldn’t fight with weapons, any encounter with another Tribute would probably be her last. Also learn first aid, because supplies could be sent in but she’d need to know how to use them. Hope for an Arena where it was possible to hide. And don’t die before death. For now, she was alive, and when it ended, she wouldn’t be thinking in any case.

Of course, slow death was always possible, but Diana didn’t think about that, just as she didn’t think about a potentially deadly Arena where she’d have no idea where it was safe to step.

Breakfast was as massive as dinner. The food was completely different, unlike at home where breakfast was leftovers from dinner, so Diana took the most inoffensive-looking things - a boiled egg, an apple, bread with peanut butter and redcurrant jam, tea. Once again, she and Rafael ate without looking at each other, but this time, the Mentors finally arrived. The rumours about Young’s castration were either nonsense or he was on testosterone, because his physique was very male, slender, sunken-chested, and with a pointed jaw, he had stubble on his drawn cheeks, and his short grey hair was receding. Popescu looked neater, either because she had no facial hair to act as indicator or because she was younger, though her equally short hair was mostly white. Diana had heard people refer to them as ‘morphlings’, but that had to be a mix-up. In her parts, morphling was bathtub desomorphine that caused massive infections and rapid death because of its toxic impurities, but some people from out of town called any opioid addicts morphlings, and some even called morphine morphling, which was confusing as hell. Young and Popescu were probably morphlings in the latter sense, there was no way Victors would be buying low-quality stuff - and besides, actual morphlings only lived for a couple of years at most.

“So, are you going to help us?” Rafael demanded.

Popescu looked at him, then at Diana, and flapped her hand. “No point to it.”

Rafael got up and stormed from the table. Diana seethed but continued to eat. Back home she didn’t listen to the drunks and old people by the building entrance commenting on her personal life, and she wasn’t going to listen to Popescu, either. She wasn’t going to give up just like that.

“I need another dose,” Young said, reaching into his pocket. As Diana watched in horror, he actually proceeded to inject himself right at the table. His arm was covered with tiny faint scars - definitely using quality product, then. Elly put on headphones and listened to music instead. Diana realized that Rabbi Miller had been right. They had no connection to her, no reason to care or to try on her behalf. She needed to reach the people who would.

The train began to slow down, and Diana heard cheering. Heart hammering, she approached the window and saw a massive crowd. It was just like when important people came to her city and everyone was forced to show up and applaud enthusiastically. Someone noticed her and waved to her, and she waved back. The train then pulled into the station, from where she and Rafael were taken in separate directions. Presumably they were going to be prepared somehow for the Tribute Parade, but Diana had no idea what that would look like.

The preparation turned out to be something like what the person who oversaw her apprenticeship program said about the spa vacations he went on. Diana was scrubbed down, her hair was washed and trimmed in a way that made her short curls look elegantly voluminous instead of a chaotic mess, and most of her body hair was removed. At least it wasn’t all, because if there had been a need to remove her pubic hair, she would have begun to worry about being sent out in the carriage naked. That happened sometimes - last year, it had been the Ones to go out wearing only gold dust (nice, but Grandpa had nearly exploded), and a few years back, the Twelves had gone out covered in coal dust (they had been underweight, so not so nice).

The cleaning was done by three people wearing smocks over simple shirts and trousers made from cheap-looking brightly dyed material, like what hospital staff wore, and with very expensive body mods of the sort Diana usually associated with young government functionaries and professionals. They also wore thick rubber gloves and masks, probably in case someone had lice or was contagious. They worked in silence for a very long time before passing her over to a doctor, who looked her over, checked her eyes and blood, gave her an injection that would make her skip her next period (which was a relief, because there wouldn’t be pads in the Arena), and perfunctorily asked how she was feeling. Once she left, Diana was alone in the room in a bathrobe, stinging all over from her plucked eyebrows to her trimmed toenails. The bathrobe was unbelievably soft. Diana fidgeted with the sleeves as she waited for the stylist.

The stylist, an unbelievably beautiful tall woman with long coily yellow hair in an impossibly neat dandelion puff and an elegant white suit came in, introduced herself as Michelle Warner, and hung an outfit covered up in the fabric thing you put over your best clothes on a hook. Warner was familiar to Diana, she had been a stylist for Six for something like ten years now, her originally dark-brown skin overtaken with more and more patches of albino white with each Games. She probably wanted to go home and nap. How long had it taken her to make the outfit? Even presuming several had been made in different sizes and a team had been altering the closest one since yesterday, that still had to be a lot of work.

Was it really yesterday that the Reaping had happened? It felt more like eternity.

“First off,” Warner said, “I just want to thank you for your sacrifice. I have a cousin who died a few years ago fighting a band of terrorists - I know it’s not easy. But the nation calls, whether we want it or not.”

Diana wondered what that cousin had done to be dragged into a recruitment centre. Back home, the local Peacekeeper had joined up after her parents failed to make three mortgage payments in a row. “Thank you.” She hated being here, hated knowing she was going the same way as so many of her family members. “I had relatives who fought in the Dark Days.”

“I’m sure they’re very proud of you.”

Diana could only nod. The terror was back. They were dead, and so would she soon be.

“Now, why don’t we eat some lunch while I figure out some last-minute things?”

“Sure. I haven’t had anything since breakfast.”

“How does noodle soup sound?”

“I’d like that.”

“Is there anything you don’t like?”

“Pork and seafood, but seaweed’s okay.” Mom had terrified her when she had been small with stories about people eating undercooked pork and ending up with worms crawling out of their butt, and Diana had seen the state of seafood at the market. Dried or pickled seaweed was fine, but seeing someone peddle nasty-looking fish had put her off it forever. Preserved fish was okay, too, but it was too hard to explain every time, so she usually just said she didn’t like seafood. They couldn’t afford to have it that much in any case.

“How about beef and vegetables in a beef broth?”

“Sure.” There was this one butcher they went to who mentioned ahead of time when they were doing the killing, so you could get it very fresh. Usually, Diana’s family ate meat once a week, on Sundays, their only day off. Grandpa was always grumbling about being forced to live by the Christian calendar.

Warner took out her phone and texted someone. “Now, let me think. You and the boy have similar skin colours, so we won’t try anything contrasting. Your hair is magnificent, but it’s too short to play around much with, we’ll keep it as is. Do you mind taking off your bathrobe?”

It felt weird to be naked in such a context. All her clothes were made by her parents and Grandpa, and they allowed her to measure herself if she needed to be undressed for it.

“Lovely figure, just lovely.” Warner jotted something down in her notebook. “We can work with this, draw every eye.”

That made Diana feel really uncomfortable. Technically, she was still underage, if by less than a year, and she had grown up with old people on benches accusing anyone who dared wear short shorts of ‘moral decay’. Now Warner wanted to make her look sexy so that random rich people could ogle her.

Her feelings must have appeared on her face, because Warner then asked, “Has nobody ever told you before that you’re beautiful?”

“Of course, but it’d be really weird if your own family called you ugly, and if my partners were willing to date me, they had to think I was attractive.”

Warner laughed. “Did you get around?”

“I guess.” She wasn’t one of those people who married the first person they ever dated.

The soup then arrived, but it wasn’t just soup - there was also a little white bun with a bit of butter, seaweed salad, vegetable salad, a donut, and a glass of mineral water.

“Alright, why don’t we eat now. Put your robe back on.”

Diana ate the delicious meal as Warner wrote stuff down. The stylist then called someone on the phone, discussed makeup, and went back to writing. Finally, she got up and took the outfit from its hook and gave it to Diana. It was a sort of robe or wrap in metallic colouring.

“Let’s get this on you.”

First was the bottom layer - underpants, thin ankle-high socks, and strapless bra - and then the robe itself, which was way more complicated than it looked. Diana put it on with the stylist’s help, as well as a pair of black running shoes, so she could stand comfortably. The other three then came back, did some last-minute adjustments, and did a bunch of stuff to her hair and face. Diana wondered how long it took to become a makeup artist. Was it something you got an apprenticeship in, or was it more informal? Did people apply to work with Tributes? Was it a matter of connections?

Once they were done, she was unrecognizable, with heavy makeup around her eyes making her look completely different. The stylist hadn’t lied, the wrap was draped in a way that showed off her best features. It was far more revealing than anything she had ever worn, leaving her arms and shoulders completely bare, emphasizing her chest and hips, leaving her stomach bare (Diana had never considered her stomach particularly noteworthy, but apparently it was), wrapping around her legs, and falling down in waves to cover her feet, eliminating the need for nice shoes. In a few days, her upper-class peers would dress like this for their graduation balls. In a few years, Grandpa would do his best making something (far more chaste) for Leonella, but his creations could never match this. Few got to wear high fashion. Only rich people and Tributes.

Diana took a few steps forwards and backwards, making sure she could walk. It fit surprisingly well, and she looked great. Back home, everyone at the club would have been falling over her.

“It looks great, but what does it have to do with Six?”

“It’s the colour of steel.” That made sense. “Is there anything in your old clothes you would like to take as your token?”

“Yes,” Diana said. She had been wondering if she should speak up about that. “The little book in my skirt pocket.”

“Alright, let’s go,” the stylist said. Diana was led to a basement of sorts where the others were just starting to congregate. She got onto the correct chariot and waited. Rafael appeared shortly afterwards, dressed and made up identically (except that his wrap covered more of him - did his stylist deem him unappealing?) and missing his beard.

“They made me shave,” he complained. “I look awful like this. Why did they do this?”

Diana didn’t want to talk to someone who had to die for her to live. She ignored him, and he said nothing afterwards.

A few minutes later, they were off. Once again, there was a large cheering crowd assembled. It was similar to how once, they had all been gathered to cheer for the capture of a group of terrorists - they were supposed to be happy someone was going to die. At least with terrorists it made sense. Diana was officially here to expiate the nation’s sins through noble combat and heroic death. Shouldn’t it have been more solemn, or something?

Diana wished she could beam like the boy from Two, but her mouth didn’t do that, so she moved the corners of her lips in a small smile, looked at the crowd, and waved. She tried to be flirty, but that was hard when the person wasn’t right in front of her. Any little thing to make them like her. She wasn’t as scared now, it was impossible to stay scared for long. She just stood there, acutely aware that only one of them was going to survive, and it was probably not going to be her, but she’d be damned if she gave up now.

Absurdly, she noted to herself that out of the non-Careers, she was probably the most uncovered, and wondered if Grandpa was having that coronary he had always promised to have when Diana wanted to go out dressed in something that didn’t comply with his standards. Mom had constantly warned her about serial rapists sure to be lurking everywhere (Diana had never seen any), and Dad and Leonella, who inhabited a separate universe most of the time, only scratched their heads, unable to understand why Diana wanted to go out instead of drinking chicory and watching television.

Diana forced herself to stop thinking about her family and focus on her competition. On one of the massive screens, she could see that the boy from Ten was sitting on the shoulders of his female counterpart. Much to her own surprise, all Diana felt was a cold, haughty disdain.

Oh, you think you can upstage the rest of us? I’ll show you! I’m the one who will get the sponsors, I’m the one who will have people from all over the nation cheering for me, I’m the one who stands more than a snowball’s chance in hell! Why don’t you cry over each other’s deaths!

Diana recognized the irrationality of her thoughts, but did not try to chase them away. All the veterans said that you could not think of your enemy as human.

After the parade, Diana, Rafael, and Elly took the elevator with the delegations from One and Twelve. The Ones were talking in Spanish to their escort, a short and whip-slender man with his hair in little braids, and their Mentors, whom Diana sort of recognized. They wore knee-length skirts that went well with their skin, silvery for the girl and black for the boy, the girl also had jewelled pasties covering her nipples, their short hair had frosted tips, and they had designs drawn on their skin with that same silvery and black colours and gems that had to be fake. Diana couldn’t appreciate the sight, because seeing their muscular bodies reminded her of how much stronger they were than her. The Twelves were silent, wore jumpsuits and headlamps (the boy’s stylist had dropped the ball here, Diana knew that in some places, miners worked naked or nearly naked and he definitely had the physique to not look too shabby uncovered) and looked as scared as Rafael. Once the Ones departed, none of them said anything.

The rooms Diana and Rafael had were even fancier than the train. “Leave your clothes in the bathroom,” Elly said. “Someone will come by to pick them up.”

Diana gladly went to shower. It felt so fantastic that she had a bathroom all to her own and didn’t have to share the moldy shower with the entire corridor. There were a bunch of buttons and levers with pictograms on them that made no sense. But then again, not very many people back home were literate. Mom and Dad couldn’t read more than numbers and store names and had to fall back on ‘the one with the yellow sign’ half the time, anyway.

There was an array of little bottles along one of the walls, each with pictograms in case someone had never seen shampoo before. On the train, Diana had used a bar of soap for everything like always, but now, she tried out the actual hair products, feeling like a rich person. When she stepped out, she wrapped herself in a soft towel and used an electric dryer that blew hot air at her head. Fancy. In her room, she found a bunch of basic clothing in her size. It all felt off. Everything she had worn before had been made for her (the perks of being the eldest), and now that she wasn’t growing anymore, fit her just right, with the correct amount of looseness where she liked it. Aside from the underpants, this was all too tight or too weird or too something else. Diana eventually settled on a bra on an elastic, a sleeveless T-shirt, and loose trackies, as well as slippers.

In the main room, there was nobody except Elly. “The boy’s gone to sleep. Since there’s so few of us, we’re not having dinner together. Just order something if you want. There’s a thing in your room on the table - just talk into the microphone.”

Diana was tired, but she was definitely very hungry. “That sounds good.”

Elly smiled and picked up his book. Diana went to her room and found the contraption. “Um, hello,” she said into the microphone. This was as bad as talking on the phone when one of Mom’s ten thousand friends called while she was out.

“Hello,” a voice said. “What would you like?” The man spoke like no Capitolite she had ever heard. Diana slapped her forehead - of course rich Capitolites didn’t talk like the workers.

“Um, um-” What did she want? Shit. She should have planned this out. “Once at the wedding of one of my cousins there were these vegetable rolls wrapped in rice paper, and a sweet-and-sour sauce,” she stuttered out with difficulty.

“Would you like anything besides vegetables in the roll? Mushrooms-”

“Yeah, mushrooms would be great.”

“What kind?”

“Whatever’s already ready.”

“Does black fungus sound good?”

What? That sounded like something you found under a leaking sink. “Sure.”

“Anything else?”

Diana was too tired. “No.”

“How many would you like?”

“How big are they?”

“About fifteen centimetres long and three in diameter.”

Diana really wanted to make an inappropriate joke. “I’ll take one. And the sauce.”

“Sounds good, give us a few minutes.”

As promised, the roll arrived just minutes later. Diana had barely had the time to explore her room and turn all the lamps on and off. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.”

Diana ate the delicious roll, brushed her teeth, and got ready for bed.

Chapter Text

The bed was really comfy, but Diana still woke up early out of habit. She wondered if she should shower again and decided to do it, because she could. As she put her toothbrush back on its little shelf, she wondered what would happen to it once she was gone. Probably thrown out. The staff would definitely steal the toothpaste, though. One of Diana’s friends worked in a hotel and he was always showing off the half-empty bottles of expensive hair conditioner and partially used bars of soap.

Much to her surprise, back in her room, an outfit was already lying on the bed, chosen for her. Black tracksuit bottoms and a red long-sleeved shirt with ‘6’ on the back, as well as black running shoes and white underwear and black socks. Diana put it on, and it fortunately fit right, even if the sleeves were a bit too close-fitting.

In the main room, the Mentors still hadn’t deigned to show up. At least Elly was there, lying on the couch with his book and a cup of tea. “Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning. When’s training?”

“Not for a while - it starts at ten.” There were hours until then. “You can eat, by the way.”

Diana took some food and sat down. Two Avoxes stood at the ends of the laden table, making her shiver. On one of her first dates, they had gone to see a movie about two Avoxes, one who remained a traitor and one who became loyal, and at the end, the unrepentant traitor tried to blow up a subway tunnel. She knew nothing else about Avoxes. The two here looked like they were from a desperately poor background, they were stooped and rickety. Traitorous Peacekeepers? But surely unreliable people wouldn’t be allowed into such a prestigious posting as this.

“So what do we do today?”

“Once it gets closer to ten, go to the first basement floor - that’s the green button in the elevator. That’s where you’ll train.”

“Any advice?” Diana wished her Mentors were there instead of off somewhere getting high.

Elly spread out his hands. “Try to do the things that might be useful.”

Great. Not seeing anything else to do, Diana picked out breakfast. First, she got a bowl of oatmeal with spices, honey, dried fruits, and blackcurrant jam that was the sweetest thing she had ever tried in her life. She then took a solid slice of black loaf bread with a fried egg, the bread nothing like what Diana usually thought of as black loaf bread, flavourful and delicious and with a pleasant texture instead of a lump of ‘eat potatoes if you don’t like this’.

Grandpa was still hopping mad at the memory of the ex-city mayor saying ‘if you can’t afford bread, just eat potatoes’, and that had been thirty years ago. Diana wasn’t sure why - Tyro Small hadn’t been wrong, potatoes were cheaper than bread.

Diana looked around the table and settled on a piece of salty, crumbly cheese. Next, she took a banana, and after that - a piece of light flatbread with chickpea dip. She was beginning to feel full, so she finished that off with a piece of chocolate. Chocolate was her favourite food, but she only got to eat it a few times a year.

Diana watched television (it was all Games content, of course) and stared out the window until Rafael showed up. He must have taken the opposite route as her and slept in when he got the chance. The centre of the Capitol looked quite bright, but off in the distance, she could see greyness. Was Leonella scrutinizing the Tributes as always, making preliminary guesses at who had a chance, or was it too hard this year?

The coverage was fairly typical and yielded nothing of particular importance. The boy from One may have been born on a cocoa plantation, but everyone knew full well he hadn’t worked there since a young age. Diana herself wasn’t talked about much. The program hosts remarked on her looking relatively fit, speculated if her elementary-school diploma would help (no, unless gym class counted), whether her apprenticeship would help (also no) and tried to estimate how much money her family could raise (a decent amount).

“Do we know if she has a significant other?” one host asked another. Diana cringed. She didn’t want this talked about on national television.

“Not at the moment, as far as we could tell.”

“Well, let’s hope she’s on good terms with her exes. Any donor can be crucial.”

The one thing she did have in spades were exes, but Diana doubted they had much money to contribute.

“Go now.” Elly’s voice tore Diana from her thoughts. Rafael had already finished eating and was lying on the couch. “No harm in being early.”

Diana and Rafael went down in silence. They were alone in the elevator, going down floor by floor until it reached B1. The doors opened to a small corridor that led right to the large, well, training centre. The Fours were already there, as was the instructor, a man a little bit shorter than her but with really broad shoulders. He wore an NCIA uniform and a patch of Unit 3214. A real fighter, a counter-terrorist operative, not like the corrupt Peacekeepers back home who’d have you shot for treason because you called the mayor an idiot while standing in a queue.

Bit by bit, more Tributes trickled in. Diana made sure to stand like she did when seeing thugs lurking around. Yeah, she wasn’t particularly big, but if you looked like you would fight back, that put off a lot of people. Even the toughest toughs preferred to go after those who looked like they wouldn’t fight back.

Diana’s initial observations were confirmed. She could have taken any of the non-Career girls right now with her bare hands, and the younger boys as well. Even those her age looked completely freaked out. This was not the time to freak out. Besides, they looked like they had already been destroyed by the hard work they did. Diana was so grateful to her family for making her go to school. She was well-fed and didn’t have any chronic injuries, wasn’t coughing from silicosis or byssinosis or plain old TB, stood straight, and didn’t resemble a skeleton like so many of the adolescent boys back home. Everyone knew that workers were stronger than middle-class people, but it took longer for working-class youths to grow and, especially in rural regions, starting heavy work too early made you weak. Two of the Tributes were wearing glasses all of a sudden. Malnutrition was bad for the eyes, too. The boy from Nine seemed to already have skin cancer. Well, it’s not like it mattered now. Diana wondered how many of them had AIDS, or hepatitis, or a hundred other viral diseases.

“Alright!” the NCIA operative said once the last two, the Sevens, showed up. “I’m Aulus, head trainer here and in the NCIA academy. First, I just want to thank you for your sacrifice.” For fuck’s sake, was everyone going to say that? “You will be here for two and a half days and then have a chance to demonstrate your skills in front of a panel of Gamemakers. You can use whichever station you want for as long as you want. No fighting each other, that’s what the Arena’s for. Lunch will be served at 13:00 right here. Good luck!”

And that was that. Diana immediately went to the first aid station and spent the morning learning how to treat various injuries, from burns to sprains to getting your hand bitten off. The instructor demonstrated different medical supplies and explained how expensive they were relative to each other. Some were so expensive, he showed different ways to use cheaper materials for a similar effect. Diana really hoped she would never need to tourniquet one of her arms. The real, Peacekeeper-grade one could be put on one-handed, it was specifically made for that, but it would cost a fortune.

As Diana practiced, she also studied her enemies. The Careers spent their time messing around with the heavy weapons, with the girl from One probably the most terrifying - at her metre eighty-five and with her broad shoulders, she could effortlessly draw the large bow and hit bullseye from every distance. Diana would have to avoid her like the plague. The boy from Four was a master with spears, but that didn’t seem quite as scary as the arrows zipping by too fast to see. The Tributes from One barely spoke English and needed the boy from Four to interpret for them.

A few of the others were too disoriented to do more than wander around. Some went for the survival stations, clearly hoping they would be able to outlast somehow. No chance of that. The lowest number of kills by a Victor was two, and besides, three days wasn’t enough to learn how to forage, Mom and Dad still asked Grandpa to confirm that the mushrooms were edible and they were in their late thirties. A few of the younger kids were sticking together. They spent maybe half an hour at the first aid station before leaving. Diana spoke to nobody and nobody spoke to her.

A gong sounded, calling them to lunch. Diana was hungry by now, so she gladly went to a little side room with food on carts around the walls and tables in the middle. Weirdly enough, there was no meat available, which you wouldn’t expect at such a fancy place, especially in a situation where there was no host who might have a weak stomach or whatever else. Had someone skimmed the budget? Well, no big deal, Diana was used to eating very little meat. She got herself a bowl of lentil stew, baked and fresh vegetables, an orange, a boiled egg, and a peanut butter and blueberry jam sandwich. She ate alone, keeping a distance from the others and trying to project an aura of solidity and calm. After lunch, she went back to the first aid station.

The next two days, she spent trying out different foods and learning how to fight with various knives. The instructor warned her that a knife-on-knife fight was likely to kill both participants, but there was always sneaking up on people. She wouldn’t be capable of fighting an armed adversary, but it was better than nothing. Three days really wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. With half an hour remaining in the morning, the instructor said that she was as good as someone could be with so little training and suggested she look around the other stations.

Diana wanted to keep going, but she was also very tired and didn’t think it would make sense to keep on sparring. She drank some water at a fountain and walked around, taking note of what everyone was doing, whether they were obviously panicking or focused or, in the case of the Careers, messing around. Diana tried the climbing wall, which was fun but had nothing in common with potential climbable obstacles. A few years back, the boy from Eleven tried to get away from the pack by scaling a cliff, but the higher he had gotten, the fewer holds there had been, and eventually he got to a place where he couldn’t go up and couldn’t go down, either. Even edited down, his terror and eventual fall had been hard to watch.

Diana tried to snap out of her thoughts by trying out knife-throwing, which was right next to the axe-throwing, which the Careers had occupied. Diana didn’t expect much from her throws and got exactly that. Her knife, if she got one, would be staying in her hand.

“That was awful,” the girl from Four said with a smirk.

Diana was a bit taken aback - on the television, the Careers were cool and businesslike and, at most, a little bit arrogant, but never mocking. Still, she knew what to do. Last year, when she had been lifting weights in a friend’s garage, someone had made fun of her for lifting small weights, and she had retorted that his face wouldn’t have looked so pretty anymore when she smashed her two-kilo weight into it.

He had beaten her up later, so maybe antagonism wasn’t the way to go. And in any case, the other Careers were carefully ignoring them.

“No big deal,” Diana said. “Just playing around. I’ll show you what’s what in the Arena.” She then went to the fire-making station to watch Tributes struggle to light fires. Diana knew how to make fire with matches, so in the event the Arena was safe to light fires in, she’d just wait to get one. A single match wasn’t expensive.

At lunch, the boy from Eleven sat down next to her as Diana devoured a bowl of delicious chickpea-and-cauliflower stew with rice. “I saw you fighting,” he said. “I know how to survive in the wilderness, I’m from a farm and we go hunting and foraging all the time. Do you want to team up?”

He probably wanted to stab her in the back because she was a strong candidate. “I can kill you quickly,” she offered. “How do you propose we meet up after the Bloodbath, anyway?”

The boy slunk away and left Diana to her stew. It was spiced to perfection, just enough to leave a warm aftertaste but not so much that it was pungent and overpowered the taste of the stew, and the realization that she would never get to tell her family about the recipe made her choke back tears.

For her individual evaluation, she showed off what she could do to an audience of Gamemakers more interested in their phones and left. By now, she was used to Elly and the Mentors ignoring her. Diana sat on the couch, ate chocolate, and watched the scores appear on the screen. Here, it was boys before girls, so Rafael’s score would be first.

Diana couldn’t guess at why each Tribute got the score they did, the Careers had all looked intimidating to her and the others might have been saving some secret skill for the Gamemakers. Still, she noted the scores to herself, just in case.

1M - 8
1F - 8

Odd, that archery of hers had been terrifying. Maybe she couldn’t do anything else? Or maybe the Gamemakers didn’t like Spanish-speaking people.

2M - 10
2F - 8
3M - 5
3F - 6
4M - 11

Wow, you didn’t see that every year. She’d have to stay far away from him.

4F - 9
5M - 4
5F - 3

Rafael got a five and Diana got a seven. Phew. That made her a solid contender - as long as she didn’t screw up or get unlucky. Or if there was another dark horse candidate who did even better than her.

7M - 4
7F - 6
8M - 5
8F - 9

The hell? That was better than the Ones! What could a skinny seventeen-year-old hacking up her lungs half the time have to offer? Diana hoped she’d die early.

At least Diana had another ace up her sleeve. She really, really needed to do well in the interview.

9M - 4
9F - 6
10M - 2
10F - 4
11M - 3
11F - 5
12M - 5
12F - 4

“Well, you’re screwed,” Popescu said sourly. Her voice made Diana feel angry, and the fact that the announcers were discussing the girl from Eight did not improve her mood.

“Thank you very much,” Rafael snapped. “Anything more useful?”

“Nothing can save you two. Nothing. Just make peace with it.”

“But you survived,” Rafael said, almost pleading.

“Wish I hadn’t. Now get out. Tomorrow’s the interview.”

Diana had little expectations for the next day, and they were met. She and Rafael were completely left to their own devices. Diana planned out her interview as best as she could and then the two of them watched television in silence.

Ever since Leonella had gotten old enough to watch the Games, they had all sat together on the couch in the evenings with her providing ever more sophisticated commentary with every passing year. What would her sister say about her score?

It was time to get ready. Once again, they were dressed in extremely expensive outfits with elaborate makeup and had their nails painted. Warner put her in a dress that Diana would have once killed to be able to wear - and that Grandpa would have killed her for putting on. But wearing something with insane cleavage wasn’t fun when it was calculated to appeal to random rich people, not the person she had her eye on.

“You have a good figure,” Warner said as Diana tried to get comfortable. The dress was tight in the torso. “Better than most Tributes I’ve seen.”

That was because of Diana getting enough to eat for her entire life. Hard to grow a decent pair of tits when you went hungry half the time. “Thanks.”

“Now, how much experience do you have with high heels?”

“None.” Diana had her own bank account where she deposited a quarter of her wages, but had she spent her money on heels, her parents would have been really mad.

“Flats, then. You’re already at a good height for a non-volunteer.”

That just reminded Diana that the volunteers - the Careers - were better prepared than her in every way, and she couldn’t shake the mental image of the congregation at home reciting the Mourners’ Kaddish. The words of the prayer echoed in her head as she put on the okay-fitting flats.

Yitgadal v’yitkadash sh’mei raba…

Magnified and sanctified is the great name of G-d…

By the time they were being taken for the interviews themselves, Diana was still worried, but not about the Games - about being able to say what she wanted to say. With her good but not noteworthy score, this was her only chance to get noticed. The interviews before hers were fairly unremarkable and predictable (the Tributes from One appeared to be stupid because of the language barrier, but their scores compensated for it), but she was still afraid.

“And now our female Tribute from Six, Diana Cohen!”

Diana walked across the stage and sat down opposite Flickerman, whose hair and eyelids were a light-orange this year. Diana had a friend who got his eyeshadow colour every year and wore it for the rest of the year. Was he still doing it this year, or was it too weird? It was unfair how everyone’s Games-watching routines had been upended by her selection. Hard to make bets and have fun when Diana was the one going to die.

Oh God, she was going to die.

“Good evening,” Flickerman said.

“Good evening,” Diana replied, mindful of her posture. She was trying to mimic the thugs you really didn’t want to mess with - confidence, arrogance, but not excessively aggressive and overcompensating - but it was hard in such an expensive outfit. Bandit in an upscale club, then, laying out their side of the argument with the promise that once they were behind the garages in something more comfortable, the adversary would not like what happened. She also sat in a way that made her tits look more impressive, to appeal from that angle.

“So, a seven - one of our better scores, but not particularly high.” The question was implied.

“It’s as high as it needs to be.” Diana gestured with her arms out of instinct developed through observation. She looked at herself on the screen. Yes, every bit the thug spoiling for a fight at the club. “Let’s be real - below me is Bloodbath bait, above me is some one-trick TB-ridden pony and volunteers who, let’s be real, aren’t in this to win.”

“Oho!” Flickerman said as the audience cheered approvingly. It was rare that someone was so aggressive. “And you are?”

“I am mindful of the odds and aware I will more likely than not perform the ultimate sacrifice for the nation, but yes, my goal here is to win, and there is nothing I will balk at to achieve that and go home.” She emphasized that with dramatic arm movements to more applause.

“Is there something in particular you want to go back for?”

Diana glanced at the clock. Perfect timing. “Well, my family and friends, of course,” Diana said. “Or just the little things, like singing as I cooked.”

“Oh, you like to sing?” Flickerman could be trusted to latch on to such details.

“I do. Should I sing now?” Her heart was racing now with anticipation.

“Yes, but keep it short please!”

Diana knew it would be rougher than she would have liked, but that was not the issue. She stood up and launched into Hatikvah, the national anthem of Israel. It felt strange to be singing in Hebrew so openly. Someone in the audience leapt to their feet, screamed, grabbed their head, and fell back down into their seat, and Diana felt a chill - not of fear, but of a strange emotion she belatedly recognized as happiness. Was this the first time this person had ever heard the language spoken outside the synagogue? How amazing, that she was from Six and they were from the Capitol and they had this in common. This was what community meant. Despite everything, they shared a deep connection that could not be destroyed. This person’s support would be with her and nobody else. Their money would be going to her supplies.

Diana focused on singing. She had never felt so confident in front of a group of people before. She looked at them and felt no awkwardness or hesitation. She just sang, pouring all of the emotions she could into the song, her gestures more expansive than they had ever been.

Suddenly, she realized that the song was from a European point of view - it mentioned looking eastwards towards Zion even though Middle Eastern Jews would have been looking west and Ethiopians - north. Why was she thinking about random things? She needed to focus.

“‘Od lo avdah tikvatenu,

“Hatikvah bat shnot ’alpayim,

“Lihyot ‘am chofshi be’artzenu,

“’Eretz-Tziyon virushalayim.

“Lihyot ‘am chofshi be’artzenu,

“’Eretz-Tziyon virushalayim!”

Our hope is not yet lost,
The hope of two thousand years,
To be a free nation in our land,
The land of Zion and Jerusalem.

Once she was done, everyone applauded. “That wasn’t English,” Flickerman stated the obvious.

“No, it’s an old language called Hebrew,” Diana said, and right on cue, time was up and he couldn’t prod further. Smiling happily, she sat back down. This had served two purposes - anyone at least halfway in the community or at least aware of their Judaism knew what Hebrew was, so this would have gotten their attention, and the performance of this very Zionist song about returning to the ancient homeland, when someone like Rabbi Simon told people abroad, was sure to get all of Israel standing on their ears and possibly even doing something about Panem.

How lucky she really was to belong to a community that, despite being so dispersed all over the country, was still a coherent whole. Diana listened to Rafael (unimpressive body covered up with a conservative suit) tell Flickerman about being a farmer. Alright, so now anyone who also farmed soy would feel a kinship with the boy, but Diana was still certain that she would have far more Jews donating money for her than tradespeople. It was just a question of what made you feel like this person was someone you care about.

The morning of the Games, the Mentors were at least there, but they were high and said nothing. Diana was beginning to feel terrified once again. She could literally be dead in an hour and that would be it. To calm herself down, Diana focused on her plans. Get a knife. Get supplies. Kill someone, but only if there’s an easy target. The thought made her feel ill, she didn’t want to kill anyone, but just because Jews were like one giant family that all mooched off the rich uncle didn’t mean she would be supported by the one rich Jew in Panem - she also needed to appeal to rich Capitolites of every single stripe, and she needed to look like a strong candidate for that.

Diana took deep breaths. She had to be like her family members who had fought in the Dark Days, like Great-Aunt Leah and Great-Uncle Daniel and Mom’s Grandpa Hillel and everyone else. They had fought for the nation. Now it was her turn. Great-Grandpa Hillel had made it home, and so could she.

She needed to get away from the Cornucopia very fast. If there were woods or an extremely mountainous terrain, that would be easy, but if it was like Young’s Arena and was a giant expanse of flat rock there would be trouble. In that case, she’d have to get as far away as possible from anything. Fortunately, most Arenas were wooded to some extent, because otherwise the Games ended quickly. There was also a chance of something completely artificial, but that could be literally anything, so there was no point trying to prepare for it.

One short hovercraft flight later, she was in an underground room where a launchpad was located on one side, taunting her with its immediacy. Diana vaguely remembered something someone at synagogue said once at a history class and shivered.

Nobody was able to later tell what it was like to enter the gas chambers, because those who did, died.

Diana looked around the grey walls of the antechamber to the grave. An odd, dull feeling spread through her as she realized she would never be able to tell anyone about this. She would be dead in hours, or days. And that would be that. An apprentice boilermaker who changed partners like socks would be gone, and the only thing most people would think was that Six’s female Tribute had died. She really hadn’t done anything with her life. But did anyone, when they were eighteen? Great-Aunt Leah had been conscripted at thirteen. Had she died thinking how unfair it was that she never got to do anything?

No. She wasn’t giving up yet. One person would be walking out of here, and she’d be damned if she didn’t do everything in her power to make sure that was her.

Diana did her best to eat and drink and changed into the provided clothes, making sure the siddur was in a trousers pocket, as promised. Warner said that the clothes were suitable for very hot temperatures, but probably not the point of the Arena being a hot desert. That was a relief. Aside from the trousers, which were very thin and had a lot of pockets, there was a long-sleeved shirt, a thin jacket, solid boots, and a stiff-brimmed cap. Warner explained that the material would keep her temperature even.

“Might be cold nights,” she said, studying the fabric of her jacket. It was seriously impressive how she could tell all this just by touching the cloth. “Not too cold, though, so the temperature shifts shouldn’t be too extreme.”

“Good to know,” Diana said, feeling like she was going to throw up, and very envious of the stylist for being able to stay back here when she literally had to go out and die horribly. At least the clothes were nice and loose. She ran a comb through her hair one last time, glad it was short. She wouldn’t have to worry about it getting in her face. Out of curiosity - it’s not like she would ever get another chance to wonder - she asked the question that had popped into her mind. “Do Tributes with long hair get elastics?”

“Those whose hair is long enough to tie back get one if they don’t have one already. If it isn’t long enough for that, it’s cut short.”

“Makes sense.” Diana put the brush down and found that she didn’t know what to do with her hands. She settled for munching on a piece of bread.

“Good luck,” Warner said perfunctorily.

“Thank you.”

A voice said to prepare for launch. Diana stepped into the tube, insides clenching painfully. The door shut with a quiet whoosh and it went up into darkness.

Chapter Text

Suddenly, it was bright and hot. Diana was in a large clearing of dry, cracked earth surrounded on all sides by a sparse drought-stricken forest. No time to feel relief. She forced herself to look around, squinting against the bright sunlight. On her sides were the girl from Twelve and the boy from Seven, who was fourteen and small, but on the other side of the girl was the girl from Two, who was bigger than her male counterpart (who was lithe and agile and could probably hunt anyone to collapse without even a single weapon).

There were a few odds and ends close to Diana, more valuable stuff closer to the Cornucopia as always (Diana was behind it and couldn’t see the mouth), and one oddity this year - twelve backpacks a few metres away from them at even intervals, the implication being that Diana would have to fight the girl from Twelve for something absolutely crucial for survival, like five years ago in the mountains with sleeping bags. Perhaps water, going by how dry the forest looked? Weapons-wise, there was a tiny knife just between Diana and the backpack, the implication obvious. ‘Everyone knew’ that personal evaluations had a major impact on what was easy to get at the Cornucopia.

Plan made, Diana looked around for anything else she could easily and quickly get without being in danger of the girl from Two. A big knife. A small backpack - that was likely to have a lot of useful supplies, they always had little survival kits on the periphery. A little case the size of her hand - might be anything, probably not food. A pack of dried fruit. A hat. A pair of shoelaces. A length of black cloth. A tiny bottle - medication? On her left were the girl from Twelve, the girl from Two, the boy from Five, and the boy from Four - also someone to be wary of. On her right were the boy from Seven, the girl from Nine, the boy from Eleven, and the boy from Eight.

Was there a prayer for when you were about to go fight? Diana didn’t know. She instead recited the Shema over and over, just in case these were actually her last seconds in the world. The whispered words felt strange in her ears.

“Sh’ma Yisrael, Adonai eloheinu, Adonai echad…” Hear, O Israel…

How many people had recited these words when going to their deaths? Diana was so angry she was going to be one of them, dying kiddush ha-Shem because there was nothing she could do to live. She imagined her body lying in a casket, and the fear brought tears to her eyes. Why, why, why, why? Her heart felt like it was going to hammer out of her chest. The Tributes around her - any of them could be the one to end her life.

No. She would be the one to end theirs! She would not die sanctifying the Name, she would kill for its glory! Diana stood more confidently, letting the fire course through her, the stories of the heroes who had fought for their people over millennia. Her name would be inscribed on the same page! She would be remembered as a warrior and a hero and a worthy descendant of her ancestors!

Diana turned to the boy from Seven and grinned, feeling manic energy course through her like always before a fight. He drew back slightly. Diana turned back towards the Cornucopia, watching the numbers tick down.

Ten seconds left. Diana prepared to jump off the pedestal and run. It was low enough for her to just step off. Three, two, one-

Diana ran for the knife as fast as she could. She was not the best runner out there, but she was better nourished than the girl from Twelve, so after scooping up the knife, she slowed down and got to the backpack second, when Twelve was picking it up, distracted and not seeing that Diana, not even thinking, acting completely on instinct, jammed the knife into her neck, pulled it out, and grabbed the bag. She shoved the knife into her trousers pocket, turned to the side, grabbed the big knife with her left hand, tossed the bag over her right shoulder, used her right hand to pick up the small backpack, and turned around to run.

The girl from Two was in front of her about to kill the boy from Five with her bare hands, who was putting up more of a fight than the Career had expected. Diana saw two choices - attack, or run away. She forced herself to attack, the two were grappling in the dust and the girl had her hands on the boy’s neck, easy prey for Diana, who stabbed her in the back, just between the ribs. She picked something small up from the ground and now ran for the trees as fast as she could, only slowing down when she couldn’t hear screaming anymore. She continued to jog through the monotonous sparse woods, careful to not trip over the tree roots. The leaves were all dried up and the branches snapped easily. There was very little greenery, so she could see quite a bit around her.

Cannons began to sound. Diana counted them. Seven. Were any of them hers? Diana realized that her knife, hands, and jacket were stained with blood. The blood of people she killed. The thought made her want to throw up, but she fought the impulse. It wasn’t her fault. She had been ordered here, and it was okay that she was doing everything she could to get out - that was the entire point of the Games. It was like killing in combat. Kill or be killed. Her family had fought on the government’s side during the Dark Days, and now it was her turn. Maybe Great-Grandpa Hillel was watching over her somewhere out there. Diana had played with his medals when she had been small. He would have been proud to see her sink her knives into the enemy’s flesh.

Diana tried to rub the blood off her hands. She was more worried about the knives, the little one had a hinge mechanism in its handle that was already clogged. She needed water, but she couldn’t stop now. The bags, one on each shoulder, were suddenly very heavy. How had she sprinted with them? Diana adjusted the bags so that the big one was on both shoulders, but it still dragged her down.

Diana walked for a little while longer, terrified by every sound. Her arm began to feel tired from holding the knife. There didn’t seem to be many animals, or maybe she just couldn’t see them. It was hot, but not any hotter than back home this time of year. There was a gentle wind making the treetops sway, the sound of the branches swooshing in the wind or colliding with each other driving her into a state of permanent panic. She looked around constantly, starting whenever she thought she saw someone out of the corner of her eye.

She stopped when she reached a place that was very hilly with deep furrows in the ground and thick bushes you could hide under. Perfect for ambushes - and mutts. Tonight would be okay with the Bloodbath and all, especially since she had fought and drawn blood, but no more than that.

Listening and looking closely, it didn’t seem that there was anyone around. Diana climbed under a bush and tried to take stock. As she had thought, the large bag held a rubber sack of water. Banking on sponsors to come through, because this would last days at the most in any case, Diana drank some, cleaned her knives and clothes, and washed her hands.

The little thing she had grabbed turned out to be a small pouch of dried meat, which at least was useful. The small backpack, which was an unfortunate bright-orange colour, had a little bit of all sorts of things as expected - a small bottle of iodine and a rolled-up bandage, a safety pin, several sticking-plasters in various sizes, a small empty water bottle, a pair of sunglasses, a needle and thread, five matches and a striking surface, extra shoelaces, a tiny flashlight, a permanent marker the size of her pinky, and a small jar of water purification tablets with a pictogrammatic instruction saying to put one in a bottle. Diana doubted there was water just lying around in this Arena given how dry it was, but who knew. She put on the sunglasses, sighing at the instant relief from the bright sun, repackaged everything except the large knife into the big backpack, which was a far less blatant dull black, concealed the small backpack with some loose earth, and settled down to wait out the night, acutely aware that the Careers might turn up at any moment. What if they wanted revenge for killing the girl from Two? That was not going to happen, Diana had simply eliminated one potential rival, but the irrational thought didn’t leave her. She sat there, trembling at every sound, wishing she was at home with her parents and Leonella and Grandpa.

They were probably so worried right now. Sudden death was one thing, but this was more like being told you had stage four cancer and had two weeks left. And yeah, that was far more likely than being Reaped, but Diana was literally going to be killed on television, which was way worse than dying at home. Was this what her great-aunt had felt when she was conscripted straight from the fields? After some time, Diana calmed down and regained enough presence of mind for afternoon prayers, though she didn’t actually speak them, for fear of anyone hearing.

There was enough meat for two or three meals. Diana took a piece and chewed on it slowly. It was as tough as shoe leather. After what felt like eternity and two cannons, the sun began to set and the anthem played. Diana turned on the flashlight and uncapped her marker, ready to record the dead on her arm, the only writing surface she had.

2F

That made sense, Diana had to have gotten her in the lung, she would have been given a mercy death even had the wound not been immediately lethal.

3M
5F
7M

So Rafael was still alive, then.

8F

Phew.

9M
11F

So the twelve-year-old was still alive. Interesting. Absurdly, Diana realized she wanted to live just so that she’d be able to find out what exactly went down at the bloodbath.

11M
12F

That also made sense, no way she had been able to get out of the clearing even if the wound had been minor.

Alright, so the only District fully out was Eleven and fully in were One, Four, Six, and Ten. A rare honour for Six. Diana knew she was lucky there had been the knife and then Two had been distracted. She tried not to dwell on it. She needed to focus on what next. Already nine were dead. Only fourteen more, and she’d be home.

Those fourteen included people who could kill her with her bare hands, but Diana put that out of her mind. Maybe mutts would eat them.

Diana slept poorly from fear. Thankfully, the night had been warm. As soon as it was light, she was out, not eager to seem like a boring Tribute who needed to be attacked by a bear to liven things up. She had no idea where she was. Sure, she had been to the forest plenty of times, but that had been to gather berries and mushrooms, not for any serious length of time, so she didn’t know how to orient herself. She was also hungry. Having spent her life solidly in the ‘enough calories and nutrients if you’re smart about it’ income range, she had seldom skipped meals or gone for any meaningful length of time with not enough food. The dull hunger chewed at her insides as Diana slowly ate small pieces of meat, taking her cue from the stories poorer kids had told her. No wonder they had done so badly at elementary - thinking was hard when you were tired.

As the day wore on, it became impossible to still be terrified, and now she felt only a dull anxiety on top of her hunger. She constantly looked around for trees she could climb. If the Careers caught her she’d be dead because the girl from One would just shoot her, but anyone else would probably not be able to kill her.

But what if she came across someone in a tree? Diana knew she had to play a delicate combination here, not just surviving and killing, but impressing the Capitol audience. If she walked away from a confrontation, the Gamemakers might unleash a bear same as if she never met anyone. Which meant that, paradoxically, she needed to fight Tributes to stay safe. She didn’t know the exact numbers (Leonella probably did), but if you killed at the Cornucopia, you wouldn’t be bothered for a couple of days, and after that, a kill every couple of days would do the trick if you weren’t the pack, which got finished off when the audience felt bored.

Diana tried to think about the non-Careers still surviving. It was doubtful any of them were better-armed than her. Diana wished she had paid more attention in training to who was doing what. Trying to figure out who was still alive took a surprising amount of mental energy, so she pulled back her right sleeve, wrote down the ones still alive on the inner side of her arm, and rubbed out the permanent marker on the other side as much as she could. There, better. Now, who was a threat armed or unarmed aside from the Careers? Rafael and the boy from Twelve, and that was it. But what if they were armed? But with what? The boy from Twelve had focused on spears, that much Diana remembered, but spears were deeper into the Cornucopia, so it was unlikely. The Careers usually left one behind to guard, but one person could be defeated with some ingenuity which Diana did not have but someone else might.

And what about supplies? It was so hot, Diana’s water supply was starting to run low already. Who had the packs? If they were not Careers, did they have enough sponsor money for more water? The last time there had been no natural water, it had been insanely expensive. People could go for three days without water. That meant nonviolent deaths would only start the day after tomorrow.

And that still left the Careers. Whatever the reason they were suddenly shit at survival, they were going to get plenty of water from sponsors, so the only hope was that the Gamemakers would decide they were having it too easy and orchestrate the proverbial bear to spice things up, as was usually the case. In that case, Diana knew she had to hightail it to the Cornucopia for supplies, but where even was the Cornucopia?

Diana wandered around some more, keeping her left hand on the hilt of her knife, which was constructed in a way that allowed her to keep it on her belt. Someone must have put serious thought into the design of this weapon. It felt strange to imagine a designer sitting at the drafting-table, spending days on a single knife.

No sign of any others. Good thing the Arena was so big - it really was down to luck where the Careers went first. She ate a little bit of dried meat, feeling drained both mentally and physically. When evening came and nobody was dead, she took the risk and slept in the open - or rather, tried to sleep, because every little noise woke her up. The next morning, her back and shoulders hurt before she even put on her backpack, and her feet were sore.

As Diana had predicted, on the third day came the deaths. By now she was deliberately hunting for Tributes and wasn’t even that afraid of the Careers because they would kill faster than a bear, but for all of her walking around with her knife in her hand trying in vain to detect any sight or sound of a Tribute, there was nothing. Only three cannons over the course of the day. At night, she crossed out the girl from Three, Rafael, and the boy from Ten. Half left. Then, at night, another cannon woke her up.

A parachute arrived that morning - water and a few energy bars that tasted like sawdust but did a good job of filling her up. So at least someone wanted to see her survive. Diana walked around slowly, feeling the blisters on her feet with every step. She was very hungry and thirsty, tired from both lack of food and lack of sleep, her back and shoulders hurt, and not being able to spare the water to clean herself had resulted in a painful, itchy rash on her butt and genitals that exploded with fresh agony every time she urinated and took at least half an hour to subside. These kinds of infections weren’t going to kill her in two weeks or less, but it was extremely unpleasant.

Footsteps jolted Diana out of her self-pity. A single pair of footsteps, thankfully. She scrambled up a tree with difficulty and saw that it was the boy from Five she had accidentally saved. He was small, but he had a knife and one of the large bags. And he saw her.

The knife went flying and missed the tree completely, let alone Diana.

“Oh,” he said. “I don’t want to fight you.”

“I don’t want to fight you, either,” Diana said. She tucked her knife into her belt and climbed down. He stepped closer. Did he have another knife? He looked malnourished and drawn already, and Diana at least was drinking enough water. She could chase him down from here. She pulled out her knife, and his eyes widened. He screamed and tried to run. Diana swiped at his back and barely scraped him. He turned around and tried to grab the knife out of her hands, but Diana had spent two days drilling a fight with a big and strong unarmed man, so this tired boy was no threat. But she was also tired, so he was able to put out his hands in time for her slashes to hit them. She cut his arm, his shoulder, even got him in the thigh. Finally, she got him in the stomach, which made him fall down, and then slit his throat.

Diana realized the fight must have taken just seconds but she felt like it had taken hours. Taking deep breaths, she went through his pockets and bag. There was a little bit of water which she used to clean herself, an energy bar, a pair of shoelaces, and a small carving, his token. Since she could think of no use for it, she put it in his hand and went to pick up his knife. She had half a mind to take his clothes, but with no water to spare, there was no point to having two pairs of socks. Once she had walked out of sight, a hovercraft came for his body.

That night, she could cross out two more. The boy from Five and the girl from Four. So maybe the Careers were boring the Gamemakers.

Diana was very careful to ration her food. There was barely anything growing and she wasn’t an expert on finding food in any case, and while water would be the number-one priority, if there wasn’t enough money for food, she’d be on her own there. Diana by now felt like she had been in the Arena for forever. She had long since lost count of the days, and only remembered who was still alive thanks to the writing on her arm. She reached a pile of fallen trees, decided that was the new edge of the Arena, and didn’t try to climb over, lest there be bears there. Instead, she went back in what she thought was the same direction. What the hell were the others even doing? There hadn’t been any cannons for a while. Were they doing something interesting? Diana scanned the ground in front of her, trying to see if there were any animals about to attack her. Unless you were a Career, it was rare that an animal would actually try to kill you, the Gamemakers preferred to see the Tributes kill each other (especially in Arenas where the climate was killer enough), but there were no certainties in the Arena.

Diana came across a bunch of mushrooms. The only ones she recognized were gigantic deathcaps fifteen centimetres in diameter, so she passed them by. This part of the forest seemed a bit greener, with the odd plant that seemed to be doing just fine. She then saw a patch of blueberries, but there was no Grandpa around to confirm that they were indeed blueberries and not some near-identical mutt that would kill her horribly, so she ignored them, too. She even ignored the chanterelles, the only mushroom Mom sometimes trusted herself to pick.

The sun began to head towards setting and a parachute descended, as it always did. It had two foil containers, one with water and one with an energy bar. Diana poured the water into her canteen and took a few sips. The energy bar kind of made her feel less hungry. She crumpled up the parachute and foil and buried them in the soft, dusty ground. Maybe someone else could think of a way to use them, but not her. As it was, the two she had in her bag just in case would hopefully be enough.

What she really wanted to do was clean herself, she felt itchy all over and probably had a yeast infection. Her hair felt greasy and she was constantly scratching it. The veterans always mentioned lice, but that was one problem she didn’t have, since she wasn’t in close contact with anyone. Her legs and feet hurt badly from the constant walking, as did her back from having the backpack on her all the time. Diana tried to massage herself between the shoulders, but it didn’t really work. She was so tired.

Once it was getting too dark to see, Diana sat down under a tree and tried to get comfortable. It didn’t work. She put her head on her backpack and tried to sleep. She wished she had thought of recording the days on her arm, too, but there was no point to it now. Eventually, she fell asleep, and woke up in the middle of the night from the cold, shivering uncontrollably. She then drifted off again, and woke up with the sun feeling exhausted already, muscles sore from the cold, uncomfortable sleep.

Diana wondered what her family was doing. School had to be over by now, so Leonella would have been at her summer job. Everyone was probably watching the Games at work. What was being shown on mandatory today? Usually, when nothing happened, they’d air snippets of Tributes walking around. Diana waved at nothing in particular. She wanted to say something, but she was too scared, and besides, she hadn’t spoken for so long, she didn’t think she could even if she wanted to. She barely moved her lips when reciting prayers. It gave her some sense of routine, even if she had no idea what exact time it was, because she had no idea how to interpret the sun besides ‘morning’, ‘noon-ish’, and ‘afternoon’.

Was Nate watching? Diana’s last partner was an apprentice welder who worked at the same shop as her cousin Mina, who had introduced them to each other. They had had fun together, but Nate had broken up with her because he hadn’t felt for her what he wanted to feel. Diana hadn’t been too upset. She, too, hadn’t felt anything particularly strong about him. He was nice and kind and had very nimble fingers, but he also became violent when he was drunk, so honestly, she was better off without him.

The sun continued to rise. It was so hot, Diana had to take off her jacket. She was glad for the cap and sunglasses.

It was strange to imagine everyone she knew watching her on television. Six hadn’t made it far in quite a while. Leonella was the real Games expert, in grade 6 she had won the city Games memorization competition by naming every single Tribute from Six ever (and then done pretty well on the District competition where you had to know all Tributes from all Districts), and some of her rambling about statistics had rubbed off on Diana, who at that age had struggled to name a third of the Victors. Thanks to her sister, Diana knew that statistically speaking, the odds of a District making it into the top ten, as she had done, were 41.6%, or slightly less than half, but it felt like Six made it that far nowhere near that often. The odds of making it to the top eight were 33%, technically speaking, but Diana did know that Six’s actual statistics were more along the lines of 20%. By making it so far, Diana had become Six’s most successful Tribute in five years.

The odds of Six winning should have been 8.3%. The three victories so far were 5%. If Diana won, it would be 6.5%, and if she died, it would be 4.9% - Leonella had run the numbers a few weeks ago, not even thinking for a second that it could be Diana in the Arena.

Diana amused herself with statistics as she limped through the Arena, the balls of her feet burning with each step. Leonella’s most recent obsession was the Arenas themselves. Of the past sixty Arenas (a nice round number to work with, counting this one made it too hard), the first ten had been the same soccer field in the Capitol, but that had been ended after someone tried to attack the audience. After that had been thirteen years of purely natural environments closed off with tall walls of smooth stone and with the odd mutt thrown in. The force-fields had been tried after that, but the first Arena to be fenced in only with a force-field had been Young’s - a good thing, given that it had been the most barren Arena up to that point. 75% of Arenas were forested, and of the other quarter, all but three had been rugged in some other way, like mountains or caves. Aside from Young’s, there had been one flat grassland, which ended fast, and one giant cornfield, where after the Bloodbath, nearly everyone died either from mutts or from exposure because they couldn’t find each other.

The inside of her mouth felt dry. Diana scraped at her teeth with a somewhat ragged fingernail, feeling the dirt come off. It felt wrong to be so dirty. She had, with difficulty, trimmed her fingernails with a knife, but she didn’t even want to imagine what her feet looked like. Since she had no spare socks and didn’t want to sit down without need, she never took her boots off. The upper part of her back, between the shoulderblades, felt stiff and burned from the backpack even though it was very light.

Diana hated the forest. She hated how there was nowhere to hide with these barren trees standing a good distance from each other, hated the deceptively open sky. In school, Leonella had been taught about how the force-field was a marvel of engineering. Diana wanted to stab the engineer that had built it.

It felt strange to be roaming around aimlessly, never seeing another person. The days came and went without deaths. Diana wondered what everyone else was doing. She drank a little bit of water, wishing she had more. If you survived the Bloodbath, odds were you’d die from an accident or the environment, not at the hands of a Tribute. But the more the field thinned, the more likely the Gamemakers were to collide you with someone else. It was most likely thanks to her killing of the boy from Five that they were leaving her alone for now. They had something interesting to show about her, and that was the important part.

Diana tried to focus on numbers. She didn’t remember the ages of the Tributes, but she remembered the percentages Leonella had worked up, and the theory behind it. Presume same amount in each cohort, thus, you can reduce to one for twelve-year-olds, two for thirteen-year-olds, and then three, four, five, six, and seven for Diana. Add 1+2+3+4+5+6+7 to make 28. That was a tricky fraction, but the numbers had stuck in Diana’s head. 1/28 = 3.5% chance of a twelve-year-old’s name being pulled. 2/28 = 7.1% for a thirteen-year-old. 10.7%, 14.2%, 17.8%, 21.4%, 25%. A quarter of the Tributes were eighteen, somewhat less - seventeen. It had probably been designed that way deliberately.

The math made no sense to Diana. She had never been held behind in school, but that was the most she could brag about. She remembered Leonella’s numbers and could recite the mathematical operations, but she had no idea why you added 1+2+3+4+5+6+7. Well, if it worked, it worked.

Numbers made everything more soothing. The odds of winning the Games were theoretically 4% (Leonella knew the exact number, but Diana simplified it to 1/25 instead of 1/24). And even she could work with an easy number like 25. That didn’t sound like much, but someone did it each year. With ten Tributes remaining, it was now 1/10, another easy number. 10%. With ~10/25, or 40%, of the field remaining. Diana’s thoughts made no sense to even her. She ran her hand along the rough bark of a tree before drawing it back. What if an insect stung her?

As she walked, relatively green sections of the forest alternated with completely bone-dry ones. Despite increasingly cold nights, even the green sections were too dry to risk a fire. Diana saw a strange bug crawling over a rock and squatted down to look at it. It looked like a giant pillbug, black with orange stripes and very, very cute. Diana had to hold herself back from touching it - what if it was venomous?

Another bug crawled out. Then another, and another, and soon enough they were swarming all around her. They weren’t so cute anymore when there were so many of them. Diana ran, hoping they were not carnivorous. A couple tried to climb up her legs but she shook them off. Some time later, the forest was totally dry and dead again and there were no bugs to be seen. Her heart was beating normally now.

The sun beat down overhead. At least it wasn’t raining. For the past few years, the Gamemakers had been getting better and better at manipulating weather inside the Arena. They’d be able to summon snow if they wanted. Diana fidgeted with the sleeves of her jacket, which she had tied around her neck, the tan fabric camouflaging the backpack a bit. She was terrified of the slightest movement, the slightest shadow, seeing Tributes out of the corners of her eyes and turning around, heart hammering, to see nobody there. Any second, something could happen. It didn’t happen. But it could always happen. The next second. The second after that. On and on, Diana waiting for something that did not happen, but could happen at any moment.

A Feast was announced. Diana had no idea where the Cornucopia was. She acted as if she had better things to worry about than that, not wanting to seem incompetent to potential sponsors, whom she knew to be more crucial than ever to her water supply. In fact, she really wanted to eat something that wasn’t energy bars. She daydreamed about food, about what she had eaten back home, what she had gotten to try in the Capitol.

That night, the sky revealed that the boy from Eight and, praise be to God, the girl from One died. Though there was no outrunning the boy from Two, so no time to relax yet.

The final eight. The last Tribute from Six to make it this far had been Popescu herself. Diana wondered if Rabbi Simon was being interviewed, or if that would go against the general taboo on mentioning religion in the media.

The weather was completely unbearable. The days were scorching but the nights were so cold, frost appeared in the morning, and Diana was very thankful for the sleeping bag Elly was able to send. She even thanked the sponsors in gestures they hopefully understood, so they’d keep it coming. Things were extremely expensive by now, that she knew. The amount of water she was getting was enough to prevent serious dehydration in the blisteringly hot days, and no more.

Some walking on feet blistered and sore from the endless wandering around (probably in circles) brought her to another tree barrier. The Arena was being made smaller because nobody could find each other. The next morning, Diana stumbled on a metre-wide path of bare earth. Had this always been there? She walked down it, acutely aware that walking on it might mean colliding with the Careers but walking off it could bring on Gamemaker wrath.

Final eight. Now if only the Careers could all get eaten by bears and the others died of dehydration, that’d be great.

Sounds up ahead. Diana grasped her knife and prepared to run. Not the Careers, thankfully, just one person. The girl from Seven. She was near collapse and had nothing with her. Killing her was trivially easy, but it got her extra water and a pair of thin gloves that were better than nothing.

Over the next few days, two more died - the girl from Nine and the girl from Ten. Little wonder, with the freezing nights. So now it was the Career boys, the boy from Twelve, and her. Just five people, but Diana had to admit that it was hopeless. With these paths keeping them on track, she would eventually collide with the Careers, and it would happen soon, way before anyone could get bored.

No, there was still a chance. Perhaps they had forgotten about her. They would kill each other and leave themselves as easy pickings for her, and since it would be such a hilarious sight for the audience, they’d let her sit there in the forest and wait for them to be weakened. Or she’d outlast them accidentally and never even have to fight. With her kill count (two full and two that might be partial), that was allowable. It was only when someone hid the entire Games that they’d start to be pressured around this point. Nobody wanted a Victor who sat and hid, just like nobody made movies about veterans who never got to actually fight anyone.

Diana walked back and forth slowly, feeling a horrible pain in her lower abdomen. On top of her yeast infection, she also had a UTI. She constantly felt like she needed to pee and there was blood in her urine. But that wouldn’t kill her in the next few days. And while her enemies were all boys, there was plenty that would have weakened them by now.

The paths intersected, so she had to turn sometimes, still with no idea where she was and where she was going. There must have been a large betting pool of the ‘haha how long can they keep this up’ variety going on, that was the only reason to allow her to wander around like this when nobody was dying. One day, she awoke to see an arrow labelled ‘Cornucopia’ pointing down the path. Clearly, they weren’t interested in her missing the final fight. Diana really hoped she wouldn’t have to actually fight - or if she did, that they were very badly injured.

She made sure to eat well and drink some water before setting out. As she buried the parachute, she smelled smoke. The forest behind her must have been burning.

Diana ran without picking up the bag, forgetting about the pain for a second. She kept her knife on her belt, because she knew this was meant to herd them all right now this minute because the audience was fed up with it, there was no need for the bag now. She slowed down, keeping herself at a pace she could keep up for a while, constantly glancing back to make sure there was no fire behind her. And then she saw the flames.

Terror. Diana ran as fast as she could. Her knees felt like jelly, her cap flew off her head, her lungs began to burn from the smoke and she was so exhausted, but she kept on going, ignoring her trembling legs and the stabbing pains in her abdomen that made her want to bend double. Diana realized she was whispering the Shema over and over and forced herself to stop wasting air. A cannon sounded, then another. That was at least one Career down, so they had also been caught in the woods. That gave her hope. They’d also be weakened. The fire was catching up to her, it was so hot, too hot to breathe. Another cannon. It was just her and one more Tribute. She could do this, even if the fire was catching up, it was roaring all around her, she felt like she was burning-

She made it to the Cornucopia. The fire could not touch the completely barren circle of dry earth. Diana pulled her shirt over her face, trying to breathe properly, and jogged towards the Cornucopia, praying there would be more weapons there. Her eyes were stinging from the smoke. Whoever was alive, he was stronger than her, she needed a better weapon.

But no. The entire forest around the Cornucopia was a ring of fire. He wasn’t getting out of there. Diana coughed and sank down to the warm ground. She couldn’t breathe. How much longer? There was no air, only heat and soot and ash and pain.

The sound was terrifying. No wonder people said Hell was a burning pit - this was the scariest thing she had seen in her entire life. It was too hot to breathe. All Diana could do was curl up and breathe through her shirt. She wished the boy would die already. Her eyes and skin hurt. The flames moved as if alive, darting and sweeping across the dry forest, and for a second, Diana felt like they were angry they could not reach her.

Another cannon.

“I am pleased to present the Victor of the Sixty-First Hunger Games! I give you - Diana Cohen of District Six!”

Diana opened her mouth to speak for the first time since the Games had begun. “Am Yisrael chai,” she whispered, because that was why they would have been donating. The nation of Israel lives.

Suddenly, water fell on the forest, warm drops reaching her parched skin. More water. Hovercraft were putting out the fire, at least around her. Another one landed right in front of her, the hatch open. Diana walked towards it on shaking legs, unable to believe it was real. One foot on the bottom step, she remembered something. She turned around to face the smouldering Arena, saluted, and bowed, like a soldier honouring their fallen enemy. As soon as Diana had both feet on the steps, it began to slowly move upwards. Hands took her by the arm, guiding her inside the hovercraft. They were dressed like medical personnel, and indeed, they began to examine her and had her breathe oxygen through a mask.

“Congratulations,” one said with what seemed to be sincere warmth. “Can you stand?”

“I’d rather not,” Diana whispered through the pain in her throat and chest, struggling to wrap her head around her survival. One moment, inferno, the next, she was out of there.

“Why don’t we get you washed up?”

There was an entire shower set up in the hovercraft. Fortunately, she was able to sit in a chair as she wiped away the grime with a soft sponge. The skin on her hands and face was scalded and there were small mild burns that stung when water fell on them. Her feet, bloody and torn, felt like they were being scalded, but Diana forced herself to wash them with a cloth. She kept on coughing from the smoke and her arms were refusing to obey now that she was safe and who knew how many days of exhaustion were all pressing down on her.

Once she was clean, she put on a medical gown and paper slippers and went back out. Her hair was dripping water everywhere, but she was too tired to care.

“How’s your breathing?”

“I’m breathing.”

“Here, have some water. Do you mind if we give you a quick examination?”

“Go ahead.”

They checked her all over, finding nothing more than extreme fatigue, mild dehydration, a serious yeast infection and UTI (Diana would have wished the combination on her worst enemy), a lower body mass than was advised for someone her height, and small burns that they put salve over and bandaged. Her feet were the most damaged part of her. Diana just sat there like a doll, being poked and prodded. She didn’t mind that. Nobody stabbed corpses in the vagina with a metal stick to determine the severity of their infection, so that meant Diana wasn’t a corpse.

“How about an energy bar?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, another one?” Diana hadn’t meant to say that, but she hadn’t talked to anyone in weeks. It had just slipped out.

The person chuckled. “I promise this one tastes much better than that cheap stuff from the surplus store.”

Diana took the bar, feeling a little bit awkward at her outburst. It was wrapped not in flimsy foil that threatened to disintegrate in her hands, but a much tougher aluminum foil, and had a paper label glued to it. The label proclaimed it to be made up of dates, apples, and peanuts, and smiley faces advertised the 200 calories, 5 grams of fat, and 5 grams of protein that it had. 200 calories sounded like just what she needed. Diana unwrapped and chewed the bar slowly, enjoying the tastes dancing on her tongue.

As she ate, the medical personnel continued to flutter around her, taking notes and doing things to her. Diana was too tired to care. She sat there, breathing and drinking water, and had to force herself to get up when the hovercraft landed. She was taken to a clean, sterile-looking room and allowed to finally get some proper sleep in a real bed.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Diana woke up, realized where she was, and felt a relief the likes of which she had never experienced. Her throat felt a little bit scratchy, but she mostly was just still tired and very sore. The bedsheets felt nice on her aching feet and it was so nice to stretch out and be nice and warm. Feeling herself all over, Diana decided that she was definitely skinnier than before, but not catastrophically so. She was covered with small singe marks, but given everything, not so bad. Sometimes it took weeks to put Victors back together again, when the Games ended with a big fight. Diana was beginning to be willing to believe in a God now. Only a capricious all-powerful entity could throw her into the Games and then have them happen in a way she could survive.

Diana thought about it for a little bit longer and decided that wasn’t really the case. There had been stranger victories. This could still be explained from the skeptical point of view, at least in her opinion. It suddenly hit her again that she could now think about things other than surviving, and it was a wave of relief all over again. Diana got up and limped to the bathroom.

Her face and hair looked singed and she looked like she hadn’t slept in the past month, which was basically the case. Being able to use a real toilet was so nice. Back home, all they had were holes in the ground, a nightmare if you had bad knees or a bad back or were sick. Her infections looked nasty and hurt just as much. It was unfair that the most sensitive parts were right next to the dirtiest part. Since the tap had a pictogram next to it explaining that the water was drinkable, Diana gulped down several handfuls, hoping to rinse out the UTI.

Someone knocked on the door. Diana went to open it and came face-to-face with a tall woman with a clipboard. “Ah, you’re already up. Good.”

“Are you a doctor?” She had only gone to a doctor once before, when she was little and had pneumonia.

“I am. Why don’t you sit down?”

Diana sat down on the bed, not caring that the movement made the hospital gown hike up and expose half her thighs. Someone else came in holding a tray of food and gave it to her. There were small portions of soup, oatmeal, and fruit sauce. That made sense. After eating a few energy bars every day for who knew how long, her stomach had probably shrunk.

“Well, the good news is that you’ll make a full recovery, physically, at least. You’re underweight and have inhaled quite a bit of smoke, so we’ll keep you under observation for another day, and if you’re not getting any worse, we’ll let you recover at home.”

Home. Diana had been so focused on surviving, it hadn’t entered her mind that that meant going home. She focused on eating. The food was very good, the soup seemed to be mashed-up sweet potatoes with flavours that exploded in her mouth and the oatmeal was sweet.

“This cream is for your yeast infection. Apply twice a day. If it does not go away in seven days, go to a doctor.”

That was cool that they were just giving it. “We can’t afford that.”

“You can now.” The doctor smiled.

Oh, right, she could.

“And this is for your UTI.”

A lengthy checkup ensued. Diana had gotten a brief one before the Games - it felt like eternity ago - but now, she got a bunch of X-rays and a TB skin test and a whole bunch of other tests and had to answer a long list of questions about her medical history. Old injuries (nothing more serious than a sprain), infectious diseases (plenty of those, but aside from getting the flu nearly every year, the worst had been bronchitis which ended in pneumonia), non-infectious diseases (none), parasitic infections (when she was little), STIs (she spent a ton of money on good condoms), legal substances (when hanging out with friends), illegal substances (why the hell would she have ever admitted to that had there been anything to admit?), mental illness (how was she supposed to know if she had never seen a psychiatrist?), neurodivergence (ditto), and her general family history, as if she knew it.

After that, the doctor removed her tracker. It was a short, thin rod not unlike the birth control implants Diana saw ads for sometimes (given their cost, you’d have thought they were made of solid gold), but maybe twice as long.

“Has anyone ever cut out their tracker before?” Diana wondered. The sticking-plaster was the colour of her skin. At the pharmacy back home, it was a crapshoot what colours you could get.

“I’m sure people have tried, but I don’t think it ended well.”

Right. That was obvious. The cameras would still be on you, and it wouldn’t be too hard to track manually in the time it took for a mutt to kill the overly smart Tribute.

“Now, since we drew your blood previously, we know which vaccines you are missing and can work on getting you caught up. We’ll start with the MMR vaccine.“

“Doctor, I have that one.” That was one of the basic ones. Diana had four vaccines - smallpox, polio, MMR, Tdap. She had been meaning to get vaccinated against hepatitis for a while but had always forgotten.

“You don’t have antibodies against mumps. Maybe you didn’t get the second dose, or maybe it just wore off. That happens sometimes.” Diana proffered her right arm for stabbing. It’d hurt tomorrow, but she didn’t like the thought of being vulnerable to mumps. “I’ll draw up a schedule for you for the others, you can get them at any walk-in clinic.” Strange to be able to afford things like that.

The doctor gave her some advice for her lungs and gave her real clothes, underwear and a simple shirt and trousers. In the trousers pocket was the siddur. How many people who had gotten their hands on it had realized its significance?

“Well, then,” the doctor said, “you can go now. Your escort and mentors are waiting for you in your rooms. I’ll walk you there.”

It turned out that she was in a special wing of the Training Centre. It was surreal to be back there, surreal to be wearing clean clothes and lightweight running shoes and have the taste of apples and peaches still in her mouth. The Games now felt like a strange nightmare, but being free of them felt completely unreal and difficult for her to wrap her head around. Diana thought about the others. They were dead, and she was alive. It was impossible to imagine anything else - after all, the dead could not imagine.

On their floor, Elly was there and Young as well, but Popescu was missing.

“Where is she?” Diana demanded harsher than she had wanted. First the woman wrote her off, and now it was like she didn’t care.

Young shrugged. “She’s trying to come to terms with it.”

Come to terms with fucking what? “Whatever,” Diana snapped. She instantly regretted her tone. She was still very high-strung. “When’s the ceremony?”

“This evening. Your stylist is working on an outfit for you,” Elly said. “I must say, you impressed all of us. Sponsors were queueing around the block.”

Sponsors had queued around the block because Diana had sung a song about wanting to go to Israel and be free of this dump, but whatever. “Why?” she asked, not knowing any better idea to continue the conversation.

“They were impressed with your ruthlessness.”

“It was just luck. Anyone else would have done the same had a knife been dropped in their lap from the get-go.”

Elly shook his head but said nothing.

“Seriously, just say what you think, I also want to know.” What was wrong with her? “I’m sorry. I think I need to sleep more.”

“No problem. I understand you’re stressed.”

“Understatement of the fucking century.” Diana realized what she had said. “Ugh. I’ll go take a nap.”

When she was woken from the nap by Elly, some of the brain fog was gone. She didn’t insult anyone as she was prepared for the ceremony, at least. Warner cut her hair way shorter than Diana had ever worn it, buzzing the sides and back and leaving the top a little longer. Leonella would want to shave herself bald now, she hated having hair and always got hers cut a little shorter than Diana’s.

Warner explained that the haircut was military-short but didn’t have the connotations of a shaved head or a buzz-cut. The clothes, too, were picked along those lines. An olive-green T-shirt, tan cargo shorts held up with a webbing belt, and black running shoes. She looked like one of those young Peacekeeper veterans who had been invalided out she saw on television sometimes. Heck, the better-off veterans back home dressed like this to go foraging and fishing, though they probably only wore makeup like this when hitting the bars on ‘for those, who are over 65’ nights.

“Why are you making me look androgynously middle-class?” Diana asked before thinking. “You can’t even tell my gender with how loose the T-shirt is.” Leonella was frequently mistaken for a boy because she wore baggy clothes and her haircut made her jaw look masculine.

“We really had no other option. Given your performance, the only alternative would have been the sexy killer, but you don’t have what it takes to pull off the vamp look,” Warner said as the prep team applied the light makeup. Enough to cover up the awful pimples she had from living without washing for so long, but not so much that it transformed her appearance.

“What do you mean, I’m not sexy?” Diana demanded and clapped a hand to her mouth. This was like being high on weed, she was just blurting things out.

“You are,” Warner said placatingly, “but not in that way. Honestly, even the way you acted in the Arena would make it a tough sell. You were just too calm.” Diana had felt anything but calm in the Arena. The emotions were gone, but she remembered feeling them.

“So what are you doing instead?”

“We will make you relatable. An ordinary young woman who did her duty like any other. Not someone who loves combat but someone who is willing to do what it takes. Veterans will see themselves in you and children will look up to you. An approachable hero, not a remote semi-deity.”

That sounded insulting to veterans, Diana hadn’t spent a year in a muddy hole being shot at, but she kept her mouth closed.

Flickerman must have been warned about her state, because instead of chatting like in some years, he had the movie start almost immediately. Diana watched full of morbid curiosity. The first half-hour was almost exclusively about her, and little wonder - there had been no final confrontation to build up to, so there were no other main characters in this story, only Diana, who was being portrayed as stoic, ruthless, and calculating. It was strange to see herself be shown in such a skewed way. They even left out the singing.

As always, every single death was at least shown on camera. Diana had gotten the first kill - the girl from Twelve had bled out without Career assistance. The boy from Two killed the boy from Nine with a knife to the stomach and chest. The boy from One killed the boy from Eleven with a spear through the back. The deaths were shown briefly, like always on television. The girl from One shot the girl from Eleven in the chest, her mouth opened in a silent scream, a cannon sounded (even though that death would have taken a while), and the image changed to the boy from Four slicing the boy from Seven with a machete. The girl from One shot the girl from Five through the thigh and finished her off with a knife, and the bloodbath ended. The boy from One gave the girl from Two a mercy death and the pack went hunting.

It felt strange to be able to see what had actually happened during the Games. That first afternoon, the girl from One shot the girl from Eight, who had been an easy target in a tree, and the boy from Three, who had been unable to outrun the pack. The next day was shown in snippets, and on the third day, the girl from Three, the boy from Ten, and Rafael all succumbed to dehydration. Their deaths were quiet. Rafael simply lay there on the forest floor, and all of a sudden, his heart wasn’t beating anymore. Diana wondered why the Mentors hadn’t sent him anything. Had they dismissed him as already dead when he ran away from the Cornucopia with nothing?

Fortunately, her fight with the boy from Five was shown briefly, as was the wolf attack on the pack, which injured most of the Careers, the girl from Four - to the point where the boy from Two gave her a mercy death. Then, more roaming around, the Careers not able to move efficiently (did Diana have a giant wolf to thank for her survival?), and then, the feast, where MREs, water, and matches had been laid out on the table. The boy from Eight hid in the Cornucopia and got the girl from One in the stomach, but the boy from Four killed him, and the boy from Two put the girl from One out of her misery. Diana’s killing of the girl from Seven on day 10 was shown in full, because of how fast it had been. On days 12 and 14, the girls from Nine and Ten died of exposure early in the morning. Nothing exciting to show there, if you’re an editor. And then two days of nothing, tense music, and smoke.

Diana could see her own blank face in the corner as the main screen showed her starting to run. Then, it split into five. The boy from Two, the nimble and fast one, had been seriously injured by the wolf and was the first to die, consumed by the flames, the screen now split into quarters. The boy from Four then pushed over the boy from One, who had also died, and died himself shortly afterwards, inhaling a lungful of smoke, stopping to cough, and being engulfed. It then came down to her and the boy from Twelve, the screen divided into two.

Diana felt anxious as she watched it. She could now see that she had won thanks to being in better physical shape. When the inferno had gone out of control, she had been able to run those hundred metres - in her memory, it was a marathon - faster. The boy with his total lack of supplies and occasional gift of a small water bottle had simply been too fatigued. Good thing those last deaths had not been shown, because Diana knew deaths from burning looked and sounded horrific. The terror on the face of the boy from Twelve when he saw the fire about to overtake him was bad enough.

So Rabbi Miller had been right. They had all been with her. They had literally saved her by making her strong enough to outlast the competition. The realization made her nearly burst into tears.

The kill counts on the bottom froze in their final tallies. Diana - three full kills, one partial. That put her above the girl from One with three fulls, the boy from Four with two full and one partial, the boy from Two with one full and two partial, the boy from One with one full and one partial, the girl from Four with one full, and the boy from Eight with one partial. The others had died from the Arena alone. Diana’s kill count was perfectly ordinary for a Victor, but it felt strange to look at her hands and know that they had held the knife that ended four lives.

The movie ended and Snow came out to present her with her crown, Diana thinking about just how insanely lucky she was.

“Congratulations, Ms. Cohen,” he said, and placed the crown on her head. Diana saw herself on one of the screens and paused. At home, they had a photo of Great-Grandpa Hillel receiving his Hero of Panem medal, wearing a clean uniform and laurel wreath lent to him for the occasion. In black-and-white, that wreath from the photo looked just like the one she was wearing now, even if hers was made from a lightweight black metal. Everyone said that Great-Grandpa had always insisted he was no hero, he had just gotten lucky. Diana had never understood that. Now, she did.

She glanced at her own image again. There she was, standing in front of the nation crowned with laurels. Despite herself, she stood at attention like they had been taught at elementary school, even if her civilian getup was no uniform. For a fraction of a second, she was proud of herself for fighting and winning.

“Thank you, Mr. President. It is my honour.”

The next day, the final interview, and then she could go home. Diana attended a fancy dinner in her honour. Her Mentors were nowhere to be seen, but at least Elly was there. It was horribly overwhelming with all these people trying to take pictures with her or even talk to her, she was so relieved when it was over.

“Seriously, Elly, where are they?” Diana asked semi-gently when they sat in their living room, waiting to go for the interview. She wore a fancy dress today, dark-grey and loose in all the right places, and running shoes. Leonella would definitely want to wear this dress to her graduation ball - it covered Diana from neck to toes and didn’t even highlight her figure. If that was the cost of the sleeves not being too tight, she’d take it. As it was, they were borderline uncomfortable.

Elly sighed. “They both see themselves in you, and they can’t bear it.”

What? “Alright, with Popescu that makes sense,” Diana had to concede - their victories were very similar. It had to hurt to see someone do the thing that had destroyed you, especially when you were as unstable as her. “But Young? How in the world am I similar to Young? Far as I remember, he was only known as - well, the reason he was elected.” Maybe best not to say that out loud.

“He saw how you acted with the boy from Five. It reminded him of himself.”

“Anyone would have done that. It was him or me.”

“And that’s why he feels that way.”

“I suppose. But I feel fine. Mostly. Certainly no desire to do drugs.”

Elly chuckled. For the first time, Diana wondered what he thought of everything. How did someone even get this job? “Young was very badly injured and needed opiates for his chronic pain. And Popescu couldn’t bear what she did.”

“That’s what I meant - I did the same thing, and I-” Diana had to admit that she felt awful. She didn’t want to think about her knife sinking into flesh. “-I don’t want to go out and get high.”

“That’s good,” Elly said.

“Did you know your name is of Greek and Turkish origin?” Diana asked impulsively.

“I do. I was named for my great-grandfather. And your last name is of Central European origin, if I am not mistaken?”

Diana was of Ethiopian, Afghani, and German ancestry, as well as a bunch of other places, but she didn’t want to share that. “It is,” she said.

“That’s nice. Let’s go to the interview now, I think it’s time.”

The interview was, of course, loud and overwhelming. Flickerman began by giving her a gigantic plush pill millipede that looked just like the ones in the Arena, but much bigger.

“Aww,” Diana said involuntarily. “It’s so cute!” She clutched it against her chest. “Especially when there’s only one of them.”

Everyone obligingly laughed. “You think it’s cute?” Flickerman asked.

“Very cute.”

“Well, you’ve heard it, folks - Diana Cohen herself thinks they’re cute.” More laughter. “I’m afraid some of my friends disagree. One even complains about nightmares.”

Diana hugged the toy tighter. She didn’t care that she was acting like a child. “No. It’s perfect. I want ten.”

A brief back-and-forth later, Flickerman turned serious. “So, I think we’re all dying to know - what were you thinking when you were Reaped?”

Nobody needed to tell her that she needed to make herself out to be way more impressive than she actually was, which to be fair was her immediate instinct in any case. “I immediately thought - there’s no way I’m not coming back. I knew I would be willing to do anything at all to return.”

You could hear a pin drop in the cavernous room. “Of course. If I may ask, did you know your District partner before?”

“No,” Diana said, fidgeting with a pill millipede (pillipede?) leg. “He was a stranger. And in any case the rules of the Games are simple - one comes out. I couldn’t go around befriending people I would soon have to kill.”

“I must say, we were all so impressed when you took out Joline.”

“Er, who’s Joline?”

There was a chuckle at that.

“The girl from Two.”

The memory of holding the knife washed over her, an unpleasant sticky sensation in her chest. Diana hugged the millipede tightly. “Oh. I didn’t think of them by names. They were just their District numbers to me.” Given the approving sounds from the crowd, Diana must have said the right thing. “In any case, it was a stroke of luck mostly - she happened to be distracted, I seized on the opportunity. In the Games, as in life, it’s all about seizing any opportunity that comes your way.”

“And you did. Such confidence, such cold-bloodedness - your veteran family members would have been very proud of you.“

Diana felt her throat tighten and she had to hold back tears. “I thought about them sometimes. When I was scared, I knew they had been scared, too, but they had fought on despite that.” The audience was silent. Diana impulsively continued speaking. “It’s so crazy to think that when I was little, it was a simple fact that my great-grandfather came back, when he talked about his wounds, I never thought that he might have died. But in the Arena, I kept on thinking I might not come back - but I also couldn’t imagine not coming back. So now I’m thinking about how lucky we all were that Great-Grandpa came back.” Diana stopped at that, wishing she hadn’t said anything. But what did it matter now? She could be weak, it wouldn’t hurt her anymore. She looked down at the millipede, which had a cute little face. The happy little eyes made her feel even more emotional, so she looked at Flickerman’s shoulder instead.

“Your great-grandfather was a very brave man, and I am glad your family got those decades with him.”

“Thank you.” Mom and Dad must have blathered on about him for hours during the final eight interview. Great-Grandpa Hillel deserved having the entire nation know about him, he had been so amazing.

“Just as I am glad that your family will get many decades with such a brave, loyal, and upstanding woman like you.”

Diana nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes and tried to blink them back.

“Now, when it was close to the end and it was down to the last five, what were you thinking?”

Relieved by the change in topic, Diana decided to be truthful. She had to clear her throat a few times before she was able to make words. “I thought to myself - there’s no way I can stand up to the big boys, I’m going to have to be smart. My plan was to kill them in their sleep.” In hindsight, that might have actually worked. It had worked a few times in the past, at least.

“And when the fire broke out? I think I saw you saying something.”

As if trying to recall a dream, Diana remembered reciting the Shema. “Um, I’m afraid what I was saying is not fit to print.”

Everyone laughed, so that was good.

“That is very understandable! Now, I must admit I was very intrigued by the list you had on your arm.”

“It was just to not forget who was still alive.” Her right arm was completely clean and bare now.

“I was thinking it would make a fine tattoo.”

Diana wanted to throw up at the thought. “No. It served its purpose. It was there to remind me who was alive, not who was dead. Now that none of them are alive- well.”

“I can tell that you’re tired, so I’ll ask one last question and let you go. What are you looking forward most to when you get home?”

“Honestly, I just want to sleep for a week.”

Everyone laughed again, but Diana was in no mood to join in. She was so worn out, when she got back to her room, she didn’t even bother to wash or brush her teeth, falling into bed immediately after undressing. She was asleep in minutes, pill millipede lying under the covers with her.

The trip back took much less time than the trip to the Capitol - Elly explained that due to the different distances, the trains arriving from close to the Capitol stopped overnight. Diana spent the trip staring out the window and hugging the pill millipede. Her Mentors, who now wanted her to call them Blake and Maria, tried to give her some advice.

“Just go with what they tell you,” Blake said. Diana didn’t think he was entirely sober.

“I know.” She’d been doing that her entire life. Diana, go there, Diana, do this, Diana, button up your shirt before you give Grandpa a coronary.

Maria sighed. “Don’t relax now. The worst is only beginning.”

Diana seriously doubted that. No matter what may happen now, at least she wasn’t running through the forest trying to stab people before they could stab her.

The train arrived. Despite the fact that they were in Centre, Diana was not surprised to see her family, as well as a crowd big enough for the District mayor’s greeting party. Even Rabbi Simon and Rabbi Miller were there, but they hung back and did not approach. Cameras flashed as her family ran up to hug her.

“You’re back,” Leonella said. She was the same age as the boy from Eleven, Diana realized.

“I am.” Diana shoved the pill millipede into her hands.

Leonella squealed at a pitch that should not have been humanly possible. “Aww, it’s so cute! I love it!”

Diana was beginning to feel overwhelmed. Fortunately, after just a few seconds, they were bundled into a large car and taken to the Victors’ Village, where their new home was.

“We’re all relocating,” Dad said. “Well, everyone who wanted to move, that is. House is plenty big enough for everyone. You’ll see, it’s massive.”

“So who’s going to be living with us?” In the car with her were Mom, Dad, Leonella, and Grandpa.

“Aunt Nelly, Cousin Sarah, and her children.”

Aunt Nelly was Grandpa’s sister - not the great-aunt who had been conscripted, Mom’s aunt Leah had died in the war. Aunt Nelly lived with her daughter Sarah, Dad’s cousin, and her three grandchildren, who were twenty-five, twenty-one, and nineteen. “Are all three of them coming?”

“They won’t last long,” Grandpa predicted. “Michael has been threatening to move out with coworkers for years now, and living with all of us will just make him hurry up.”

Ten people living in one house. How big was the house?

“Oh, you’ll see,” Mom said. “There’s nine bedrooms, so it’s the perfect fit.”

“But not in the way you think,” Grandpa quipped.

“Come on, Dad, it was a slip of the mind-” Dad dropped his face in his hands.

“In fact, the proposition was that we return to the good old days before the Dark Days and have me share a room with Nelly.”

Diana laughed. It was funny to think of Grandpa and Aunt Nelly as siblings just like her and Leonella. She realized that being with her family had made her forget all about the Games and felt a burst of gratitude towards them.

“So, um, what about work?” Diana asked, trying not to think about that.

“Oh, they found us all places in the area. Very nice of them.”

Given what Diana had gone through for this, they better have.

The Victors’ Village was something like the richest neighbourhood in her home city, with one major difference - instead of being smack downtown five minutes’ walk from the offices the factory managers worked in, they were surrounded by a park that cut them off from the rest of the city completely. There was no public transit closer than half an hour’s walk away. There were already three cars parked on the giant driveway (including the antediluvian rust bucket on wheels Great-Grandpa Hillel had received from the government after the Dark Days when it had been new and didn’t take ten tries to start), but only Mom had a licence, so it would take time before they could get around easily. The dirty-grey box with a carpeted interior looked odd next to two sleek, new models in beautiful shades of grey, one matte, one almost shiny, that most definitely did not have any carpets, only fine leather. Diana couldn’t wait to turn nineteen so she could learn to drive. A bunch of her friends could drive, but Mom was too scared of her being punished for driving without a licence, so she had threatened her with the Peacekeepers every time she mentioned being in a car until she had agreed to wait.

Despite the ludicrously expensive cars (one Victor was certainly less than thousands of decorated veterans, so they could afford to really go all-out) there were major differences between this and a rich neighbourhood. Rich neighbourhoods in the middle of the day were full of life - small children playing in spacious lawns, stay-at-home parents meeting up for a midday walk or going about their errands together, servants going to and from work. This place was a ghost town. Twenty houses stood in a four-by-five grid, the only three inhabited ones clustered in one corner. It was obvious which one was hers - Aunt Nelly had already occupied the porch and was knitting.

“There you are!” Aunt Nelly got up and went to hug Diana. Diana tolerated the hug, clutching the pill millipede for dear life. “Oh, I’m so happy to see you again!”

“You don’t even know how happy I am,” Diana said, much harsher than she had intended. “No. Er. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Aunt Nelly patted her on the cheek. “You’ve been under a lot of stress. We understand if you get a bit snappish.”

The question Diana hadn’t dared think before finally surfaced. “Did you watch it all?”

“Oh, no,” Dad said. “We couldn’t bear it. We’d even turn away if the Games were on in a public place. Rabbi Simon had to give us updates.”

No wonder they were being so calm. They had no idea what had actually gone down. No wonder Great-Grandpa had refused to speak about killing. Diana tried not to think about it.

“Let’s go inside?” Grandpa offered.

Inside, Aunt Sarah was directing workers as they did some sort of repairs. Diana was subjected to yet another emotional greeting cut short by the appearance of a small black cat. “We have a cat now?”

“Mina wanted one.” That was Diana’s youngest cousin.

“Seriously? And nobody thought to warn me?”

“How would we have done that?”

Why was she so upset over an adorable cat? “What’s its name?”

“She’s called Sooty.”

“That’s not very creative.” Sooty was currently perched on the arm of a very expensive couch. She had bright-blue eyes and a fluffy tail.

“Diana, why don’t you go rest up. Your room’s on the second floor. First on the left when you go up the stairs.”

The room turned out to be the size of their old apartment. There was a bed the size of which Diana associated with the sort of cheapest motels where five people slept on the same mattress, a chest of drawers that turned out to contain her old clothes, and a desk with a computer. Diana was very surprised to see that, she had never heard of someone having a computer in their home. She wanted to see how it worked but she was already exhausted. Why was she so tired all the time?

Yawning, Diana deposited the pill millipede on top of the chest of drawers. She then took her siddur out of her pocket. The little book was slightly singed but still intact. She said afternoon prayers and went to sleep, but she had a nightmare about trying to run away from something with a backpack that weighed down on her and made it impossible to go fast. She woke up in the middle of the night feeling like crap and struggled to go back to sleep, the pill millipede watching over her in the dim light.

For the next few days, Diana had nothing to do. When everyone left for work in the mornings, she went with Grandpa and Aunt Nelly, who were now officially retired, to carry their bags for them as they shopped. Grandpa had always been the one doing the bulk of the work around the apartment, and he was very happy now to have Diana to carry heavy things, Nelly to bicker with, and machines like vacuum cleaners and washing machines to do everything for him. They bought and ate food they had never been able to afford before. Diana could wake up when she wanted, eat as much chocolate as she wanted, and didn’t have to work. But she was constantly tired and unhappy and she didn’t know why.

Now, it made sense to her why Blake and Maria spent most of their time getting high together. Blake’s family had most likely refused to live with him for obvious reasons, and whatever the reason why Maria was also alone, it meant that she didn’t have nine people plus a cat constantly forcing her to join them or do something instead of thinking about the Games. Diana spent her time learning how to program the computer from a manual helpfully left for her in her desk, knitting with Grandpa and Aunt Nelly, and hanging out with her cousins, though it was very difficult to talk to them.

The nightmares continued. They had an odd blurred quality to them. Sometimes Diana was running away from something but she was moving slowly, as if through pitch. Other times, she dreamt she was trying to climb a tree and get away from the boy from Five but her arms weren’t listening. It was strange that she dreamt of that when she had managed to kill him.

Diana knocked on Mom and Dad’s door, glancing around the corridor to make sure nobody else was there.

“Yes?” Dad said.

Diana went inside, pill millipede in one hand. Mom and Dad were going through a box of stuff. “Hey. I, um, wanted to talk to you?”

Mom patted an empty part of the bed. Diana sat down, twisting her fingers. “About what?”

“I just wanted to say thank you. For making me stay in school. I saw the others - they were so tired, even though they were my age.” So much was determined by the conditions in which you grew up. Had her family not been able to afford anthelmintics, Diana would have also been stunted and chronically ill. Hell, she was sickly already, severe parasitic infections would have finished her off.

“We did what we could to give you an advantage,” Dad said, fidgeting with a coil of wire. “I am glad you feel it worked.”

“It did.” Diana passed him the pill millipede.

“Heh. I like the little guy.” He smiled widely. “Now everyone’s going to want one. Leonella already got herself a little wooden one.”

Mom patted the toy on the head. “Good millipede. What are we going to call it?”

“Vicky. Because they’re the real Victor,” Diana said half-seriously.

Mom hugged her so tightly, Diana thought she was going to suffocate. “We’re so glad you’re back,” she whispered. “So glad. We thought you’d never return.”

“We had people donating for your funeral.” Dad was crying now. “They didn’t think you could do it. Neither did we. We mentally buried you. When we heard the fireworks, it was like the day of your birth all over again.”

Diana didn’t have the faintest idea what to say. She settled for hugging her parents back, struggling to get the pressure right. When she let go, she picked up Vicky and fidgeted with one of the thirty-four legs. In her imagination, the pill millipede waved at her.

“The millipedes were cute,” she said.

“They would have eaten you alive had you begun crushing them,” Dad said blankly.

Not surprising. “Why would I crush something so cute?” Dad smiled. “Were they mutts?”

“Oh, yes,” Mom said. “Leonella told us all about that.” Even less surprising. Diana was happy Leonella had been able to be her usual Games-fan self despite everything. “I was so relieved to find out they’re mutts, I thought for a second they’re in the forests all over the place.”

Mom was terrified of chipmunks (one had startled her once twelve years ago) and those were harmless. “There are a few mutts that aren’t sterile,” Diana said and wished she hadn’t.

“What? Which ones are those?”

“Mockingjays?” Dad suggested.

“Dad, that’s a hybrid.”

“Yes, but they’re the only ones that pulled that off. Most others died out. I think there’s a couple of poisonous plants? I think it’s unfair that mutt crops are sterile and farmers have to buy seeds from the IGR every year while the lethal stuff does fine.”

“I guess tracker jackers aren’t any different from giant hornets,” Mom conceded.

“That’s because the stuff you see is actually giant hornets. Leonella told me a few months ago.” It felt more like an eternity ago. “Tracker jackers are sterile, you only see them in the Games. It’s just that giant hornets are also really nasty, so people get mixed up.”

“Oh, really?” Dad sounded surprised, or rather as surprised as he could sound.

“Yeah. Her teacher said so.”

“Well, that’s good to know. Either way I don’t want to step on a hive!”

On the weekend, Diana was put through a hell she would have struggled to deal with before everything, and especially now. First they all, as a family, went for their checkups. Mom, Dad, Grandpa, and Aunt Nelly were pronounced shortsighted and got glasses.

“Look, Dave!” Aunt Nelly said to Grandpa. “The leaves on the trees! I see them all!”

Diana and Leonella were taken to the gynecologist for the first time in their lives. As could be expected, the doctor, a middle-aged woman with a disapproving glare, judged Diana for having too many partners, judged Leonella having no partners, and applied so much pressure when palpating, it left bruises.

“I’m good,” Diana told her family. “The medications worked.”

“I’m also good,” Leonella said. “But the doctor stabbed me really hard with the speculum and made fun of me for not dating.”

“That’s normal,” Mom said. “Doctors will always find a way to disapprove of you.”

“Alright.” Leonella didn’t seem to be upset. “Where are we going now?”

Then they went to the dentist, who removed half of Mom’s teeth because they were completely rotten, told her to come next week for new ones (even Diana knew implants cost a staggering sum) and made Diana spend hours in the chair as they filled in holes. This was worse than the gynecologist. The next day, Warner showed up full of enthusiasm about buying Diana a new wardrobe. Diana’s mouth had barely recovered from the dentist and her mind was in no state to go anywhere.

“Can we please eat first?” Leonella begged.

Warner took them to an expensive restaurant and treated them to baked fish and fresh salad.

“Do I have to buy clothes?” Diana asked. “I always wore what my family made.”

“How many shirts do you own?”

“Three, counting my good one.” That was the normal order of things.

“How many pairs of trousers?”

“One.”

“How many sweaters?”

“Zero, Mom’s been promising me a new one for several months now but hasn’t even cast on yet.” Her old one had been hopelessly frayed.

Mom raised an eyebrow. “Well, now that you find yourself with the time-”

“How about we go to the fabric and yarn stores?” Warner asked brightly. “But we do need to buy shoes and hats. And Leonella, your shirt is far too small.”

Leonella shrugged. It wasn’t too small yet, at least by their standards, but rich people had different ones. They bought little kids clothes that would only fit for less than a year and tossed it into the charity box once it was too small without batting an eye.

Once they finished eating, Warner took them to an upscale clothing store for shoes. There were only two types of ready-made clothes - low-quality ones that fit everyone badly and were fairly affordable, and super-expensive ones. Shoes had a more diverse spectrum of cost and quality, since you couldn’t slap together some shoes on your great-grandma’s sewing machine. Diana made a beeline for the high heels and was very disappointed to discover that they felt like sticking her foot in a vise. Even the nice flats hurt her toes and rubbed painfully against the back of her foot. Reluctantly, Diana had to give up.

“Have you found something?” Mom asked.

“No, they’re all uncomfortable.”

“Diana, you need something nice to wear.”

“Not my fault the nice shoes pinch,” she defended herself. “I’d love to get them, but they don’t fit me.”

“We are not leaving the store until you have five pairs of shoes!”

Who needed five pairs of shoes? “I could get new workboots.”

“That doesn’t count!”

Eventually, in addition to the running shoes she was already wearing, Diana got more solid shoes that would be great for foraging, warm boots for winter, rubber boots for rain, and flip-flops, which were technically shoes. She really did want to get high-heeled shoes, but they were so unbearably uncomfortable, she had to give up. Maybe she could get custom ones. She sat on a bench, watching the rest of her family stock up.

“Alright, we’re done!”

One minor diversion when Dad saw the bill later, they were off to the expensive yarn store. There, Diana felt like a much more meaningful participant as she picked out amazingly soft hanks of yarn and books of patterns, and the family unanimously agreed to buy a large kit that contained all the different sizes of crochet hooks and knitting needles.

“Look! A pattern for a pill millipede!” Leonella grabbed the envelope and put it in her basket. “I should use jumbo yarn and make a really massive one.”

“Do it,” Diana egged her on.

“That sweater looks interesting.” The only thing Aunt Nelly could read were pictorial knitting patterns. “Dave, what do you think?” she asked Grandpa.

“What colours are you thinking? Something bright should work with this kind of pattern.”

“Ooh, look at these socks! I need them.”

The purchases were loaded into a taxi and sent off, and it was time for the penultimate stop of today. Fabric.

Diana had been at the fabric store many times, watching her relatives ask for two metres of this and a metre of that and a cone of black thread, but never had she seen anything like this. There were bolts of the most luxurious cloths, fine cottons and sturdy wools and delicate silks and even a waterproof fabric that Aunt Sarah announced would be perfect for rain clothes. Diana could only shake her head at suddenly being rich enough for dedicated rain clothes.

“How are we going to have the time for all of this?” Akash asked.

“We?” Grandpa said. “That’s what tailors are for. Stylist Warren has kindly given us some recommendations.”

“Are the tailors going to knit me new socks, too?” Akash snarked.

“You’re a big boy, you can make your own socks.” Aunt Sarah had drifted over to the embroidery and cross-stitch patterns. “Hmm, I like this pattern. It should look nice on a decorative pillowcase. We really should look in a way that befits our new status.”

“Mom, are you saying Diana fought so that we could have decorative pillowcases? Like Great-Grandpa fought for the Rust Bucket?”

Aunt Sarah twisted Akash’s ear, but both of them were giggling.

Chapter Text

The night before Elly and someone from Victors’ Affairs were due to arrive to tell Diana what to do with the rest of her life, she once again had the dream where she was struggling to climb up a tree but her arms were heavy and leaden and did not move. When she woke up, it was six, fortunately. At least she had gotten enough sleep, even if she felt exhausted nevertheless.

It was silent in the house. Everyone woke up at 6:30 to go to work, so there was still nobody awake, except possibly Sooty. Sooty was an asocial creature who refused to sit on laps or in hands, which infuriated Diana, because she had thought cats would provide you comfort when you were feeling bad and here was Sooty refusing to sit less than two metres away from her.

Diana was surprised by how much she liked Sooty. When she had been little, she and her friends had amused themselves by setting cats’ tails on fire or throwing rocks at dogs. But now she liked Sooty and felt bad for her when she got hurt. Even the thought of someone hurting an animal made Diana feel like something was twisting in her chest. When had that begun? Probably when she had decided she was too big for torturing animals, and begun to hang out with the older kids instead.

Diana wanted to continue working on a programming problem she had begun the other evening, but she had no energy. She sat down on her bed and stared at the wall. She wanted to get up and do something, but she didn’t. The glowing clock cycled through numbers. Someone’s alarm clock rang. Diana sat on the bed.

Why was she so drained? She should have been happy. She had won, she’d get to turn nineteen and get married and live. She should have been triumphant and enjoying life. But instead, she sat around like a potato.

There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” she said. It was Michael. Her eldest cousin spent way too much time trying to look over her. “Why are you here? What if you had woken me up? I’m already sleeping terribly.”

“You’ve been waking up early this entire time.”

“So what? Maybe I was finally getting a good night’s sleep for once.” Feeling angry, Diana drew herself into a tight ball. “What do you want?”

“For you to eat breakfast.”

Another thing Diana had noticed about herself was that she had no appetite anymore. She drank water all the time and always had a cup on her table, but food just didn’t appeal to her. Diana had heard somewhere that going hungry for a while could slow your metabolism, so maybe that had happened to her and she didn’t need as much food as before now. Like an energy-efficient machine that could run longer on less. She was certainly spending less energy than ever, now that she didn’t have her apprenticeship anymore and spent her time sitting at a desk or carrying Grandpa and Aunt Nelly’s bags.

“Fine.”

The house had a separate kitchen and dining room on the first floor. Everyone was grabbing whatever they could reach before darting out to work. Diana saw Leonella walk out the door with a small bag on her back and a brand-new bicycle helmet under one arm, off to her summer job. Leonella had always wanted a bike, but they had been never able to afford one. The television was on and showing the morning news. The main news items on the District Channel 1 were updates from the fields, a severe windstorm in the southwest, a milkmaid who had overfulfilled quotas, and a veteran getting their outhouse fixed. Diana watched the village mayor cutting the red ribbon as she sat down.

“Dad, I think we need to call in the pest exterminators again,” Dad said to Grandpa as he stirred honey into his tea. Since utilities were automatically covered from Diana’s stipend, everyone suddenly had a lot of money for everything else. Diana could have covered that, too, but they didn’t want her to spend her money, as if it would run out because of some tea.

“Is it the silverfish? I saw one the other night.”

“They’re always there.” Mom looked up from her sandwich. “I’m sure a couple came along for the ride when we were moving our things.”

Diana liked silverfish. They had the tiniest little triangular legs and three tails sticking out in a fan.

“We’ll have to do that after the visit.” Sarah took a container of leftovers out of the fridge and put it in her bag. Fridges made life so much easier. “Diana, have you heard from your friends yet?”

“I’ll write to them today.” Diana was going to do no such thing. She had no idea what to say to her old friends. It felt so strange that she was doing nothing while they were working hard. Diana had always looked down on rich people for being idle while she did real work, and it felt weird to be on the other side of that. She had nothing in common with her friends anymore. There was no reason for them to be friends.

But who was she supposed to be friends with now?

“Make sure you do.”

Diana started, jolted out of her thoughts. “Look, you don’t have to look over my shoulder every day of my life.” She took a piece of bread and put some chocolate spread on it with a spoon - she had no idea where the knives were. Was her family afraid she’d stab someone? The chocolate sandwich was tasty, but still felt like chewing sawdust. “I’ll do it,” she lied and went to get dressed to go outside.

While changing, Diana realized that she was bleeding. Where were her pads? Shit. How could she have forgotten about them? Diana stuffed some toilet paper into her underwear, put her clothes back on, and raced downstairs.

“Mom, where did you put my pads?”

Mom looked up from her coffee. “The rags? We threw them out and bought real pads. Let me get you some.”

Diana blinked in surprise. She had admired pads in the pharmacy sometimes but they had always been too expensive.

“I can’t believe how comfortable real pads are,” Aunt Sarah said. “And they don’t leak at all!”

“They’re a marvel of modern science,” Dad agreed.

That sounded too good to be true. At work, the girls were always getting their clothes bloodied (the boys meanwhile had scars from shaving with bad razors or failing at shaving with straight-edge razors).

Mom ran back in and shoved a small cardboard box of pads and a bottle of ibuprofen at her. “This bottle contains-”

“Painkillers, I know, it says so on the bottle.”

“Oh, right. Here you go.”

Diana took the box and went upstairs. The pads were curved bits of thick, padded cloth that felt soft and smooth to the touch, and they had wings with snaps to secure them in place. This was so much easier than rags (or, God forbid, gauze and cotton wool), and in day-to-day life, reusables were more practical than disposables. Though maybe she should get a pack of disposable pads, in case she ever went on a long foraging trip or something.

Diana put one on and felt perfectly comfortable. Since her uterus was hurting a bit, she took one tablet, as advised on the bottle, and put the box and the pills in her bathroom. Out of curiosity, she went through the pads. They were of different sizes and thicknesses, so that would be convenient for different days of her cycle - Diana had pretty heavy flow on the first day and then progressively lighter bleeding for the next three days. Counting, Diana found that there were more than enough to put on a new one twice a day. Some, like the one she was wearing, were dark-red, but others had different prints. Diana wasn’t sure why someone would make galaxy-print pads, but they did look cool. She amused herself with the mental image of galaxy pads clipped to the washline on the balcony before remembering they had a dryer now.

Diana finished dressing to go outside and went back down. “Mom, do I just toss them with the laundry?”

“Yes, it’s just like with the rags, but more comfortable.”

Nice. It was crazy how much being rich made your life easier. Diana felt guilty that she was wearing a comfy expensive pad and had taken a painkiller for mild discomfort and was reaching for a box of jalebis while all of her friends were rushing off to work fueled by leftovers and with only some old rags for their periods.

Grandpa and Aunt Nelly made her spend the morning walking around the park looking for mushrooms that weren’t there. The thick tree cover made her feel, in places, that she was in the middle of a forest. Diana constantly looked around half-expecting to see someone jump out at her or for a flicker of light to turn into a raging inferno. Being with Grandpa and Aunt Nelly was anxiety-inducing, because the thought that they would never be able to run away from danger chewed at her. Being without them was worse, because sometimes she thought she was back in the Arena.

“Do you even know where we are?” Diana asked half-seriously. It was eight, according to the brand-new watch on her wrist. She had to be back by nine, when the visit would be.

“Somewhere or other,” Aunt Nelly said evenly. “This place is so isolated. No wonder Young and Popescu have gone round the bend, all alone in here.” They were in the middle of a large park, or small forest really, that had used to be on the outskirts of the city. Now, it was surrounded by neighbourhoods of various income levels on all sides. The park itself wasn’t being bulldozed for construction because District and city officials went hunting there (Diana could afford hunting licenses and guns now, but she wasn’t sure if her family was interested in that). The Village proper had its own territory encircled by a fence of corrugated metal, and there were several gates all family members had the keys to. The other day, Akash had collided with a journalist who had climbed over the fence to take pictures.

“And that’s why you’re dragging me around everywhere.” Diana was irrationally terrified of becoming lost even though Grandpa and Aunt Nelly were excellent at orienteering and had last gotten lost in the woods forty-five years ago.

“Exactly,” Grandpa said. He used his cane to push aside a leaf, revealing a destroying angel. Such a beautiful name for something as prosaic as a mushroom that caused liver failure. “Well, that’s not good. But yes. We didn’t watch your Games, but Aunt Nelly and I - especially Aunt Nelly - remember the Dark Days. Our village saw heavy fighting. The more stability a person had in their life, the more people supporting them, the more likely they were to make a full recovery. Of course, there were always exceptions, many people simply pushed all of their friends and relatives away, but that was the general trend.”

“That makes sense.”

“We also arranged for you to speak to a therapist,” Aunt Nelly said.

“When?” Diana was angry that everyone was just deciding her life for her, as if she was a puppet being yanked around.

“Day after tomorrow.”

Diana wasn’t sure how much a therapist could help her. And what were they even supposed to help her with? Maybe they would figure out a way to have her dreams stop? Diana was still upset about not being told, but it now definitely seemed like a good idea.

“Diana, how are you feeling?” Grandpa asked. “Does your stomach hurt? We can take a little break if you need.”

“No, I’m fine. The painkiller’s working.”

“That’s nice. It’s so strange to think about the things well-off people can afford. Why is basic hygiene a luxury? My new razor is so much easier to shave with, and the soap doesn’t irritate my skin.” Listening to men talk about shaving, Diana was glad she only had to deal with the occasional uterine hemorrhaging. Having to scrape at your face every day sounded so annoying, maintaining neat facial hair was apparently even worse, and if you didn’t do it, you looked like a hobo and people kicked you out of everywhere.

“It is what it is,” Aunt Nelly sighed.

They walked around for a while, finding exactly nothing, Grandpa and Aunt Nelly constantly chattering about this or that. They got home a bit early. Diana knew that the guests would be late. Everyone always thought she was weird for arriving on time. But what was the point of setting a schedule when you weren’t going to follow it?

“Why don’t we go visit your Mentors?” Grandpa offered.

“Sure.”

Diana still couldn’t shake off the strangeness of the Victors’ Village. They were the only people standing on the road that encircled the houses and led to one of the gates. The single-lane road was unpaved but very smooth and free of major potholes, and from where she was standing, Diana couldn’t see where it went, because it made a turn soon after leaving the Village. The other gates were accessible by foot, with some of the paths smooth enough for bicycles. It felt like a ghost town. Despite the total emptiness, being outside at night was terrifying. The rest of the houses were completely bare. Her cousins had broken into one yesterday and discovered that it was all bare walls, floors, and some dust. The houses were so empty, there wasn’t much of an opportunity for dust to gather.

The two on her left were different. Like with the empty ones, the yards at the front were a messy tangle of plants someone came by once in a while to mow, unlike Diana’s, where they were pulling up the weeds so that they could have a vegetable garden and lots of pretty flowers. In Diana’s opinion it was rather silly to play ‘middle-class people summering at their cottage’ when they were now in the richest 0.1 percent of the country, but it gave her something to do outside.

Blake and Maria didn’t garden, so the three of them had to walk over weeds twenty centimetres tall to get to Blake’s front door. Aunt Nelly knocked. Nothing. The other Victors had given her copies of their keys (as had she with them, but Aunt Sarah was terrified of them and always deadbolted the door, so it was a moot point), so she unlocked the door. They didn’t take their shoes off, not wanting to step on a needle.

Inside, it was very empty and a little bit dirty. Cleaners came around once a month, and they must have done their job while the occupants had been in the Capitol, so there had not been much time to get it dirty again. The kitchen had a bunch of empty takeout containers lying around, and in the living room, Blake was lying on a couch on his side. He was wearing shoes and his face was unshaven, and he didn’t even open his eyes.

“What a mess,” Grandpa said. “Doesn’t he have anyone to live with him?”

Diana was very curious to know what his family was doing. Blake was only in his fifties and had come from a middle-class family, his parents could have very easily been alive, but all of the programs about their Victors never said a word about his family. With Maria, Diana at least knew that her family were domestic servants on a latifundia somewhere, but that still left the question of why weren’t they here. Maybe Maria had pushed them away and they had gone home. Diana’s old neighbourhood hadn’t been too bad, but she knew that she’d have rather worked sixteen hours a day scrubbing floors than lived with someone addicted to opioids.

“I guess not.”

“I don’t think he’s waking up any time soon,” Aunt Nelly said. “Let’s go to the other one.”

Maria’s house was just as messy, but Maria herself was awake and painting halfheartedly. “Why are you here?” she demanded.

“The visit is today. I thought I’d remind you to get ready.”

Maria sighed and put down her brush. She was sitting on a couch and painting her Arena on a small canvas. “The camera crews aren’t going to be interested in Blake and I.”

“If you say so.” Diana awkwardly perched on the arm of a couch. “I also wanted to ask you for advice.”

“We’ll get going now,” Grandpa said. “Gotta manage all the preparations.”

Once they left, Maria picked up her brush and resumed painting. “What advice do you want?”

“I was just thinking. There’s this, and then there’s the Tour, and then there’s the next Games. So-”

“You’re seriously planning ahead?”

“I want to know what’s going to happen so that I can prepare for it and not accidentally do something wrong.”

That got Maria’s attention. She looked up now, face twisted in an unreadable grimace. “Do you always sound like you’re reading from a book?”

“Yes.” When Diana had been fourteen, her cousins had stolen a love letter one of their friends had written to someone and had her read it out loud to their entire group of friends. Apparently that had been the most hilarious thing ever.

“Well, you’re going to be popular.” That was obviously sarcasm. “Look. I was not kidding before. The worst part is only starting.”

Seriously? She was calling it the worst part when she had sent her and Rafael into the Arena without a word of advice? Rabbi Miller had helped her more and he hadn’t even had to do it!

“Is that why you and Blake are like this?” Diana asked more charitably than she thought. “Because you have to take responsibility for two Tributes every year and then watch them die?”

“Not only that. The memories from the Arena - do you have nightmares?”

Diana shrugged. “I wouldn’t call them nightmares. They’re just weird dreams. I’m always trying to get away from something but I’m too slow.”

“When I go to bed sober, I dream of killing them. Over and over. My family turned away from me before I was even home. They refused to have anything to do with a murderer. Why didn’t yours?” There were tears in Maria’s eyes.

“But it’s not murder. At least no more than killing an enemy in war. And my family didn’t watch the Games.”

“That’s just what they tell you to make you feel better,” Maria said in a tone that brokered no argument. Diana didn’t believe her. She now knew her family were masters at going behind her back, but that just seemed like too much effort.

“Even if they did, so what?”

“Come on, Diana. You told that boy you wouldn’t hurt him only to stab him in the back.”

“So what? That’s the Games. Why should they be affected by that?”

Maria stared at her wide-eyed. “You seriously think so?”

“Of course!” Diana practically shouted. She leapt to her feet, twisting her hands together. “Only one of us could get out! There was no other way for me to go home! And they know it!”

Maria drew a streak of blue on the canvas. “What’s even the point of surviving if you lose yourself in the process?” she said quietly.

“To survive?”

“Do you seriously think it was worth it?”

“Of course. I want to live.”

“And if that life isn’t a life at all?”

“I’m breathing. That makes it life.”

Maria rinsed off her brush in a cup of grey water and set it aside. “You seriously don’t regret anything you did in the Arena?”

“No. I wish I hadn’t had to do it, but I had to. There was no other option. Come on, Maria, it’s not morally wrong if it’s committed under duress, like in war.”

“Duress is no reason to lose your humanity. Which we all do. Nobody really survives the Arena.”

Diana felt like they were having two separate conversations. Thank God her family was normal, unlike Maria’s. “Whatever. Is there any other advice you want to give me?”

“Starting with the end of the Victory Tour, your old sponsors and just rich Capitolites will have sex with you. You cannot refuse.”

What? “For how long?”

“Theoretically speaking for forever, but they’ll lose interest in you eventually. You just don’t have the kind of personality that draws them in.”

“And that happened to you and Blake, too?”

“For Blake, not for a while. Informally it began in the thirties, but it really got formalized under Snow.”

“Oh. Um, do these people use protection?”

Maria threw her hands in the air. “Seriously? I just told you you’re going to be repeatedly violated for years on end, and you stand there like nothing’s amiss and ask about protection? Are you even human?”

“If being human means sitting around getting high every day of my life I’d rather not be one,” Diana spat and left the house, still worried about protection. Someone in her old neighbourhood had been sent to prison after he botched his wife’s abortion and nearly killed her. On the plus side, nobody was ever arrested for doing an abortion on herself.

The delegation arrived half an hour late, which by the standards of everyone except Diana was on time. There was a small camera crew that filmed her for a few minutes even though she was wearing a tracksuit and hadn’t combed her hair in the morning.

“Good morning,” Elly said brightly. He looked much the same as always. Diana wondered how he kept his beard dyed that way, but all of a sudden, the only thing she could think about was Rafael in the chariot complaining about being shaved.

“Good morning.” Thinking about that made her feel upset for some reason. That was the only thing she knew about Rafael - that he hadn’t liked being shaved. Was this going to be what she thought about when she saw a bearded man for the rest of her life?

“Well, then. Let’s go in?”

With Elly was a tall middle-aged woman with brown skin and curly red hair. She introduced herself as Diana Kirji, the just-promoted head of the department of Victors’ Affairs.

“We have the same first name,” Diana realized.

“We do,” Kirji said, looking down on Aunt Nelly either because she thought she was better than her or because she was a metre sixty-five tall to Aunt Nelly’s metre fifty (she claimed she was a metre fifty-one, but that was because she really wanted to be taller than Grandpa). “Now, why don’t you reunite with your escort while I go freshen up?”

The first thing Diana said to Elly was “You should shave your beard.” She instantly regretted it. You couldn’t just go around telling people what to do with their hair.

“If I may ask - why?” They sat down in the living room, now empty of everyone except the ever-distant Sooty perched on a windowsill.

Diana shrugged. “Rafael had a beard, so now that’s all I can think about.” She felt about to cry.

“Oh. Well, I was thinking of shaving it anyway - I want to get a tattoo on my neck. If you want, I can do it now.”

“No, no, it’s okay.” She couldn’t go around being upset every time she saw a beard or she’d always be upset. “I can’t be going around telling people what to do with their bodies.”

“Seriously, it’s alright. I was told new Victors can be odd at times.”

“So, why are you here?”

“To introduce you to the duties of being a Victor.”

“Like what?” Diana asked, thinking of Maria’s words.

“Let’s start with what’s in my jurisdiction while Kirji’s away. For a few years at least, you will be expected to put in television appearances. For the past, oh, ten years or so we’ve been having Victors show off skills they have. It’s so that you can be more easily associated with something.”

“Right. I think I saw Brown doing embroidery on television a few times last year.” John Brown was from Eleven. He had won last year’s Games by joining the Career pack and then winning the final fight, as he was from a middle-class family and had done martial arts since he was a small child.

“Exactly. It would be preferable if you picked something…un-martial, for lack of a better word. Nothing related to violence or the potential of it. Is there anything you’re good at?”

“How good do I have to be at it?” Diana asked uneasily. “I was apprenticing as a boilermaker before, but I don’t think that counts, and I guess I like to sing, but you heard me singing at the interview, I’m not good enough to be a professional.” Diana seldom sang out loud now, because Akash complained that it hurt his ears.

“Is there any kind of craft or skill you were known in your circle of friends and family for doing?”

“No. I can mend and make clothes, but my grandfather and great-aunt are the real masters.”

“That’s alright. What is it you like to do? That’s the important thing. You can improve with time.”

Diana thought about it. There wasn’t really anything she liked to do. She did chores around the house but even getting to play around with expensive ingredients wasn’t any fun at all. “Well, I guess I’ve been getting into computer programming?” There, she had the satisfaction of figuring out problems, at least.

“That’s perfect! Have you considered going to university?”

At that moment, Kirji came back. She also turned out to approve of computer programming as her ‘thing’.

“But I only have six grades of school,” Diana said.

“That’s no problem - we’ll send you materials so you can get your GED.”

Kirji then explained a bunch about her duties, but said nothing about what Maria had mentioned. Diana decided to keep quiet until it came to it. What she would have to do until November and the Victory Tour was one giant nothing, punctuated by the odd television appearance and talking to schoolchildren.

“We’ll tell you more about the Tour when it gets closer to it.”

She was also instructed on how to behave. Diana had never been one to get shitfaced at the club and everyone had always rolled their eyes at her ideas of what a romantic date looked like, so she certainly wasn’t going to fall afoul of anyone there. In public, she was to remember that everything she did reflected on the Games as an institution.

“Remember that this year, you will always be photographed.”

“Oh, really? But only this year?”

“The public interest is fickle. Most people will stop caring about you once there’s a new Victor.”

“That’s good,” Diana said, relieved.

Kirji smiled. “We’re going to have so much fun working together. I can tell.”

When Diana told her family that she was going to get a GED and go to university, Aunt Sarah’s eyes lit up. “That’s great!” she said. “In fact, I was thinking just now - why don’t we all go to school? After all, we don’t pay rent or for utilities, so that frees up a lot of money.”

The cousins sighed. Michael, Akash, and Mina had identical expressions on their faces. “Mom, we don’t have infinite time,” Akash said. “And in case you forgot, Diana and Leonella are the only ones who can read and write.”

“Exactly,” Grandpa said. “School - what a splendid idea! We have to take the opportunity if it presents itself to us. Oh, maybe we could even go to college, or even university! Wouldn’t that be great? Sarah, I always did tell you to send the kids to school.”

Oh God, this again.

“Mina’s a welder,” Sarah shot back. Their home town didn’t have any trade schools, people learned trades by informal apprenticeships. So Mina could fix just about anything made from metal but couldn’t write her name.

“And the boys?”

“Uncle, we were in debt from Quentin’s hospital bills, I needed them to be working, not behind a desk.” Quentin was her late husband.

“And once that was paid off?”

“Uncle, why don’t you try to make Michael and Akash do something they don’t want? They were long employed by then.”

Michael and Akash, both unskilled construction workers, stared at the table.

“Well, maybe if they had better-paying jobs, you wouldn’t have been stuck living in that communal apartment with those drunks-”

“Whatever!” Sarah exclaimed. “We’re here now, we can move on.”

“I wouldn’t be so optimistic,” Mom said. “Living here is a nightmare. We’re all alone here except for two junkies, we need to drive to get to the grocery store, and need to buy a permit to visit everyone back home. You can’t make up for it with free kitchen appliances.” Someone in that field had sponsored Diana with the promise of free appliances in perpetuity if she won, which she had. Grandpa had already dubbed the stand mixer ‘Old Abe’ and jokingly declared that he wanted to be buried with it.

“But that’s exactly what I mean,” Sarah said. “Yes, this is a nightmare. Yes, we’ve all been uprooted. But we might as well take the opportunity and do something we would have never had a chance to do before.”

“It just feels unfair,” Michael said.

“You think it’s fair your cousin had her name drawn out of that bowl?”

And that was not fair at all, but that was that and they had to live with it. In the end, the money aspect of it worked out, though they would have to be careful. So that was how Diana spent the next few weeks. The adults all studied together, but she found it more comfortable to be alone in her room. Grandpa took to attending synagogue every day, and Diana went with him on Saturdays. She said her daily prayers without fail, less out of belief but because the community had saved her life so she felt bad about not even paying lip service to their faith. When the adults went to work, she did chores with Grandpa and Aunt Nelly and tried out various sports in an attempt to decrease the fatigue her therapist explained was a symptom of her depression.

The therapist was an absolute lifesaver. Diana asked Blake and Maria about why they didn’t go to one and got very sad answers - Blake (who had kicked out his family after they had tried to get him help) didn’t see the point when it was the same shit every year all over again and Maria had tried but had given up after a year or so. According to the therapist, Diana had PTSD and anxiety, which was why she constantly had those dreams, was terrified of open flames, always felt as if she would need to run away soon, hated being in the park, reacted so strongly to beards, and never actually talked about herself in the Games, using vague words like ‘back then’ instead. He told her that given that she would never need to work a day in her life, she needed to fill her time with something she found meaningful.

It was hard to see meaning in a life of idle luxury. Sure, she’d become a programmer, and then what? Maybe by then she’d be so obscure that she’d go to work in some research institute and nobody would notice. But before then, all she would do wouldn’t bring her a cent, which felt completely wrong after years of work. It was very difficult to be like the therapist said and see meaning in any kind of reaching for a goal.

Since the District’s only actual gym was nothing like the couple of gyms in the Capitol, Diana settled for grappling, lifting weights, running, and climbing trees (with ropes, because she was terrified of falling off). They helped her with that constant feeling of vulnerability - instead of wondering if she’d be able to run away, now she was actually running and didn’t have that thought, and learning how to fight got rid of some of the anxiety about being attacked. According to the therapist, that was only a partial solution, but it was something.

Climbing trees was even better than running in that regard. After just a few weeks, her dreams about the tree changed to her effortlessly flinging herself through the branches using just her hands as if gravity didn’t exist and then stopped entirely. Her nightmares were now muddled blurs of colour and emotion she could never describe when she woke up but which made her feel sticky and gross inside.

Diana also tried to get back into dating, but it was hard, with how most people at least knew of her. Even people who said it didn’t matter to them acted weird around her and it didn’t work out for long. And Diana’s emotions were still not back at normal, which made it even more difficult. She had never felt very strong emotions in any case, but now joy, hatred, or anger were beyond her ability. The most she could pull off was a whiny irritation that annoyed everyone and made them not want to spend time with her. They still did, but Diana could tell just how taxing it was for her family to keep on supporting her. But she still couldn’t stop being an asshole to them.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Diana said. “It’s like something is broken in my mind. I feel fine, but then I open my mouth, and I say something I shouldn’t.” With shaking hands, she made a few stitches. She always crocheted in therapy, because sitting still was impossible. Adam knitted. He did it to make her feel more comfortable, like they were friends in a knitting circle.

“Do you feel any different just before that happens?” Adam asked. He came highly recommended, his clients were very rich people.

Diana scratched her head. “No. But sometimes I remember things, and my mood changes.”

“What sort of things?”

“Killing.” That unpleasant sensation in her chest was back, and she tried to explain it as best as she could, Adam nodding along as if it made perfect sense. “I don’t know, I - it’s like, I remember I did what cannot be undone. And it feels wrong. I feel guilty. Even though I know I shouldn’t.”

“Why shouldn’t you feel guilty?”

“Well, because it’s the Hunger Games.”

“But you still feel bad about taking lives.” Diana nodded. “Diana, this means that you have empathy, no more and no less. Our society makes exceptions for the general prohibition on killing - self-defense, war, the Hunger Games. But for a normal person, to take a life is not something that can be done lightly. Did your veteran relatives talk about killing?”

“No. Never.”

“But they were still glad on some level that they defended their country.”

“Yes.”

“Here is the paradox. On one hand, it is a glorious thing you did. But on the other, it is unnatural to go up to a person and kill them. Diana, it is okay to feel guilty, to wish you had never been put in a position where you had to take lives. Yes, it hurts to know your hands ended lives. But you must believe me when I say you did nothing wrong.”

“I did nothing wrong, but I still feel bad about it.” Diana adjusted her grip on the yarn. “Like with war. A veteran can say, I wish the Dark Days never happened. Like I can say, I wish there were no Hunger Games. But they had - have - to happen. So you do what you have to, because there’s no other choice.”

“Well-put.”

“But I keep on wishing I had never been chosen.”

“But you were. And now you are here. What you need to do is come to terms with the past and focus on what you will do with the present and future.”

“But how?”

“Well, that’s why I’m here. It might take months, years, you might never truly be free of your feelings of guilt, but I promise you, the rest of your life will not be spent dwelling on two weeks of it.”

That sounded nice, but Diana couldn’t believe it. Not when that feeling was back, and she could feel the knife in her left hand even though it held only yarn. “Um, what do you want to discuss now?” she asked.

Chapter Text

By the time the Victory Tour came around, Diana still wasn’t cured of her PTSD (and accepted she would probably never be 100% cured in any case), but she didn’t snap at people anymore, so at least there was that. She was making progress on her GED, had given several interviews on national television without anything going catastrophically wrong, was pretty good at lifting weights and awful at running, and was feeling like she was settling into a pretty cozy routine. At everyone’s prodding, she had even befriended some people from her gym and the computer cafe she went to, and they hung out together. They were intimidated by her status, but she was intimidated by their middle-class upbringings, so it evened out. Sometimes, when she was on a date or hanging out with her friends or family, she forgot about the Games entirely.

And now the Victory Tour. And what would, in all likelihood, come later. Blake and Maria had explained that this sort of sex slavery would probably not last for long in any case, because while she was fairly good-looking (at least her dates never complained), she wasn’t the sort of Victor who ended up paraded in front of everyone in skimpy clothes. According to them, she lacked ‘allure’ (her exes would have disagreed) and gave off ‘bad vibes’ on top of that (her exes would have agreed). So it would mostly be the usual people who wanted to sleep with the newest Victor for the novelty of it and then forget all about her. First would be the biggest pockets, and then, over the years, demand would decrease and her price go down until hopefully, one year, they’d leave her alone.

Blake and Maria were confused by her lack of concern about the entire thing, and Diana was confused by their confusion. A while back, she had realized that the thought of pregnancy and the extreme vulnerability it entailed was horrifying and disgusting to her, and the thought had made her actually throw up. Diana had always thought she would give birth one day, but that had mostly been because that was the obvious way to have a child. As soon as she turned nineteen and could do such procedures at will, she got herself sterilized. She had had an entire speech prepared for the doctor about how she knew for sure she wanted to adopt, but the doctor hadn’t even asked for a reason before signing off on the tubal ligation. Now, that fear seemed a little bit silly, but the more Diana thought about it, the more she wanted to adopt a toddler and skip over the baby stage, because being woken up at night was now unbearable. So there was that.

Aside from pregnancy, there was the risk of STDs, but Maria said they would be given stuff to prevent it, and physical violence, which would result in serious problems for the client if they actually caused damage, so they wouldn’t risk anything serious. Diana knew there were people who might ask her to shit on them, but in the grand scheme of things, that wasn’t really something to panic about. Blake and Maria seemed to think it somehow reflected badly on them that they did it, which Diana didn’t get. It was just like with the Games - if you had to do it, it wasn’t your fault and didn’t make you a bad person. There were all sorts of stories about people who did sex work to pay for their relatives’ hospital bills or whatever.

But honestly, Blake and Maria were weird people in general.

One day at dinner, Mom praised Diana for doing well in her studying. “I’m not surprised you’re going so fast,” she said. “You were always so smart, so curious! I never understood why you did badly at school.”

That was because nobody liked being at school when they had friends who were already working and earning money, and Diana’s curiosity had always gotten her stared at. “Mom, when I was six, I killed a dog to see what the organs looked like. That has nothing to do with learning the times tables.” At least multiplication had been easy. The list of Victors - not so much.

“What?” Maria demanded, looking at Diana fearfully.

“What - what?” Grandpa asked, confused. “Back in my day, Nelly and I and all the other village kids played with the human bones left over in the woods from the Dark Days. I remember we made masks from the skulls.”

“But why kill the dog?” Blake asked. He looked disgusted.

“It had bitten my friend the other day.”

“But why kill it?”

“Who cares about some stray dog?” Mom asked. “The less of those there are, the better. Brr.” Mom probably had PTSD from being mauled as a kid.

Diana wisely did not explain that at her age, Blake had been a ‘wolf in human form’, as the old people euphemistically said, and thus felt bad for his fellow vicious canines.

“You’re messed up,” Maria said confidently, as if she wasn’t a friendless junkie who spent her time holed up in her house with a needle in her arm while Diana hung out at the computer cafe with her new friends and ate noodles. Fortunately, her family leapt to defend her normality, so she could focus on her divine-tasting matzo ball soup in peace.

Diana never told the therapist about that, of course, he already knew Blake and Maria were messed up. Instead, with the Tour due to start tomorrow, the conversation drifted towards the Games.

“I noticed something about the way you approach it,” Adam said. “Do you mind if I share the observation?”

“Go ahead.”

“You still refuse to admit that the Games hurt you because, in your mind, that would be tantamount to admitting that something wrong happened.”

That was unpleasantly accurate. “But I did nothing wrong-”

“I am not saying that - far from it.” Adam wrote something on his clipboard. “A soldier can fight for a noble cause and still end up severely traumatized. The human mind is simply not made to kill other humans, no matter how important the reason. Diana, it’s okay to be hurt by something like this.”

“I don’t know,” Diana said, wringing her hands. No matter how much they discussed the topic, she wasn’t making any progress. “It just feels wrong. I feel like I’m not supposed to have problems.”

Adam smiled. “With neighbours like yours, little wonder you are so afraid of having problems. Did you do as I suggested last time?”

He had told her to talk to veterans who had had to kill children in battle. “Yes.”

“And?”

“They didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. It’s just what you have to do in such situations.”

“But that doesn’t make it easy.”

“It doesn’t.”

“So why do you feel like admitting you have troubles is bad?”

Diana shrugged. “I guess it’s because of how they talk about it. If it’s such a noble thing, how can it hurt so much? But on the other hand, the veterans also say that nobody ever mentions things like trauma. So I guess it’s just that most people don’t like thinking about how these things are actually really difficult.”

“So how do you think you’ll change your actions going forward?”

“I’ll try to be honest with myself about my feelings.”

“You’ll try?”

“I’ll do it.”

It was a good thing that the Victory Tour began on a weekday. Leonella, who had recently stopped walking on eggshells around Diana in a rather stupid fight over a T-shirt, was at school, the adults were at work, Grandpa and Aunt Nelly were in the kitchen, and Sooty was hiding somewhere because she was terrified of strangers.

Elly, as he had mentioned last time, now had no beard. Instead, there was a tattooed vine going up his neck and to his ear. By now, Diana didn’t become completely upset when she saw a bearded man, but sometimes she randomly thought of that one single sentence Rafael had said to her and it made her feel sad. Adam told her it was okay to feel sad when someone died even in such circumstances, so she tried to not beat herself up over it.

The stylist and the prep team had somewhat changed their styles but looked mostly like before. “You really need to look after yourself better,” Warner chided as she studied Diana’s hand. “What do you wash with?”

“Soap?”

Warner sighed.

Diana’s skin was moisturized, her legs and underarms were shaved, her hair washed and trimmed even though she had gotten a haircut just two months ago, and she was dressed in all new clothes, a shirt, trousers, and sweater. Looking in the mirror, Diana noticed that she looked younger than her age, like Leonella always did. “I like it,” she said, trying to be polite. “But you’re not making me look attractive.”

“Oh, we agreed that’s not the image we want to achieve with you,” Warner said, tossing back a handful of tiny braids. “You’ll be adorably ruthless.”

Diana’s last partner had refused to continue their relationship past a one-night stand because she gave off ‘creepy energy’ - try as she might, Diana had no idea what the woman had disliked about her - and the man before her had called Diana ‘an adult with the brain of a child’. Having Warner call her ‘adorable’ stung.

“That’s nice,” Diana said. She had by now made peace with how everyone thought she was ‘ruthless’. There was nothing wrong with being ruthless when appropriate.

“I like your makeup selection. This eyeshadow would look good with your skin tone.”

“That mostly belongs to my grandfather and great-aunt. I don’t know anything besides lipstick and stabbing myself in the eye with the mascara brush.”

“Oh, don’t worry, it’ll come with practice. Why don’t we send you some books? Oh, and you have to get a good conditioner for your hair, I can give you some recommendations. You have such a lovely hair texture, but whatever you use leaves it limp and dull.”

That ‘whatever’ was a bar of soap, and limpness was preferable to walking around with a mushroom cloud on her head once it grew out. “Uh-huh. That sounds nice.” Diana did want to learn to look nice, but she had done just fine at attracting partners before, and it was hard enough to eat now, let alone make herself pretty.

There was a camera crew on hand to capture her waving goodbye to Grandpa, Aunt Nelly, and Sooty. Since Blake and Maria were very likely to disrupt any kind of organized proceeding, she had to go without them. She got into a taxi with Elly and they were off to the train station.

The Tour would take around two weeks, that much, Diana knew already. She’d go to all of the Districts in descending order skipping Six, then the Capitol, then back home. She had only seen glimpses of the other Districts on television and in books before, but as it turned out, she wouldn’t actually get to see any of it.

In Twelve, she was taken to a small town square crowded with maybe five hundred or so people, the families of the Tributes standing on podiums of their own. Diana wondered if the boy’s family, a ten-year-old sibling, a mother, and a grandfather, hated her for having gotten those energy bars and bottles of water that enabled her to outrun their boy. Did the girl’s older brother hate her for killing his sister? Did they understand that she had been saved because she had had something to pull on sponsors’ heartstrings nobody else had?

Elly had prepared several speeches that varied depending on if Diana had played a role in the death of the Tributes from that District. Here, she said that it had been pure luck it had been her to win that fight (even though she had attacked the girl from behind) and survive that deadly race, commended the courage of the Tributes, and the public part of the ceremony, thankfully, ended. There was some time remaining before dinner in the District mayor’s house, so she was allowed to go talk to the District’s sole living Victor so that he could ‘welcome her to being a Victor’, as Elly had it.

Haymitch Abernathy had won the Fiftieth at sixteen years of age, which made him only nine years older than her at twenty-eight, but he looked closer to forty. They sat in a small side room on an overstuffed couch, the man taking a flask out of his pocket. “D’you want some?”

“What’s that?” Diana asked as she scanned the room for emergency exits in case of fire. There was only one door and they were on the third floor, which made her feel uneasy.

Haymitch - he, like Blake and Maria, wanted her to call him by his first name - laughed. “Vodka.”

“No thanks, I don’t drink.” Not anymore. Before, Diana had cheerfully gotten drunk and used drugs when partying at a friend’s house, but now, the thought of wiping away her feelings was too dangerously tempting.

“Good. Don’t start.” There was an awkward pause in which Haymitch drank from his flask. “How have you been?”

“Alright, I guess. My family’s really going out of their way to help me. I go to therapy, study for my GED so I can go to university and become a computer programmer.”

“And do you know what you’re going to have to do when you get to the Capitol?”

“Maria told me about having to have sex with important people.”

Haymitch nodded. “Yeah. Good that you know. I tried to refuse the first time Snow asked. Came back to my family dead. I agreed the next time, but too late for them.”

“Oh, no.” It hadn’t entered Diana’s mind that something like that could happen - mostly because she couldn’t imagine refusing a direct order. “But why?”

Haymitch laughed bitterly at that. “What, you think I know? This part of the operation’s handled by one person, and we can’t peek into his head. Just do what you ought to. Best for you that way.”

Diana could do that. “I noticed that getting therapy made life way easier for me. Have you thought about that?”

“Nah. No therapists here, and I’m not talking to a Capitolite for a second longer than I have to.”

“What? Why aren’t there therapists here?”

Haymitch ran a hand over his head. “Because this small town, as you doubtless think of it being from a city of two hundred thousand and living now in a city of three million, is all of Twelve.”

“But how?” It had never entered Diana’s mind that something like that could exist. “What about the other Districts, then?”

“The other Districts are all normal-sized by your standards. We’re the standout here. Long story. The administrative unit here that predated Twelve was formed to control coal mining in the area - right when fossil fuels began to run out in earnest and everyone switched to renewables. Mine after mine was closed, people moved away, but the District government found it profitable to keep it going. Then during the Dark Days even more people moved away because of the fighting - I think it was the Communists, the Loyalists, and the Autonomists here. Once the borders were sealed, that was that. We used to have some other towns but the last one has five people living in it, three elderly and two adolescents who are going to move here once their grandmother dies.”

Diana supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. At school, they had been told that Twelve produced coal and that fossil fuels had long since been exhausted in the same breath. It had been easy for Diana to believe both at once, but of course there was a contradiction there.

“So how big is Twelve?”

“Ten thousand or so.”

By Diana’s standards, that was microscopic. Funny how a little town could be an entire District. “That explains why everyone looks mostly the same,” she said. “Did you go through a bottleneck?” she deployed her GED biology.

“A what?”

“Almost everyone here has light eyes.” The audience had been roughly split between those with extremely pale skin, blue eyes, and yellow hair, and those with light-tan skin, grey eyes, and black hair. Haymitch was an example of the latter. He was lighter than her but quite dark for someone with grey eyes. “I thought maybe everyone here is descended from a small population that happened to have light eyes. After all, even if a person with brown eyes was capable of having light-eyed children and had a spouse with light eyes, half of the kids would have brown eyes, so it’s odd I only saw a couple of people with brown eyes in the crowd.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m an alcoholic, not a biologist.” Haymitch took another sip from his flask. “So, first stop of the Victory Tour. How are you holding up?”

“I keep on having dreams where I’m trying to run away from something but I’m somehow stuck.”

“As nightmares go, not so bad. And Blake and Maria? How are they doing? I try to call them but no response.”

Diana felt cold. “My family got cleaners to come over every week and my grandpa brings them food, but they don’t eat much. We tried to get them to therapy but they refused. We try to involve them with things we’re doing but they avoid us. And Blake said a while back that he’s not coming to the next Games, and if he’s not coming, there’s no way Maria is coming.” Diana had been trying to push that out of her mind, but now that she was on the Tour, she couldn’t deny reality.

Haymitch smiled sadly. “You want mentoring advice? Just don’t bother. If they have what it takes they’ll survive in any case, and odds are, they don’t. And I wouldn’t wish this on someone, either.”

“But that’s the thing!” Diana hissed. “How can I sit there, alive, the Arena in my past, and tell a child who is about to die that death is the better option? There has to be something I can do to at least improve their chances of survival.”

“Like getting rid of the Hunger Games?”

Was that a joke? A test of her political reliability? Was he already drunk? “Very funny,” she said coldly.

Haymitch studied her carefully. “Look, if you actually want to play out this combination by the rules, you’ll have to ask the Careers, they’re masters at it. But I doubt you’ll last five years that way. If you make them your responsibility, you will hurt when they die. I only started drinking when I lost my first.” He sighed. “I tell myself they had no chances in any case. Like the boy last year. I’m not even getting into the girl, I thought she was Career bait, but I didn’t expect someone from Six to be so methodical. I don’t know why sponsors were drawn to you, and from all over the country to boot, but I had no way of matching it. Was that song of yours some kind of code?”

“When I got to the train, Blake and Maria wrote me off completely,” Diana said in a small voice, hugging her knees with her arms. “But before that, in the Justice Building, a rabbi - a religious official in my religion - came to visit. He gave me advice. Told me to appeal to our community. I don’t know how it’s like in Twelve, but in Six, nobody knows of the Tributes, they’re not connected to them in any way, I was just yet another girl who wasn’t their daughter and there’s that, life goes on. But I had something to yank on the nerves of one community, at least, and faith is a bigger deal to people than something like job or social role. So I sang the national anthem of Israel at the interview. My rabbi says some of the footage was smuggled out, including that, and there were massive protests all over the country. It was knowing there were people with me that made me so willing to do whatever it took.”

“You will never have an opportunity like that. Something so spread out but that forms such strong bonds that they contribute large sums of money - I know that when there are devout Tributes money is collected for them at churches, but it’s something people are long used to by now. With you, it was also the shock of it happening for the first time to someone they cared about.”

“That’s true,” Diana said, “but I’m not just going to give up. To me, not doing my best feels like having a part in killing them.”

“You already do, but I see your point. All I can say is that I didn’t last two years that way. Are you sincerely religious yourself?”

“No. It sounds nice, but I just can’t believe that there’s an omnipotent power out there overseeing all of this. I mean, I can believe it, but I see no reason to actually do so.”

“We do have a couple of Victors who seek solace in religion, but I suppose that’s not an option for you. Good thing you have your family. It’s easy enough to drift into being like Blake and Maria or I when you’re all alone.”

“When did Twelve’s first Victor die?”

“Oh, long before my time. We were mentored by one of the Victors from Four, and the moment I won, he went home and has barely left his house since.”

“Do you know when she died?” Diana asked out of idle curiosity.

“Went missing without trace shortly after her victory. Most people think she died trying to defect.”

“To where?”

“To Thirteen, but I don’t think they know that part. If they know, they don’t say it.”

“Of course they don’t. We don’t talk about other countries much.” If not for her depression, Diana would have been shocked at hearing Haymitch say such things, but as it was, she felt only a dull sense of things not being as expected. It was a bit strange to be talking about other countries with someone she didn’t know well. “Um, so do you know more about the other Victor?”

“My contact who’s in touch with them says she never got to Thirteen. And we should really get going to the banquet.”

They went. The banquet was like how Diana imagined a small-town New Year’s banquet at the mayor’s house. There were maybe a hundred people in an improvised banquet hall in the Justice Building, which thankfully was on the first floor, so she could jump out the window if it came to it. Weirdly enough, most of them looked the same way - pale, blonde, blue-eyed. Diana had vaguely heard that in some isolated places the way you looked determined social standing, but it was strange to see it with her own eyes.

The existence of hierarchies Diana had thought died sometime around the seventh decade of the Cataclysm Wars aside, the banquet was nice enough. It wasn’t loud, though a bit too crowded for her liking - she sat on the mayor’s left at the head of the table, with Haymitch at the mayor’s other hand. The mayor looked to be sick, and Diana could see that the real authority in the room rested with her son-in-law, as her daughter was too ill for the job.

The food was great. It was all laid out on the table, so Diana could only marvel at the dishes. There were three types of bread - little rolls made from a fine whole wheat flour, corn flatbread, and slices of rye bread. Diana tried one of the rolls, since she had never had anything like that. It tasted great and had a pleasant texture. The centrepiece of the table was a roasted deer the Head Peacekeeper had personally shot, which was weird given that she was bragging about how well she enforced the ban on hunting. Quod licet Jovi, non licet bovi. Diana wasn’t sure why hunting was banned and also didn’t care, because she was too busy ladling herself some kind of bean dish with potatoes and pickled vegetables. It was as good as anything from the Capitol. Did they send special cooks for the banquet like they sent journalists?

She then had some of the deer, which was perfectly cooked and covered in a delicious glaze. Some of the guests were already drunk by now. Diana drank only mineral water and focused on the food. The roasted squash was familiar, the salads different from what she was used to. By the time dessert was carried in and Diana dug into small pieces of various pies, she was among the few still caring about the food. The mayor had needed to go lie down, Haymitch was sleeping with his face in a plate of salad, people were arguing about things she knew nothing about, and it was too hot and stuffy in the room. Diana slunk off to the kitchen to ask for recipes. She really wanted to have some of these dishes regularly.

After the banquet finally ended, they were back on the train and headed for Eleven. It was quite warm there. Diana sat in just a sweater as she stared out the window, watching towns and farms flash by. A few times she saw a city, but the stations were on the outskirts, so she didn’t get to see much. Eleven was definitely more agrarian than Six, but Diana couldn’t tell anything more than that.

Here, it would be easier, as both of the Tributes had died in the bloodbath without her participation. Diana read out some lines about honour and sacrifice to an audience that looked more bored than anything and that was that. The only noteworthy thing was that there was nobody standing on the podium under the image of the boy.

After the ceremony, she was pulled aside by one of the Victors. Chaff Kielce was in his thirties and looked exhausted, and Diana wondered if she would be the one who always had to talk to the newest Victor.

Fortunately, Chaff didn’t have much to say to her. He asked a few questions about how she was holding up and fell silent. Diana didn’t know much about the man aside from his Games, which he had won by carefully hiding when possible and fighting with a spear when he couldn’t.

“Why don’t you have a prosthetic?” Diana asked to fill the silence before remembering that was an impolite question to ask.

Chaff shrugged. “Doctors decided I’d have higher functionality if I learned to use my stump, since it was lost above the elbow.”

“Do you?”

“I guess I do.”

The banquet was the same as in Twelve. Food-great, company-awful. This was like a New Year’s party from hell. Dignitaries made toast after toast until it was a miracle anyone was coherent enough to pay attention to the delicacies on the table. Diana had to force herself to try the fried fish, but it tasted great, as did everything else. She hadn’t given any thought to kashrut, but everyone went out of their way to point out the dishes with no pork products, which was nice of them. Diana’s neighbour Seeder James, the Victor of the Twenty-Sixth, stuck to mineral water and kept up a monologue about the history of soul food for the entire banquet, which was far more interesting than the District mayor’s recent business deal or a Peacekeeper general loudly complaining about how he made it clear he wanted to be bribed with food but people kept on offering sex instead. Diana ended up with more recipes to put in her notebook.

In Ten, Diana got to meet Kevin Dobrev. The Victor of the Forty-Ninth walked with a cane as the result of being nearly killed by a mutt when the Gamemakers had despaired of getting him and the other surviving Tribute to the same place.

“As long as you keep your head down, they won’t mind the anticlimax,” he said, clearly speaking from experience. “With you, there was also the drama of the race, so it’s not like it was completely boring. Are you holding up alright?”

“As well as I can under the circumstances.” Was everyone going to ask that?

“That’s good. Take it one day at a time.”

At the banquet, Diana got to try a really tasty beef stew, so that was nice.

Next up was Nine, where Junie Tract, the Victor of the Fifty-Eighth, gave her a crash course on high Capitol society. “I only had a total of five clients. They’ll forget about you soon enough.”

Junie had won by charming sponsors with her good looks and using that to get away from the Cornucopia immediately and have the supplies and weapons brought to her instead. Yes, her face was ugly now thanks to the massive damage she had incurred in one of the fights, but she still looked pretty good. If that pattern held, Diana would be forgotten by next year.

At the banquet, the main topic of discussion was a maniac who had killed and dismembered over forty young people from rich backgrounds he had picked up in upscale nightclubs - Mom’s greatest nightmare.

“A true child of Oh-my-hand,” a Peacekeeper general muttered a few spots down from her. You weren’t supposed to call District capitals by their old names, but the general was drunk already. Nine’s Centre had used to be called Omaha.

“Don’t worry,” Rudolf Wang, Victor of the Forty-Fourth, whispered to Diana. “If Centre was really so dangerous, all the rich people wouldn’t be living here.”

“Me, I’m surprised the Peacekeepers were so lax while the rich were dying,” Junie said. “You’d think they’d care.”

“Nah,” Rudolf replied. “If you’re rich, they’ll promise you the world, but you’ll still get nothing in the end. They’re too lazy to work.”

Diana was surprised they were speaking like this in the open but said nothing.

In the next District, the Victor she got to meet had a different perspective on life. Woof Kuznetsov was sixty-two but still ‘enjoyed’ some popularity. “It’s just that they demand different things,” he said tiredly. “Back when they first implemented it, all I had to do was have sex. Now I’ve got clients who want the dating experience. It’s a nightmare.”

In the footage of his Games, the Sixteenth, he had been extremely attractive. Back then, the entire thing with sponsor gifts had just been starting out, to his advantage. Even now, he looked like the lead singer of one of those bands that played for an audience of ‘those who are over fifty’ Aunt Nelly had photos of in her room. “How do you deal with it?”

Woof shrugged. “I don’t even know myself. I just keep on breathing, I guess.”

Diana had worried that Seven would be difficult, but everyone seemed to recognize that the girl had already been almost dead. “Nobody here blames you,” Blight said. His name was actually Paul Katz (when he had been Reaped for the Fifty-Fifth, the community had scrambled to find out if he was Jewish, which he either was not or had no idea he was), but in his interview, he had joked about his family calling him a ‘little blighter’, and it stuck.

“Who do they blame, then?” Diana asked half-seriously. Blight had won his Games by allying with the Careers and winning the final fight.

Blight spread out his hands. “Who do you blame for a natural disaster that strikes some other town over there?”

Nobody, of course (or God), and odds are you don’t even pause for a second to think about it.

Six was skipped, and the very awkward Five was next. Killing in the confusion of the bloodbath was one thing, but Diana had killed the boy methodically. She muttered something about how he had fought nobly and that was that.

“How do you like Five so far?” Annaliese Gupta asked after the public ceremony.

All Diana had gotten to see was the main square of the main city. “Looks normal.”

“I suppose it does, at that.” Annaliese had killed two at the Cornucopia and spent the rest of the Games hiding, with the Career pack forgetting about her and killing each other. Diana didn’t want to imagine how the last one standing had felt, slowly dying of blood loss with no way to hunt down the adversary she must have known was still out there.

Four turned out to be extremely warm, to the point where she had to wear short sleeves. Diana was by now feeling completely wrung out. Four hadn’t had a Victor in a very long time despite consistently making it into the top eight. The last one had won the Thirty-Fourth and died of complications of his wounds seven years later, so it was the Victor of the Twenty-Seventh, Gareth Myraan, who met her.

“I am warning you now,” he said. “You caught lightning in a bottle with those sponsors of yours. You will never be able to replicate that.”

Which, of course, meant that in resource-low Arenas, her Tributes would have to either go to the Cornucopia or die of dehydration. “I know.”

“Nobody will blame you if you give up after a while. If Blake and Maria board that train at all, it’ll be a miracle. Haymitch does it alone, and if he’s still alive by forty, I’ll be surprised.”

“But I have to,” Diana said. “There’s nobody else who can do it for me.”

“There isn’t. But I will tell you now that it is extremely difficult.”

In Three, Diana met someone who was basically in her position. Bernard-Thomas ‘Call me Beetee, everyone calls me Beetee’ Latier had technically been mentored in his Games the same way Diana had been mentored. The two older Victors were both shut-ins with addictions to alcohol, and the younger one was just as dysfunctional. And Beetee himself had won in a somewhat similar fashion as Diana, impressing Gamemakers with his skills in training so that they would provide him with what he needed. Having been from a decently well-off family, he had been taking various advanced courses while apprenticing as an electrician, allowing him to set up an electrical trap with some wire and odds and ends. Plus he also liked programming, which drew Diana towards him even more.

“Programming’s a good choice,” he said, twirling his glasses in his hands. In the Thirty-Seventh Games, he had worn Gamemaker-issued special shatterproof lenses on an elastic. Now he wore expensive frames. “I find it relaxing. The problems I need to solve are so different from what I deal with in general life.”

“How do you do it alone?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I think I’m two people. Usually, I’m Beetee the computer engineer. But then the Games start and I’m Beetee who watches farmers and sweatshop workers die.” He sighed. “The more energy you put in, the more it’ll hurt when they die, but if you don’t put in any, you’ll feel guilty. Well, you’ll feel guilty in any case, but if you spent days coming up with ideas and analyzing the field, it won’t hurt so much. It’ll just hurt to have gotten attached. Because that’s the thing - even when one day Six wins again, there will still be one casket coming home.”

“But we’ll do our duty.”

“That we will.”

The last two would be difficult. In Two, Brutus Donaldson, the Victor of the Forty-Seventh, still couldn’t quite grasp her killing of the girl from Two. “It always happens every year. We can simulate death as much as we want, but it’s not the real thing. They get distracted, and that one second is enough.” He paused, knitting needles clacking away. “I realized you had potential the moment you stabbed Twelve. Doing something like that takes focus, and it’s the disoriented ones who never win. And when you got my girl - I thought to myself, if she can pull it off just two or three more times and the pack goes its usual route, she might very easily be a dark horse Victor.”

Diana wasn’t sure what to think of that, so she just nodded. Brutus took her to meet Malachi Hope, who had won the very first Hunger Games. Back then the Games had been a brief messy fight in a literal soccer field strewn with weapons. In the chaos, Malachi, who at fifteen years and three months at time of victory remained the youngest person to walk out of the Arena, had somehow managed to avoid becoming seriously injured and then picked off the survivors.

“It was all pure luck,” Malachi said. “It always is. Always. What you do for your Tributes and what they can do gives them the potential to survive if there is luck. Luck always comes first. It’s what you do with the chance that decides it.”

Diana’s victory could not have happened had the Arena been supplied with water, or completely barren, or if the pack had not been attacked by a wolf, or if the girl from Two had managed to kill that boy just five seconds faster, or if the boy from Five had been supplied enough to make him capable of fighting her off. “I know.”

The final District before the Capitol was One. For the last time, Diana was pulled aside - this time, by Jose Pilar, the Victor of the Twentieth. In his final fight, the last two standing had both been rendered unconscious, Pilar by a blow to the head and the other one from blood loss. Pilar had survived. He had made a substantial recovery, with the only lasting consequence being blindness.

“How did the tour go?” he asked.

“Exhausting,” Diana said. The Districts had all blurred together by now.

“Anything noteworthy?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s good. Stay strong. You’ll be home soon.”

That was what Diana told herself as the train went to the Capitol. Farms, villages, and small towns flashed by, and soon they were pulling into the city proper. Elly explained the itinerary to her - first a meeting with Snow one-on-one, and then a massive party in her honour where she would need to mingle and sound out potential sponsors for next year. Diana had already gotten some practice in talking to important people in the Districts, though not with such high stakes, as it was impolite in the highest to directly tell a person to support a Tribute not from their District.

The prep team made her up with especial ferocity, sticking her into an elegant suit and trimming her hair again. Apparently people with her hair texture, if they wanted to wear short hair, needed a trim once every two weeks, or once a month at most, not twice a year.

Elly went with her in a taxi to the president’s residence, where she had to wait for twenty minutes, according to her very expensive watch, outside the office. Finally, someone appeared and told her to go in, which she did. Snow was already sitting at an opulent table, smiling at her.

“Our newest Victor,” he said. “Please, do sit down.” Diana sat. “How did you find the Tour to be?”

“It was good.”

“That is good. Now, the reason I have invited you here is no simple social call. Have either of your fellow Victors, incompetent as they are, explained to you a Victor’s…other duties?”

Diana nodded. “I will be expected to repay the gifts they paid for with my body.”

Snow tilted his head slightly. “I would not have phrased it that way, but yes, something along those lines. Do you have any questions?”

Not any that could be asked of Snow, of course. Up close, he looked like, well, an older man, balding and with grey hair and beard. The unnatural smoothness of his pale skin made it clear that he was very rich, but there was nothing in the face to say that this was the president. “No. My duties are clear to me.”

“Excellent!” He smiled. “Miss Cohen, I think we are going to get along splendidly.”

Diana wanted to beat her head against the table.

At the actual banquet, which was like all the previous ones put into one giant room, it was all Diana could do to not hide under the dessert table and eat chocolate. She had to talk to person after person, and that drained her batteries like nothing else. A few people even groped her, which completely freaked her out. When she had been an apprentice boilermaker nobody had ever treated her like that, but now that she was a national celebrity, people thought they could assault her whenever they wanted. Worse was the music. It wasn’t bad or anything, but the sound combined with the crowding made her feel like screaming.

Elly pointed out oligarchs and functionaries; Diana knew she’d never remember most of the names. Some she already knew from the television. Up close, the outfit of Publius Dovek, the new Minister of Internal Affairs and Snow’s right hand, was even more insane than on the screen. The man himself looked eerily like Grandpa did nowadays when he went out to meet up with a friend, amazingly fancy makeup and the remnants of his hair an obviously artificial black. But even Grandpa’s earrings weren’t so elaborate. Diana’s own earrings were small hoops of solid gold. Mom and Dad had gotten her ears pierced as an involuntary sixth birthday present, and she had hated wearing the little studs and the holes in her ears after she took them out in her teens, but now, why not be a little bit fancy?

“How nice to meet our newest Victor!” Dovek was not very tall for a man, narrow-framed, and a little bit overweight, but the way he stood and gesticulated made him fill up the room.

“It is an honour to meet you, too, Mr. Minister.”

That repeated at least fifty more times until Diana felt exhausted. She had the unpleasant feeling that one of the violinists was stalking her, or maybe the way the big man towered over everyone made him constantly in her field of view.

At least the food was great. There were more dishes than she could ever try, but she tried a bit of whatever looked good, and it was all delicious as expected. Diana looked forward to coming home and sharing the recipes with her family. Aunt Nelly had gotten into pastry-making recently, she’d love trying all these different desserts.

As the night wore on, Diana felt more and more exhausted until she was sitting on a little couch in a corner staring into space and not talking to anyone. When Elly said it was time to leave, she wanted to cry from relief.

The ceremony in Six, by contrast, was simplicity itself (even if the District Minister of Resources nearly threw up on her nice shoes after emptying a half-litre, a dubious achievement for a woman who had to weigh fifty kilos at most), and then Diana could finally go home, where her cousin Michael had a surprise for everyone.

“Guess what?” he said. “I’m getting married!”

“Oh, really?” Grandpa asked. “But so am I!”

Aunt Nelly nearly dropped her cup. She recovered and put it down, shaking her head. “And it only took me twenty years to prod you out of your shell,” she grumbled.

“Really, Auntie?” Mom said. “Michael, congratulations! Father, congratulations! We’re so happy for you!”

“Yeah, congrats, Grandpa,” Diana said. It was impossible to dwell on the Tour for long when surrounded by her family doing their usual thing. With Michael, she knew he had been engaged for a while, but Grandpa had always been secretive about his personal life. Diana knew he had a girlfriend, but that was it.

“Er, Grandpa, who are you marrying?” Leonella asked.

Nine pairs of eyes stared at her. “I’m marrying my girlfriend?” Grandpa said faintly. “You know, Raisa? I’ve been meeting her for years and now she’s gotten a permit to move here?”

“Aunt Raisa? Really? I thought you were friends,” Leonella said.

Everyone looked weird at Leonella, even Sooty.

“Whatever,” Diana cut in. “Congrats to you both. Michael, are you going to move out?”

“We can’t decide. On one hand, this place might end up very crowded, but on the other, we’re not using your stipend to buy an apartment and we can’t afford anything decent otherwise.” Michael’s fiancee worked construction in the same crew as him.

“On that note,” Mina said, “some of my friends suggested I room with them when I go to university.” Mina was the quickest of them when it came to their GEDs and had already been accepted for university next year, to study systems engineering.

“Well, that’s still some time away,” Sarah said.

“So is Michael having kids, presumably.” Michael nodded.

“That’s all very nice,” Aunt Nelly said.

“I think I’ll move out once I’m in university,” Akash said. “Ten years from now, or maybe twenty.” Her cousin really wanted something higher-paying than his construction job, but he had always been slow to learn, and in an academic setting, he struggled even more.

Sooty approached Sarah and demanded scritches. The blue-eyed void had a tendency to lie in the darkest corners and then suddenly open her eyes, making whoever was passing by jump. She was still tiny - maybe she had been the runt of the litter.

“Diana, how was the Tour?” Leonella asked. “We saw you on television a few times.”

“It was alright. I got a bunch of recipes I want to try. But I’m very happy to be back.”

“Recipes? That sounds nice,” Mom said. “Now, how about a round of cards?”

“Let’s play skat,” Grandpa offered.

“Absolutely not,” Aunt Nelly said.

“But I’m getting married!”

“Fine, fine.”

Diana was gently prodded into playing skat with Grandpa and Mom. Grandpa destroyed them as always, the pile of cardboard tokens they played for moving steadily towards him until Mom gave up and went to pour herself a cup of tea. Diana didn’t mind losing. She sat around the large table in the living room with her family, feeling a coziness and security she had never felt before in her life. No stress over bills, no cockroaches falling from the ceiling, a fridge stuffed with food. No waking up early and dragging herself to work. No barely-stifled knowledge that if she ran into a maniac at the club, the Peacekeepers wouldn’t even think twice about her.

“Does anyone want the last bit of cake?” Aunt Sarah called out from the kitchen.

“I’ll take it,” Diana volunteered.

Cake, leisure, everyone being in the same room at once. Diana finally understood what Adam had been getting at this entire time. Maybe she would never be truly free of the Games. But they would not poison the good things in her life. Especially when they were the reason she had them.

Chapter Text

Grandpa and Michael got married at the same time in the same synagogue just to make it all simpler. Diana found it difficult to be happy, but she clapped along nevertheless, sitting on the horribly uncomfortable wooden benches.

Despite the lack of cushioning on the benches, it really was nice in the synagogue. Here, everyone acted like she belonged, even though she didn’t actually believe. It wasn’t something that had to be said. Diana was just part of the community and that was that. It still took her breath away when she thought of how they had literally saved her life. How many other Tributes could boast of such deep ties with people all over the country from all walks of life?

Even if Diana didn’t believe, there was something soothing to the ceremonies, to realizing she was doing what her ancestors had been doing for millenia. The only exception had been Yom Kippur, when for days, she had been in a state of paralyzed confusion, unable to decide if her actions in the Games were something she needed to ask forgiveness for or not. And who was she supposed to ask, anyway? God could forgive sins against God, people could forgive you for what you had done to them, but what if the person you had wronged was dead? Rabbi Miller had done his best to counsel her, but she had still ended up feeling completely drained and empty for a week.

Not so now. Michael was happy, Grandpa was happy, Janet and Raisa were happy, everyone was happy, and Diana wasn’t actively miserable, which basically counted as happy. So now there were two more people in the house, though they didn’t need any extra room, for obvious reasons. Janet was a neat and meticulous person, always a good thing in the massive household (though Michael was also a clean freak, so no wonder they liked each other), and Aunt Raisa (nobody was quite sure how to refer to a step-grandma) was a true master with the sewing machine. She insisted on mending clothes even though they hardly needed to save the money by doing it themselves. Diana also sewed with her because there was nothing better to do.

As spring dawned, Diana was unhappy. Before, she had never given another thought to the Games, but now, the warmer weather was a reminder of what was looming. She tried to put all of her energy into distractions. Studying for the GED - she was now, for all intents and purposes, at a grade ten level, though she had finished the math program, as she had done plenty of that in her apprenticeship. Diana worked in the front and back yards to turn them into a garden, did chores, finished her apprenticeship for lack of any other ideas, forced Blake and Maria to come over for dinner several times a week, jogged in the mornings, went to the gym, hung out with her friends, and tried to date. Unfortunately, she had no successes on that front. Ironically, now that her family was happy about her dating and wanted to meet her partners, she never got to that stage.

There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” Diana said, minimizing the page she had open on her computer. Nobody in the family could tell how bad her code was, but she still didn’t want them to see it.

It was Leonella, and she looked nervous. “Hey.” She closed the door behind her.

“Hey. Do you need something?”

Leonella shrugged and sat down on Diana’s bed. Diana turned around fully, remaining cross-legged in her comfortable chair. “I just want to tell you something. I watched most of your Games.”

“Of course you did - they would have shown it at your school.”

“No, we were writing exams by that point.” Oh, right, it was different in highschool. “I went out of my way to go watch it in the square.”

Diana could only shrug. She believed her family when they said they hadn’t watched it, but Leonella was the exception. Just because she didn’t stay out late didn’t mean she was a total shut-in, she had always had plenty of friends and of course they would have watched her Games together. “Did you want to keep an eye on me?” she guessed. Though honestly, Leonella could have been laying bets and Diana wouldn’t have been surprised.

“Something like that. I was afraid any moment I saw you would be your last.”

The old people talked about wondering if the letter they had received would be the last. “Well, alright,” Diana said. “I don’t really care. Though it is kind of weird to think about.”

“I’d have died in there,” Leonella blurted out, twisting her hands in her lap. “I was so glad it was you and not me.”

“Statistically speaking, your odds of being chosen were even smaller than mine, and mine were already microscopic.” Diana didn’t know how to console normal people, but her family was easier.

“I know that!” Leonella snapped quietly - she didn’t want the entire house to hear. “It’s just- remember how Mom and Dad and Grandpa always wished you could be more like me? But I think you only won because you’re you.”

Leonella wasn’t wrong. When they had been little, she had been far easier to deal with than Diana, meeting up with her friends to go to the library and never staying out late. Even later on, when Grandpa had thrown up his hands over their personal lives, declaring that if the forever-alone Leonella and the constantly dating Diana had been averaged out he would have had the perfect granddaughter, Diana had understood full well they were more worried about her. Diana had never endangered herself - in hindsight, her anxiety had manifested already then, when she had refused to consume anything at all at clubs and bars out of fear of maniacs drugging her - but they had still fretted and wrung their hands every time she said she would not be spending the night at home.

“I guess. But it’s not like being a bad student helped me.”

Leonella giggled. Everyone had been so disappointed when Diana hadn’t been accepted into middle school, but Diana had not particularly cared, and in fact had been disappointed to be sent to trade school instead of going straight to work. Granted, her parents were both skilled workers, so that had been only to be expected. Most families didn’t pressure lazy children into staying in school. Diana had once been jealous that her achievements had been a matter of course while Leonella’s middle school report cards had been tacked up in places of honour (where nobody except Diana could read them) and trumpeted about to the entire tenement block, but that didn’t matter anymore.

“It’s more that being a bad student is part of you. It made up your personality.”

Adam didn’t like it when Diana called herself bad at school. In fact, her work on her GED was quite good, but she had long been used to being considered the stupid child. “And my personality is the reason I made it,” Diana said. “So many of the others were lost, but I was focused.”

“I don’t know how you did it. I’d have been crying the entire time.”

Diana herself had no idea why she was like that. “Actually, when I was in the Arena, I thought about your statistics, and it calmed me down.”

“Oh, wow.” Leonella smiled. “That’s cool. But yeah, math is relaxing.”

“Yeah.” It was a bit strange talking to Leonella like this. Before, they had lived in their separate worlds. “Um, how are your friends from back home?”

“Good. We talk all the time, especially now that I have a cell phone.”

“You dating anyone?”

Leonella snorted. “No. You’re dating people for the both of us. How’s the chemist?”

She meant the chemistry student she had dated last week. “Didn’t last more than two dates. He said he wasn’t feeling it.”

“How do you even meet all these people?”

“I just go to the club. I can take you this weekend, if you want. They won’t check your ID if you are well-dressed enough.” Back home, of course, Diana had been hitting the club without any ID since the age of fourteen. In hindsight, that had been absolutely insane and practically asking to be hit on by creeps, but fortunately, she had avoided anything of the sort.

Leonella winced. “It’s too loud and crowded.”

“That’s the point. It’s like you’re drowning in an ocean of sound and sensation.”

“You like drowning?”

“Well, maybe that’s not the right metaphor.” Leonella laughed. “But yeah, I guess that’s it. You’re overwhelmed by the sounds and lights and kind of surrender. Let yourself drift.”

“That sounds awful. But I guess if you like it, it’s okay. I don’t like crowds. Or people touching me. Except when my friends hug me.”

“Me neither, but it’s different there. It’s different touching.” Leonella wagged her eyebrows. “No, really, it feels so much different when you initiate it instead of Aunt Nelly swooping down on you and suffocating you.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Why did you even date the chemist, if you don’t go together at all?”

“Because of the mindblowing sex?” Leonella’s face darkened and she looked at the floor. Diana could only shake her head. “Honestly, that’s the only reason.”

“It’s really that important to you?”

“As important as-” Diana frantically tried to think of an analogy. “As sweets. Life without it would be as miserable as a life without sweet food.”

“That’s crazy. I can’t imagine wanting anything as much as cake. Well, maybe sleep. And other food. Like that cheesy garlic bread Aunt Sarah made yesterday.”

Diana couldn’t wrap her head around wanting garlic bread more than sex no matter how tasty it was, and Aunt Sarah’s bread was very tasty. “Honestly, I’m kind of jealous of you - you must have so much free time since you don’t date.”

Leonella shook her head. “I waste time reading books and hanging out with my friends instead.”

That was true. There was a bit of a running joke that if you tried to bribe a Peacekeeper or civil servant or anyone else with sex but they weren’t interested, you should bring out the salami and alcohol instead. Everyone liked physical pleasure and emotional closeness, they just got them differently.

One lovely day in May, Diana decided to ask out a friend of hers from the gym. Her last partner had broken up with her immediately after she had revealed her full identity to her, citing the massive gap in their social statuses. With Francine, the gap would be the same, but Francine already knew who she was and didn’t seem to mind, so hopefully it would be alright. And they were already on good terms, so she wasn’t going to walk out halfway through declaring Diana to be creepy.

“You got anything now?” Diana asked off-handedly in the changeroom despite knowing the answer. Francine was in university studying computer engineering (one of the many reasons why Diana liked her) and had a very morning-loaded schedule, going to the gym immediately afterwards.

“No.”

“You want to grab a bite to eat together?” Just six years ago, Diana had been paralyzed with dread when asking that question. “As in, I’m asking you on a date,” she said just to make it clear. It was hard to believe that once, she’d have rather gone through surgery without anaesthesia than been so honest about her intentions.

“Sure.” Francine pulled her gym bag shut and clipped it to the side of her backpack. “Where do you want to go?”

“Maybe just somewhere around here?” The gym was downtown, so just a few minutes later, they were sitting down in a shop that sold noodle soup. The proprietor’s eyes widened when he saw Diana but he said nothing.

There was one big advantage to asking out your friend - there was no sitting around panicking about what to say. They just talked about the same things as always.

“How were classes today?” Diana asked. The soup she was eating was ‘mildly’ spicy. She liked to eat spicy things, though her tolerance was very low.

“Alright. Yours?”

“I’m going to try to get my GED over the summer and apply to start university in the winter term.”

“That’s great! You working on anything interesting right now?”

“No, it’s just highschool stuff.”

Francine tapped her chopsticks against the side of her bowl. “Do you even need a GED?” she asked. “I’m sure you could always pull strings.”

“I could, but I need to know the material, so I might as well sit through the tests!”

“Even Lit?”

Diana shrugged. “I’ll still have to take gen eds. With my status, I don’t want to be one of those people cheating and bribing their way to a degree.”

“True.” Francine sipped some broth using a spoon. “Honestly, not going to lie, this is strange. I recognized you the moment you walked in. I had no idea how to act around you. I felt so bad for you when someone asked for an autograph or something.”

“The disadvantage of spending time in rich neighbourhoods - lots of people have phones that can take pictures and want to take one with you.”

“Phones are becoming more widespread, though.”

“By that point, everyone will forget me,” Diana said optimistically. “As soon as this year’s are over, someone else will have all of the attention, and people have better things to worry about. Though I suppose I will always be recognized. Some people are just really good with faces.”

“And you don’t mind it?”

“I was convinced I’d die. I don’t even care what happens now, I’m too grateful to be alive.”

Even Diana could tell that Francine had no idea what to say. “What was it like?” she asked quietly.

“Scary, I guess? I don’t remember the emotion well. I know I was focused.”

“I never thought I could be Reaped.”

“Neither did anyone else. But it always happens to two people. Like a rare disease. Spinal muscular atrophy happens to maybe one in ten thousand babies - way more likely than being Reaped, but nobody ever thinks their child could be born with it.” According to Rabbi Miller, there was now a special gene therapy abroad that could cure SMA. In Diana’s opinion, Rabbi Miller had better things to do than pretend he was living abroad and needed to care about things like new medicines.

“That’s true. There’s so many kids in that field.”

“And I will have to mentor two of them.”

Francine nodded. “To be honest, I’m a little bit morbidly curious to get to know the ins and outs of the entire thing.”

Most of her other dates had refused to even hear of the Games.

“So am I,” Diana admitted.

Two weeks before Reaping Day, Diana was called to the Capitol, where Snow personally met her to say that if she hurried, she could meet all of her ‘appointments’ before she had to go back. Diana got the impression that the president was playing with her. Didn’t he have better things to worry about?

Of course, her opinion didn’t matter, so Diana went obediently to her appointments, trying to ignore the anxiety bubbling up inside of her. A bunch of her old friends had done sex work, and they all had stories about how someone went to meet with a client and never came back. Diana tried to focus on how high-profile her clients would be - there was no way they’d strangle her and toss her body out at the dump.

Diana had had sex with something like forty people before (she had tracked the amount through her teenage years but stopped after realizing that quantity did not mean quality), but that had been fun in a way this could never be. Even if the client wanted her to be on top, there would be no spontaneity, no messing around, no randomly quoting politicians. Granted, her boyfriend when she was sixteen had broken up with her because of her constantly quoting the deputy city mayor while flirting (“There is no money, but you just hold on!”), so maybe that wasn’t ever such a good idea.

And good thing, too, for this experience, because Diana’s first clients were the head of the NCIA and his wife. If she screwed this up, there would be hell to pay. Was this even rape? Diana tried to imagine it as a scenario from back home. A pimp had blackmailed some random person into having sex with an important person who desired them. Yeah, this was definitely rape. Weird that it didn’t feel that way.

“Bet you’ve never done anything like this, huh?” Primus Bradford asked airily as he unbuttoned his uniform jacket. The three of them were in Bradford’s luxury apartment. Bradford was probably sixty or so, though he was very well-preserved, and his wife, a typical trophy spouse, couldn’t have been more than thirty. Diana couldn’t shake the mental image of them killing her.

“In what sense?” Diana asked. “I’ve had threesomes before.” Well, only one, but best act like she knew what she was doing.

“What?” Bradford drew back, shocked. “I paid so much money for your virginity!”

Crap, crap, crap. “With all due respect, Director Bradford, several of my exes featured in my final eight interviews.”

“But I didn’t think-”

Diana batted her eyelids coyly, or at least tried to. “Come on, Director, do you really want someone who doesn’t know what part goes where? I can give you so much more.”

“You better,” he said. “Rest assured I will take this up with Snow.” Take up what - his own stupidity? You’d think the head of the NCIA was smarter than this. Bradford sighed. “Whatever. Give me a show. With Lucille.”

Thank God Diana had done something like this before. Two years ago, there had been one time when she was flirting with a boy at the club, and he was flirting with another boy, and it ended basically with her and the first boy putting on a show for the second one. And Lucille wasn’t so much older that nineteen-year-old Diana was put off by her body. She did as bid, kissing the woman all over and eventually bringing her to orgasm. Then, Bradford grabbed her by the hair (with some difficulty because of how short it was), tossed her onto the couch he had been sitting on, and anally penetrated her without any warning whatsoever.

Diana, shocked, couldn’t hold back her screams of pain. Was Bradford on something? Didn’t he realize how dirty anal sex with no prep was, or that he was making her bleed? The one time Diana had done this before, they had given up quickly because it was too uncomfortable for her, but Bradford obviously didn’t care, and Lucille was clearly enjoying the sight.

Fortunately, it was over fast. Diana just wanted to lie down and cry, but that wasn’t an option, so she got dressed, every movement causing more pain, and went downstairs to the waiting taxi. “Take me to the Training Centre.” She needed to get to the hospital. She was bleeding, she didn’t want to risk infection. “Can I lie down in the back?”

The driver looked at her oddly. “What if someone collides with us?”

Good point. Reluctantly, Diana sat down on one thigh and waited for the drive to be over. By the time she had arrived, she was worried about tomorrow. What if the next client also wanted anal? That could cause severe damage. She had to talk to Snow. Surely he wouldn’t want her to suffer permanent consequences that made her less desirable?

“What is the problem?” the doctor asked. She was stationed here for specifically this reason.

Diana quickly recounted the situation. “Also, I need to talk to the president.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

The doctor poked at her for a little while before applying a salve that made the pain go away. “There’s nothing too serious,” she eventually pronounced. “I’ll give you a cream that you can apply three times a day and after each bowel movement until it heals.” Diana imagined trying to explain to her family that she needed to squirt cream up her ass because Primus Bradford had raped her. This was not what they had had in mind when trying to scare her out of going to the club with the prospect of maniacs who allegedly lurked there in every corner just waiting to spike your drink. “Other than that, drink plenty of water, eat fibre, and take warm shallow baths regularly.”

“Thanks.” Shitting was going to be a nightmare.

Diana lay there for a little while, playing games on her phone, and then Snow walked in. “Good night, Mr. President.” She put the phone on the side table. “Er, should I stand up?”

“No need.” He sat down in a chair. “What is it that you wish to tell me?” There was an unspoken threat in his voice.

“Bradford thought I was a virgin.”

Snow seemed to be taken aback for a fraction of a second, but then he laughed. “Yes. He called me to complain about how much money he had spent on your virginity. I had to remind him that, as the head of the NCIA, he really ought to have known that that honour belongs to a young lady in District Six who works in construction.” Of course he knew about Trisha.

“Why did he spend so much money?”

“You can blame your stylist for that. An unfortunately large percentage of society assumes that modesty in dress is a sign of one’s chastity. I knew about the betting pool, of course, but I must admit watching fools being parted from their money was too amusing to put a stop to it.”

Well, maybe from his point of view, it was funny. “The doctor says I have anal fissures and should avoid inserting anything into my anus until it’s healed. Do I still have to have anal if my clients want?”

Snow shook his head. “Of course not. You and your fellow Victors, my dear, are a long-term investment. Since you are, much to poor Bradford’s consternation, far more experienced than he expected, I think we can trust you to know your body’s limits, hmm?” Diana nodded, unsure of what she was supposed to say. “If you find yourself with a client who wants to cause you physical harm, feel free to use my name to convince them to rethink their plans.” The implication was that she should not overuse this option.

“Thank you for clarifying.”

“Is there anything else you wish to say?”

“No, Mr. President.”

Snow smiled. “I am glad we could clear this up. I wish you a speedy recovery. Have a good night.”

“You, too.”

He left, and Diana sighed in relief.

Diana’s next client was a young woman not interested in any butt stuff, so that was easy. Next was another threesome, but more complicated - the deputy Minister of Resources (whom Diana had constantly seen on television growing up!) wanted Diana to perform oral on her while the minister’s husband penetrated Diana vaginally. Soon, Diana noticed a pattern. While her clients were, if anything, the opposite of Bradford and expected her to be as skilled as an elite sex worker, they were hiring her not for what she could do, but because of what she was. The mere fact of having a Victor in their bed was the allure. For that reason, they usually didn’t demand anything too crazy. Someone who wanted to indulge in a fetish their partner wasn’t comfortable with hired someone with discretion and experience, not a nineteen-year-old who was obviously constantly monitored at the highest level.

It wasn’t all having sex with rich people, though. She also had to speak to all sorts of gatherings, from cadets to schoolkids to workers who had overfulfilled quotas. She had already spoken to a whole bunch of classrooms and shop-floors, so it was more of the same there. The only difference was that with the cadets, she had to spend way too much time discussing in detail exactly which of her relatives had done what in the Dark Days (politely pretending that Mom’s maternal grandparents and their relatives, who had fought with the Anarchist Union, did not exist). The more Diana saw of the Capitol, the less impressive it was. Sure, the rich parts were much richer than the best neighbourhoods in Six, but slums remained slums. And Little Slovakia, the Covey slum that Diana once saw from a distance, was worse than anything she had ever seen in her life. She had known for many years that what the television showed wasn’t exactly truth, but she hadn’t realized it was that bad.

With a few days remaining, Diana had to go make two speeches to the staff of the Steelworks - one to productive workers, and one to the top leadership. Nothing strange, but this was the employer of some of her family, which made it feel strange to be close to the people even the bosses had mentioned in hushed tones.

The well-scrubbed workers looked like workers, with the sole exception that in the Capitol proper, it was very rare for a child under twelve to work full-time. Since it was summer, there were plenty of kids in the crowd, earning a bit of extra cash with their summer jobs. And back home, only skilled workers wore special work clothes that identified them as belonging to the company. Diana gave her usual speech (interrupted by some of the workers coughing), everyone clapped, the walls of the cafeteria had obviously only been scrubbed of mold yesterday, and a cockroach scurried across the floor.

After the speech, some of the workers approached to ask for autographs. Without thinking, Diana reached out and pinched the cheek of one of the children before recoiling in horror at the realization that she had turned into Aunt Nelly. But the children were so cute! Looking at the little workers in their identical little dark-blue jumpsuits made her desperately want children of her own. Watching parents walk away with their kids, she was seized with the painful desire to also have someone about this tall standing next to her and talking about something excitedly.

Diana told herself there was plenty of time. She was going to adopt, so no rush. But the desire for children gnawed on her from that day onward.

With the Steelworks leadership, it was trickier, if cockroach-free. These sorts of gatherings were imperative for getting sponsor money, and Chaterhan was the richest person in the country (except for Snow, who owned the country). So Diana felt nervous as she finished her speech and was taken to meet the Steel Queen herself. All of her mingling and flirting and sex up to this point had produced a sum of money that, if she did well today, could easily be doubled.

Alexandra Chaterhan was very elderly, her ninetieth birthday had been celebrated with much fanfare not too long ago. She stood flanked by her husband George, whom Diana had heard referred to as the nation’s prince-consort, and a man in his early thirties. Antonius, the heir, who thankfully had not requested her presence in a more intimate setting. All three were tall even by rich people standards. Chaterhan had not lost her imposing presence despite her advanced age, George was half a head taller than his wife and still had the traces of the good looks that had made him Panem’s most eligible bachelor in the antediluvian days of his youth, and Antonius seemed to have inherited nothing from his grandparents besides his height, and, of course, his status.

After greetings were exchanged, Diana had to suffer through a typical conversation with the spouse of someone important. George inquired about what she was doing, how was her family, on and on and on. Antonius stood there with a pleasant smile Diana knew was fake, because there was no way he could listen to this without being bored out of his skull. Since he hadn’t hired her, Diana was able to enjoy his good looks.

George found out that Aunt Sarah worked for the Steelworks, which prolonged the conversation by ten minutes. Diana told herself this person could keep her Tributes alive in the Arena and forced herself to be lively and interested as George stumbled his way through a monologue, repeating words, losing track of what he was saying, randomly staring off into space, and often looking around, perplexed by something.

“... and our Toni has just started dating Octavia Sheppard,” George said. Diana wondered how the conversation had gotten to that point and if she was supposed to know who this Octavia was - and if ‘Toni’ and Octavia had actually broken up five years ago. “Are you seeing anyone now, Diana?”

“I prefer to keep my personal life private,” Diana said. “With the unavoidable difference in status between me and my partners, the less they are in the public eye, the better.”

“Very understandable, of course. I daresay I understand you very well! Our son-in-law, Toni’s father - all he does is spend our money!” George laughed. “Now Octavia, she is the daughter of - um - the biggest landowners, so…”

When with clients, Diana at least knew about how long it would take. Here, that wasn’t an option. She did her best to nod along, but as the monologue about the man’s endless relatives and their marriages continued without end, there was no avoiding the fact that George was very ill and could easily blurt out something inappropriate at any moment. Chaterhan had by now departed to sit with board members and sip whiskey, but Antonius, who was sitting next to his grandfather, looked very concerned.

“Now, where was I?” George asked after having stared off into space for at least ten seconds. “Um. You are from Six, right?” he asked for the fourth time.

“Yes.”

“Oh, wow, so are we!” What? “Well, my wife is. I moved from here to live with her, our kids were all born there. We only moved to the Capitol after the war ended. Or was Albinus born here? Marcellus, where was your brother-in-law born?”

Diana had never thought that could be possible, but in hindsight, it was obvious that the restrictions on movement had not always been there.

“Grandpa, I am Antonius.”

“Antonius, of course, silly me.”

“Do you still have family there?” Diana asked.

“We do!” George listed off some names belonging to the District’s richest families, including that of the manager of the factory she had worked in.

“Grandpa,” Antonius said, “I think it is time for Diana to talk to the other guests. She is here on a professional call, after all.”

“Of course, of course.”

Diana tried to circulate, but very rapidly, she realized that she was being followed around by someone - Gaia Springer, who was in her early forties and had made a meteoritic rise through the ranks of management (thanks to connections) to oversee all of Steelworks production in Five and Six (a job that, in Diana’s experience, entailed making the factory and mine managers do everything).

What was a person supposed to do when they were being assaulted? Did it even count as assault if both parties knew you’d agree to it?

“What are you doing?” she asked just in case.

Springer chuckled. “What does it look like I’m doing? I paid a lot for this hour with you.”

Ugh, even here, they didn’t leave her alone. Diana submitted to having sex in the bathroom out of a lack of any other ideas. When they got back out, it seemed that nobody had noticed, so that was good. She went back to mingling.

By the time that her list of ‘clients’ had all the names crossed off, Diana was ready to beat her head against the wall out of sheer exhaustion. How did some of the others do it practically year-round? Diana’s social batteries were completely run dry. Pretending to like people and talking to them was like trying to run with a heavy backpack.

Fortunately, she would get to spend a few days at home before Reaping Day came and she had to go back to the Capitol. Unfortunately, since this was her first time mentoring, she would have to stay there for the duration of the Games, which would in all likelihood be around two weeks. And even more unfortunately, Blake and Maria weren’t coming.

“I’m not surprised,” Diana said to Dad when he brought it up over dinner. Eating meals as a family was exhausting but she did it for their sake. “How were they while I was gone?” Diana rubbed her forehead, trying to ignore the television, which was showing Season ∞ of the Battle of the Extrasensories. Grandpa spent way too much time watching the Unveiled Secrets channel. It was weird how he got mad whenever they mentioned the ‘Elders of Zion’ or whatever and then believed everything they said about aliens or Atlantis and so on.

‘An extrasensory got stuck in an elevator and couldn’t get out for a long time, because instead of the operator, McCollum showed up.’

Diana stifled a giggle and focused on the conversation, trying to tune out the ‘seer’ picking the car in which a person was hiding in the trunk from a long row of expensive cars.

“Awful,” Aunt Nelly said. “Well, Maria’s a little bit better, she spent the entire time painting, even if she was constantly high. Blake’s just out of it.”

Ironic that before, when they had lived in a working-class neighbourhood, the neighbour’s addiction had not been an appropriate topic to discuss out loud. Now that they were one of the District’s richest families, it was something that could be brought up in the middle of a meal.

“That’s terrible.” No matter how much Grandpa and Aunt Nelly and everyone else tried, you couldn’t help a person against their will. If Blake and Maria just wanted to self-destruct, they’d do it no matter what anyone else did.

“Maria kept on muttering about you going through hell, but you seem alright?” Leonella said hesitantly. Sooty tried to use her lap to hop onto the table and was unceremoniously removed.

“Hell? I wouldn’t go that far. Providing company for rich people isn’t fun, but it’s nothing compared to the Games.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed. “I saw you once on television. You were being pawed by some rich person.”

“Yeah, that’s not even the worst they did.”

Silence. Everyone stared at her.

“What?” Diana said to Dad, who had his hands over his face. “Come on, let’s be real, it’s not anything I haven’t done before.”

“But it is,” Dad said, crying now. Diana wished she hadn’t opened her mouth. “First they try to kill you and then they do this? How can they do such a thing?”

“Who is this mysterious ‘they’?” Diana asked, harsher than she had intended.

Dad helplessly spread out his arms. His mouth opened and closed a few times. “If Snow only knew,” he muttered.

“Snow’s the one in charge of this entire thing.”

Everyone sat still. Even Sooty froze. “No,” Aunt Sarah whispered.

“Yes. He told me about it.”

Never in her life had Diana seen her relatives look so shocked, as if realizing that everything they had ever believed about the world was wrong.

Chapter Text

Her family never spoke to her about that, but Diana could tell that something had changed in how they saw her. Francine, at least, didn’t seem to mind. When Diana had interrupted her girlfriend’s rant about her cheating ex and how she couldn’t stand cheating to ask nervously if rape counted, Francine had immediately answered in the negative and said that if Diana didn’t want her to know, she wouldn’t ask.

“But what if I want you to know?”

Francine shrugged. “Why do you want me to know? Is it going to make it easier for you to have someone who knows what you went through?”

“That too, but I was also thinking that some of the stuff they made me do might be nice, if done with someone I actually wanted to be with.”

“Oh, Diana!” Francine leaned over and kissed her on the mouth lightly. “If that will make you happier, I will gladly try it.”

Diana was self-aware enough by now to know Francine’s reaction was significant. Really, what other reason did she need to be drawn to the woman? Francine studied computer science, and she understood Diana well and it was easy for them to talk about serious things, and she was so beautiful with her smooth dark-brown skin and perfect little braids and perfect broad figure and powerful arms that hugged her so tightly, and her voice was so nice, and she seemed to like Diana back just as much. Mutual familial approval (granted, Francine’s family was awed by Diana’s status) was a nice bonus.

“Alright. How big’s your bathtub?”

“Not big enough. We’d be better off renting a hot tub at the bathhouse.”

“Right. That person had a hot tub in her house.”

Francine’s eyes widened. “Diana…I don’t care what the answer is, I’m just curious - did you do sex work before?”

“Not before. It was just now, when I was in the Capitol.”

She quickly explained the situation, Francine becoming more and more confused. “That’s not what I expected. I mean, I’ve seen Victors with important people, but I thought it was voluntary.”

“No. It’s kind of a repayment thing.”

“Still, it’s messed up. If Snow only knew-”

“He knows. It’s just something he does for his friends.”

“Unbelievable.” She stared at her hands. “So, anyway, what was that about the hot tub? I know a place where we can buy some waterproof lube.”

Being rich made Diana’s sex life so much cooler. Not only could she wear sexy underwear for Francine, she could buy all sorts of things if she wanted to. Or even rent a hot tub. “How much does it cost to rent it?”

“Hey, Mom?” Diana pulled on her shoes as Mom also prepared to head out. “I’m going on a date.”

“To where?”

“The bathhouse.”

“Is your shower too small?”

“Well, yes.” It’s not like Mom didn’t know what Diana did with her partners.

“Have fun.”

“You’re fine with it?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” Mom seemed to be sincerely surprised by the question.

“Because you’ve never been?”

“Francine sounds like a lovely woman. Far more respectable than those you’ve dragged in to meet us.”

Really? “Come on, couldn’t you have told me earlier to be a gold-digger?” she asked half-seriously. Diana had never told her family about her better-off partners, afraid they’d accuse her of being a prostitute.

“I don’t mean that.” Mom looked at her. “What I mean is that-”

“She’s middle-class, that’s what you mean. Couldn’t you have said that earlier instead of pointing out the randomest things? You said you didn’t like Nathaniel Koo’s haircut! How does that make any sense? You could have just said you didn’t want me to date- I don’t know, an unskilled worker, or someone illiterate, or whatever.”

“And what would you have done then?” Mom slung her umbrella over her back like it was a gun. When she straightened out, there was definitely something soldierly in her bearing. It hit Diana just how young Mom and Dad were. They weren’t even forty yet, plenty of people that age went on to have one or two more children. No wonder they had never understood what to do with her.

“Well, I’d have known who to date and not date. It would have given me clear parameters. Do you know how much time I spent trying to figure out what you didn’t like about Nathaniel Koo’s haircut? I turned down a girl who asked me out because I was afraid you wouldn’t like her for having red hair!”

Mom shook her head. “You are entirely too much like Dad.”

“Anyway,” Diana said. “I’m off.”

In the run-up to Reaping Day, wildfires raged across the District. Diana refused to go foraging with her family for fear of a fire starting. Now that they were rich, they bought respirators to wear when outdoors and installed air filtration systems at home. No lung cancer for them. Back home, they had often spent weeks suffocating from the heavy smoke. How was there still anything left to burn? Shouldn’t all of the country’s forests become nothing but ashes by now?

Thankfully, Reaping Day dawned rainy. In Mom and Dad’s time there had been one rainy Reaping, and it had apparently been a nightmare, but at least the fires would be extinguished now. The family had been asked to all show up together for the cameras, so they had to put on their rain jackets and rubber boots. Leonella wore a similar getup over her Saturday best. Diana, who actually needed to look a certain way on television, had to settle for an umbrella. She was extremely hungry, but the thought of eating made her feel sick, so she didn’t. Rather inconveniently, she was on her period, but her flow was so much lighter now that she took ibuprofen (not to mention the total absence of pain), she couldn’t bring herself to complain.

Living in Centre meant relative proximity to the Reaping Field. They all piled into cars, as Diana had special parking spots reserved for them, and drove the hour to the vast empty space on the outskirts of the city usually used for concerts, soccer matches, and for local kids to run around. Since they had been asked to arrive very early for Diana’s television appearance, crews were just finishing up getting the sections cordoned off. The smog hung in the air and made it hard to see.

“How are you feeling this morning?” a journalist asked Diana, shoving a microphone in her face.

Diana took off her respirator, tasting the smoke in her mouth. “Damp?”

The journalist laughed. “Are you worried about your younger sister?”

“As much as anyone else.” The only case of close relatives going in had been several instances of Victors’ children being Reaped, and Blake and Maria had explained that if Snow didn’t demand she have kids, he’d leave them alone if she had any.

Blake and Maria were currently missing - off to shoot up, no doubt. Diana hoped that once the Games were over her family would be able to make more of an impact, now that they were settled in.

After some time, Leonella departed for the section for sixteen-year-old girls, the rest of the family went to the side, and Diana mounted the stage. She had to stand between Maria and the omnicorrupt District Mayor Ward, she of the superyacht and the special permit to leave the District and go up and down the Mississippi on said yacht because where else was there in Panem to take a superyacht. Besides the yacht, she had an indeterminate amount of luxurious apartments for every single distant relative, a palatial cottage or three, and her husband was always decked out in the most luxurious of clothing. A glance downward revealed that Ward’s watch probably cost more than what Diana’s entire family put together had earned in a year before, and her bracelets, gold studded with gems, were works of art. Rather ironic that the Capitol was presented on television as this super-rich place when Ward had orders of magnitude more money than Elly.

Speaking of. Elly was also there, his rainbow hair now pulled back into a ponytail. He sat in a chair, coughing every so often despite the mask he was wearing, and did his best to pretend to be interested, though the ceremony was supposed to have started half an hour ago.

One eternity later, Ward finally stepped up to the microphone and recited her speech in a tone of voice that clearly indicated she’d have rather been in her office receiving kickbacks. Diana tuned it out, scanning the crowd instead. Two of these children would be dead in a few weeks. No, far more than that would be dead, but only two would die on television.

“And now,” Ward said, “let us commemorate our previous Victors. Luisa Moreno, fourteenth annual Hunger Games, may she rest in peace. Blake Young, Twenty-Fifth. Maria Popescu, Fifty-Third. Diana Cohen, Sixty-First.” Despite the fact that all she had done was what had been expected of her - be the last one standing - Diana couldn’t help but feel a stirring of pride, but she wasn’t sure for what. Luck was hardly something to be proud of. And yet, did people not make their own luck? Yet another thing she would have to impress on her charges. Diana was sort of relieved that she’d be on her own and none of her mistakes would matter because the Tributes would die in any case, but that was also a horrible thing to think. She had done her best to go through this with her therapist and reached the conclusion that she would do her best, as was her duty, and not blame herself for factors she couldn’t control.

Now if only she could actually do that.

“Happy Hunger Games!” Elly intoned. “Let us start with the young gentleman. Christian Freeman!” The name appeared on the screen, but nothing else. There was only one eligible boy with that name. “And now the young lady! Portia Lambert!” The projected ID card revealed that she was fourteen years old. Not good.

Diana, being herself, thought about the fact that Portia had been (probably unwittingly) named for a character from The Merchant of Venice, a play which Diana liked because she willingly misinterpreted its message. Then she wondered what it said about her that she could go on these flights from reality right when two children had been chosen to die.

A boy literally ran down the central path. Diana wondered why he was so eager. He mounted the stage and shouted “I volunteer as Tribute!” into the microphone. Somewhere in the crowd, Christian Freeman was very relieved.

The last volunteer from Six had been four years ago - as far as anyone could tell, the girl had seen no more purpose in her life and had decided to go out in a way that at least saved someone else.

“How lovely!” Elly chirped. “What’s your name, volunteer?”

“John Keenan.”

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“Well, John, we all thank you for your sacrifice.”

A few minutes later, Portia ascended the steps and stood, jaw clenched, next to the boy.

“Alright everyone, let’s have a round of applause for our Tributes!”

The round of applause was duly produced, the Treaty of Treason was recited, and everyone could go home now. Except for the Tributes - and Diana. Before she could blink, Blake and Maria were gone, and it was just her and Elly.

“There’s a taxi waiting for us,” he said. “Let’s go.”

The taxi driver grumbled about being made to wait nearly an hour but drove off. Diana would have blamed Capitolites for being late to everywhere had her family also not had that tendency. It seemed more like that everyone in the world ever was always late, and she was the only weirdo who arrived on time.

As the taxi made its way through the streets, Diana mentally rehearsed what she needed to say to her Tributes. She had written down an entire list in her notebook and now flipped through it, making sure there wasn’t anything missing. She also tried to recall Adam’s words about not blaming herself for things she couldn’t control, but it was hard. The Tributes were her responsibility. How could she just shrug and move on when they died?

On the train, Diana and Elly went to the dining car. Elly focused on his phone - Diana couldn’t blame him for doing his best to not get attached to the Tributes.

“Um, Elly? Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“How did you even get this job?”

Elly shrugged, not looking up from his phone. “I have a relative in the industry who got me a position after I finished highschool. I’ve always been good at playing nice, so I managed to make it up the ladder, and when this position opened, I got the nod.”

Elly was quite attractive. Diana wondered how many of his bosses had forced him to sleep with them.

“Did you always like the Games?”

“They’re not really something to be liked, in my opinion. Might as well like a crackdown on a terrorist cell. It’s just…something that has to happen every so often. I wish the reasons it had to happen didn’t exist, but they do, and so it has to happen.”

Diana felt that way even though she knew there were over a hundred and fifty countries where there were no Hunger Games, so she couldn’t blame Elly for thinking that way when he was probably barely aware of the world outside Panem.

The Tributes then arrived, John glaring and Portia looking terrified. John was dressed in extremely shabby clothes and his deep tan ended where his clothes began. He had wavy brown hair, no sign of facial hair whatsoever, brown eyes, and small scars on his hands. He was maybe a metre sixty at most and skinny to the point of being malnourished, as well as missing half his teeth.

Portia was also extremely pale, with curly dark-brown hair forming a small puff like Diana’s had when it had been longer and brown eyes, and a bit taller than John. She was much better-fed than John and her clothes were a bit better than what Diana had worn to synagogue before. Perhaps she was middle-class, though from its lowest strata. Maybe still a schoolgirl, maybe already working in the family shop or as a clerk or a secretary, maybe a well-off farmer. Though if she had turned fourteen in this calendar year, then most likely, she would have been graduating middle school in bare weeks.

Diana suddenly couldn’t bring herself to care who had been doing what. Adam called this emptiness emotional burnout.

“First of all, John, that was a very brave thing you did.”

John huffed and crossed his arms. “I didn’t do it to be brave.”

Elly put on headphones.

“How about we eat first?” Diana had no idea how to reply to that.

Diana had heard from the others that the poor Tributes sometimes pounced uncontrollably on the food, but John simply put butter on a piece of bread and chewed on it even though it must have been the better part of a day since his last proper meal. Portia took some mashed turnips. Diana, now missing her emotions, could eat without feeling sick. She was now used to the luxury. An excellent steam bun with a vegetable filling, fresh crunchy vegetables with various dips, and wraps with black beans, rice, tofu, eggs, sweet potatoes, and fresh greens (had Snow personally eaten all the cows or what?) looked like nothing extraordinary to her. Even the mashed turnips with red lentils and herbs, divine compared to what she had grown up eating as mashed turnips, tasted normal by now.

“Seriously?” John demanded. “How can you just sit there and eat?”

“Would it help you if I didn’t eat?”

“It would help us if you didn’t treat this situation like it was normal!”

“But it is normal. Sixty-one boys before you, now it’s you, and if you want to come back, you’re going to have to toss all emotion aside and focus on that goal.”

“Like you did?”

“Exactly.”

John’s mouth fell open. “You- you seriously think I’m going to let you turn me into a murderer?”

“Do you even know the definition of murder?” Diana knew this was a stupid argument to be having but she couldn’t figure out a way to stop it.

“Oh, so now the rich and educated are going to tell me what to think. What are your parents, clerks?”

“My mother is a mechanic, my father is a lathe operator, and I was apprenticing as a boilermaker when I was Reaped.” It felt like an eternity ago. “They were illiterate.”

“Exactly,” John said smugly. “You big-city types have no idea what it’s like.”

“Are you a farmhand?”

“I am indeed. You ever work for seventeen hours a day? Ever live under the same roof as three methheads?” The latter skill might have actually been useful for a Victor. Meth use was fairly common even in smaller towns, where some people made the switch from alcohol, spent all their wages on drugs, switched to cheaper synthetics, and died from one thing or another. Victors didn’t have to worry about running out of money.

When Diana was a child, she had thought that people who used ‘bath salts’ were somehow consuming actual bath salts. She had already been out of school when she found out the difference between the crystals in the package buried in the courtyard and the crystals from the pharmacy.

“Is this relevant to your survival in the Hunger Games?” Diana’s patience ran out as she realized she had gotten distracted. This was not the time to be discussing meth or mephedrone or whatever else. “The one thing I can guarantee you is that you won’t have to fight methheads.” Now that would have been quite a draw for the audience.

“What, you think I need your help?” John leaned back in his chair. “I’m going to show them that they don’t own me. I won’t kill anyone. I’ll show them that you can win without turning into you.”

By all rights, John shouldn’t have even been eligible - the sort of farmhands who worked seventeen-hour days during harvest tended to live and die without ever coming into contact with government bureaucracy, which meant they were never officially registered. And yet he was. Had his parents wanted to claim tesserae? Have him treated at a paramedic-midwife station? John’s face was fairly heavily pockmarked, so perhaps he had been hospitalized for his smallpox? In Diana’s old circle, people had mostly been able to afford at least the most important vaccines, so she didn’t know much about smallpox.

“Either let me tell you what you need to do or get out.”

John got up and stormed from the table. Diana turned to Portia, who looked about to cry. “Alright,” she said. “Let’s get this straight. I would peg your odds of survival as equivalent to those of a sixteen-year-old.” Which were not very high.

“Really?” Portia sniffed.

“How many of your peers are, what, a metre sixty?”

“Metre sixty-two.”

“Exactly. You’re as tall as an average rich woman. Maybe a hair less, but just a hair.” Statistics weren’t kept by income, not exactly, but they were kept by municipality, which meant that Diana knew how tall people were in the best-off Capitol municipalities. “How much do you weigh?”

“About forty-five kilos? Forty-six?”

Diana did some math in her notebook. Portia was a bit underweight, but given how she looked overall, that was probably just because her body hadn’t caught up to her height yet. Despite being well-fed, she wasn’t a likely candidate for being sent out in the chariot naked. “How much schooling do you have?”

“None.” Diana was unable to conceal her incredulity. “My grandmother didn’t let me,” Portia explained apologetically. “She always said I don’t need to know how to read and write because I’ll take over the farm one day and my cousins will be my hired hands.”

And now, she wouldn’t. “So you work on the farm?”

“Yes. But that’s not going to save me, is it? The boys are going to all be bigger than me, and the Careers are so well-trained.”

“What, you think I was bigger than the boys?” Diana quipped. “There’s a reason why half the Victors are girls. They replay the fights endlessly, but there’s so much more than that. It’s all about survival. You need to charm sponsors, get your hands on a knife one way or another so that you can pick off the weak, and keep yourself going. Like I did. Like Maria Popescu did. The biggest Career boy will be easy pickings for you and your knife after the Gamemakers unleash a bear on the pack for having it too easy. And going by how you look, working on the farm has made you strong, so that’s an advantage.”

“So what do I do?” Portia demanded desperately.

“One - charm everyone. At your size, I would recommend quiet confidence, but not arrogance, it’ll make you look like you’re overcompensating. You will have three days for training. Day 1 - look around the survival stations, they hint at the Arena and what it will have. So if there’s nothing for keeping warm, assume it will be hot, things like that. I’ll help you out there, draw up a list of what to do. The first-aid station should be your biggest priority.” In hindsight, completely neglecting survival could have been very costly, but that was in the past, so Diana tried not to dwell on it. “Day 2 - learn to fight with a knife. This is very important. You must drill until you can confidently dispatch an unarmed person. Day 3 - continue with the knife, but spend some time on things like climbing and jumping. There’s no time to improve, it’s just so that you know your limits.” Portia looked absolutely terrified. “Don’t worry, I will remind you when it comes to it.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “But can’t I just learn to survive and then hide?”

“First - three days isn’t enough to truly learn survival. You can pick up something like starting a fire or keeping warm, but you need to already be skilled in finding food in that climate to do it reliably. And odds are, the climate won’t exactly be familiar, though it shouldn’t be too harsh, either. And second - you won’t be allowed by the Gamemakers. Too boring. Which is why Careers so seldom win - they pick off Tribute after Tribute easy as anything, the audience gets bored, send in the bears, a non-Career wins. Remember that all One, Two, and Four want from their Tributes is to die in the place of someone else. They are literally trained to go meekly to their deaths. They don’t have the same desire to live as you do.” Portia still looked terrified. “I’m not saying you have to personally slaughter half the field. Remember Anneliese Gupta? Kill two at the Cornucopia, and not only will you be left alone, but sponsors will be interested in you. Kill one, and you’ll later be provided with an opportunity for an easy kill, though that’s riskier.”

“Oh.” Portia looked more confident now. Diana didn’t tell her that her chances were still extremely low. “But what if I run into the pack?”

Diana shook her head. “Plan for eventualities in which you will be able to make decisions. If you run into them, you’ll be dead, so no need to plan further.”

Portia gulped. “Alright.”

Diana checked her watch. “Recap should be starting in a few minutes. You want to eat something else before then?”

“Alright.” Portia took a steam bun and a wrap. Diana reached for a slice of chocolate cake, but then her phone chimed. It was Dad asking if she was alright. Diana sighed, replied that she was very much alright (after all, she’d be going home after this, unlike Portia), and put the phone away.

“Fancy,” the girl said, nodding at the phone.

“It is.” Diana wished there was something she could say to calm Portia, but what could you say to a dying person? “Look, Portia, your odds aren’t particularly high, but dwelling on it won’t help. Just see the situation around you and make decisions. Don’t die before death. I was convinced I’d die, all of my actions were to delay that a bit. And somehow I delayed it to - well, whenever I will die. The Games are all about luck, but people make their own luck, too.”

“I’ll try.”

At the Tribute Parade, John and Portia looked nice but neither of them looked threatening. Diana noticed that in the place where Bradford should have been was now a small woman - she looked like a rural aunt - in the same uniform jacket (but far smaller), which hung open, as the woman was pregnant. She idly ran her hands along her stomach. The combination of the NCIA uniform and pregnancy was enough to give Diana whiplash, the secret police was always presented as being made up of people whose only love was the state and who had no true attachments. But if Bradford had been incompetent, why couldn’t his successor have a family?

That evening, Snow called Diana and told her that someone would be renting her for the day tomorrow. Diana listened to the instructions mutely, and once Snow hung up, threw her cup of water directly at the wall, where it shattered.

She regretted it instantly. She couldn’t afford to be violent. She didn’t want to be like those people who beat their kids when they were upset about something. Diana told herself to stop reacting like that, but all she could feel was a sulky irritation at having had her plans changed.

“Ready for the first day of training?” she asked her Tributes the next morning. Elly had departed to visit family, which meant that Diana was all alone.

“Yeah,” Portia said. “I’ll look around the survival stations.”

“Exactly. Try to remember even the smallest details of what was offered so that I can narrow down the Arena climate. But keep this in mind - it is very important - the plants section will not have everything. When the Arena is heavily forested, it is very frequent for one or two poisonous plants to be present that are not introduced in training, and sometimes they require professional knowledge to distinguish from the edible. So do not assume that this will give you the ability to survive independently. Attracting sponsors must be your main priority.”

“And who told you that?” John asked insolently.

“The other Victors.”

“Why would they help you?”

“Because like it or not, our duty is to give our Tributes the best chance they have.”

“Duty my ass. Death is better than your duty.”

Diana had only ever heard such sentiments implied at in whispers. “You, who are about to die, is telling this to me, who is going home in two weeks.”

John’s face seemed to fall for a fraction of a second, and Diana regretted shattering his illusions, but then the mask was back on. “It’s better this way,” he said stubbornly. “I’d rather die than be like those two junkies. How did they even win? The man looks like one of those ex-cons with TB that come by the estate sometimes. Even the secret-prison types with their brands look less dead.”

Diana wasn’t going to let Blake and Maria be insulted by someone who obviously knew nothing about them. “The man is Blake Young, Victor of the Twenty-Fifth Hunger Games, former menace of half of Centre and the killer of a bandit in favour.” If the farm where John worked was close to prisons, he had to be familiar with criminal culture. And indeed, his eyes widened with shock.

“He killed a bandit in favour?”

“In the Games. She was from Three.”

“She was an authority already at eighteen?”

Diana shrugged. She had frequently seen people with prison tattoos back home, both voluntary and the ones done at some secret prisons (she had seen brands on the face, prison number on the arm, and, most horrifyingly, number across the forehead - had she ever had any treasonous thoughts, that would have cured her of them), but she really didn’t know much about that stuff. “She led some youth gang. In her interview, she said that anyone who killed her would have to deal with her ‘family’. But obviously it’s the Games, the regular rules don’t apply. So Blake killed her in the Arena, and it was this entire thing. Bandits in favour from all over congregated on Centre to figure out what they were going to do. This was still the twenties, so it was still like in the old days. A cortege just like McCollum’s pulls up, and out steps a criminal authority in a lilac suit hanging open to reveal an advanced pregnancy.” That was eerily reminiscent of Talvian, the new NCIA head. Maybe showing off their pregnancies was just something powerful women did.

“Gang leaders get pregnant?” Portia asked.

“I guess some do.” From what Diana had heard, in the criminal world, men never recognized paternity and women avoided becoming pregnant. “This was Digger herself, anyone who even thought of harming her while she was vulnerable would have had their entire family killed. I have a friend whose parents moved to my city at that time because the gangs started dividing things and the Peacekeepers refused to go into their neighbourhood because people were always shooting. Anyway, they saw how it happened. It was every bit the legendary bandit - giant gold chains on her neck, a different gem on every finger. The only incongruous part was the thin gold chains over her stomach. They had little charms on them - stars, hearts, cribs, stuff like that. Anyway, so Digger arrives, and everyone’s terrified she’s going to have her Threes kill a Victor.” It was hard to imagine just how different things had been not that long ago. By now, the bandits in favour were all integrated with government structures. “Then more authorities arrived, and they had this meeting with Blake, and in the end they decided he was blameless, especially since he didn’t live by the accords, he was just a middle-class thug. But people say they really did fear there would be war.”

“What happened to the baby?” Portia wanted to know.

“Probably given to a wet nurse and then adopted out. My friend says people joked the baby would be born with McCollum already on their chest.” People nowadays got Snow and McCollum tattooed on their chest. Legend had it that Peacekeepers would never shoot at the Presidents - though, of course, they could just shoot you in the head.

“That’s crazy,” John said. “Things like this don’t happen today.”

“Alright then. You should go to training now.”

Once they left, Diana got ready for her client. Some of the other Victors had said that they were expected to be witty and charming, pleasant company for an evening. Diana was usually expected to act like an airheaded ditz who could talk only of arrays and if-else loops and debugging when she wasn’t being expected to keep her mouth shut and do as bid, which basically meant acting like she always did. This time was different - the client, a man of around thirty who worked with the NCIA, wanted to spend the day and evening with her.

He had left instructions. He wanted to take her around his neighbourhood as if she was a proper date (presumably he could not get one ordinarily and his buddies had chipped in to rent her to make him feel better), which meant going incognito. Diana put on a cheap tracksuit and even cheaper sunglasses before heading out a side door where photographers appeared only rarely and a taxi was waiting.

Much to Diana’s surprise, the taxi took her to a working-class market. Was this man perhaps very cheap, and lived in this area despite presumably having the kind of coworkers who could chip in to rent her? Or did he have debts? Was he an addict?

“Are you her?” a voice asked. A man dressed like a worker pushed his bike, bag of bags hanging from the crook of his elbow.

“Peter J?”

“Yeah.” He looked around nervously. “Come on, I’ve got shopping I need to do.”

How odd. Did he want to pretend for a day that he was in a relationship? Helping someone shop was certainly better than doing role-play, so Diana nodded and took him by the arm. He chained his bike to a rack and they were off.

The market was, well, a market. A group of pensioners were on the verge of throwing around fists over sugar that had gone on sale, more pensioners and people with small children were digging in a garbage bin, a long queue of mostly men stood before a kiosk that had a piece of paper claiming ‘Razor blades here!’ tacked to it, people of all ages with cloth bags haggled and bought and chatted.

“Are razor blades in deficit?” Diana asked.

“Oh, yes, but I have a contact I get them from.” Peter sighed. “Last time it was pads, before that was cookpots. Ugh.”

And this was her client? “So what do you do for work, if it’s not classified?”

Peter shrugged. “Paperwork. I’ve got an entry-level position - only reason why I got you is because everyone was making fun of me for having never dated and somehow my boss’ boss found out and this happened?”

So an entry-level position with the National Committee of Internal Affairs meant buying the cheapest buckwheat. Diana wasn’t surprised.

“I’m surprised I wasn’t requested-” Diana pointed upwards, the unspoken gesture signifying top leadership.

Peter giggled. “Nah, you’re not short enough for Talvian. Her husband’s as pocket-sized as her. And she’s faithful to him anyway. You want to hear a joke?”

“Sure.”

“Rumour has it that the post will soon start selling stamps depicting Talvian life-sized.”

Talvian wasn’t even that small by Diana’s standards, but she still laughed.

Once Peter got all his groceries, they got on his bike and he took them to his home, which was nothing like what the television showed. A grey high-rise stood surrounded by other high-rises, between them patches of grass, garden plots, and rickety playgrounds. So this was where entry-level NCIA employees were issued apartments.

“That one’s mine,” Peter said proudly, pointing to one of the patches which had a stake labelled ‘305-b-3-903’. 305-b Carville Avenue, section 3, apartment 903. “I grow potatoes mostly. Once we get the groceries put away, we’ll do a bit of work there. There’s so many cucumbers this year, I’ll be pickling them.”

Grandpa and Aunt Nelly were also planning on preserving what grew on their land, but only out of inertia, not so that they’d have something to eat.

“That’s very nice.” After the luxury in which her average client lived, this was at least an interesting change.

“Did you have land back home?”

Diana didn’t have the heart to tell him about her current dwelling. “We grew some stuff on the balcony.”

“So do I!” Peter said excitedly. “I’ll show you.”

Before that they had to climb to the ninth floor, as the elevator would be out of service for the next week (that week had begun three months ago). On top of that there was no water. At all.

“We’ll have to run down to the pump,” Peter said as he went around his tiny kitchen putting things away. “They said the full shutoff would be for 18 hours, so I filled up my bathtub and all of my pots expecting it to be three days or so, but it’s been a week already. I’ve been washing at work this entire time.”

At least Diana could speak the same language as Peter. “I get that,” she said, and Peter smiled. “Where are your buckets?”

Hands stinging from hauling buckets up to the ninth floor, Diana stepped out onto the balcony - or rather, tried to, because there was no space. There was a large tarp covering up most of the maybe one and a half square metres, and the rest was pots of vegetables. Diana saw tomatoes, peppers, and zucchinis, as well as peas climbing the railings. Washlines were strung up above their heads, and under the tarp was a bicycle, several folded chairs, skis and poles, gardening tools, and empty jars.

“How about we grab a quick lunch before doing some yard work?” Peter asked. “Thank God it’s the Games, I finally have time to really work on it.”

Before, everyone had seen the Games as just that - an afternoon off, a day, a few days, depending on the job.

“Sure.”

Lunch turned out to be macaroni ‘with macaroni’, as Aunt Raisa had it, livened up with only a bit of soy sauce. It felt strange to be chewing this after months of Aunt Sarah’s countless new cheeses she impulse-bought at the store. Once the plates were washed, Diana helped Peter refill the tank in the toilet so that it would flush and they were walking downstairs, tools in hand. Her jogging didn’t help her with stairs, so her legs were already exhausted.

“You want to hear another joke?” Peter asked.

“Sure.”

“When Talvian wants to smell a flower, she gets a ladder.”

Diana laughed obligingly.

“Just remembered another one. When Talvian was just starting at the NCIA, her first assignment was to infiltrate a highschool. But when Talvian claimed to be sixteen, nobody believed her and assumed she was actually twelve.”

Diana laughed out loud. That happened to Leonella all the time.

“And we’re here.” Peter pushed open the heavy door and led her down a path. The patch of land turned out to be, well, a patch of land, like the ones she had seen before. Diana could make out the various vegetables growing. Potatoes, cucumbers, beets (though, of course, according to her biology textbooks, potatoes and beets were roots and a cucumber was a fruit). There was also dill, garlic, and horseradish, as well as a raspberry bush.

“Hey, how good are you at climbing trees?” Peter asked.

“Decent?”

“Can you get the cherries for me, then? The kids already got a bunch but you’re taller than them. Just don’t touch the really low-hanging ones, they’re for the pensioners.”

There were several fruit trees growing on land that didn’t belong to anyone, and the cherries were ripe. Diana took a small bucket, hung it on the crook of her elbow, and reluctantly began to climb. The tree was easy, but Diana was terrified of slipping. She moved one way and the next, grabbing cherry after cherry, placing her feet with the utmost care. She filled the bucket, handed it over to Peter, and took another one.

“I’ll have cherry jam this year!” Peter said, flapping his hands happily. “Thanks so much! I have a bad knee so I can’t climb.”

“You’re welcome.” As clients went, this barely deserved the name of trafficking, even the kind where people were kept enslaved at a farm to do the dirty work.

Peter paused and looked at her. “Wait, I can do anything with you, right?”

“Correct,” Diana said nervously.

“Excellent.” He leaned in closer, but not like someone leaning in for a kiss. “You’ll never believe why Bradford got offed.”

“Do tell.”

“Someone tried to assassinate Snow.”

For a second, Diana thought she had misheard. Assassinate Snow? That phrase made about as much sense to her as ‘carbonated tree’ or ‘polonium potato’. “What?”

Peter giggled at her reaction and jumped up and down, flapping his hands. “I know! I couldn’t believe it when I heard. But it’s the truth. A clerk tried to blow him up with a bomb, but thankfully his car was bomb-proof.”

“What the fuck?” Diana couldn’t think of anything else to say. “What happened to them? Are they-” She made a chopping motion across her throat.

“Not until she gives them names.”

Given that anyone would denounce anyone after half an hour in NCIA basements, the mysterious clerk still being alive meant Talvian sincerely believed there was an organization and that it did not consist of the clerk’s coworkers/parents/adolescent children/whoever else she had incriminated by now. Diana had no idea how to interpret any of that. “Well, that’s something.”

“Just don’t tell anyone!”

“Of course not,” Diana lied.

After that, Diana helped him weed his vegetables and pick cucumbers. Sometimes she thought only a very evil person could hire her, but sometimes it was an absolutely normal person who thought nothing of having been given a human to do whatever to for a day and thought of her only as another pair of hands to pick cucumbers.

“Hey!” someone said next to Diana that evening. “I would like to sponsor Six.”

Diana had gone to a function after finishing helping Peter with his chores. The naive man hadn’t even touched her. “Thank you!” she said brightly. “Would you like to step aside to negotiate further?”

The man nodded, so they slipped away into a corridor that probably existed specifically for backroom deals. “Here you go.” He gave her a cheque for a substantial sum of money. “This is more than I can give. But I have to.” He sighed. “I’m Jewish.”

“That’s nice.” Diana didn’t know how to react. Joy at meeting another one, relief at knowing he wasn’t trying to buy her, and the blanket of dull exhaustion smothering everything. And the awareness that some clerk of all people had tried to assassinate Snow. “Do you speak Hebrew?”

The man shook his head. “No. I don’t do anything. I just heard people sing that song once when I was little, so I recognized it. My parents told me that a long time ago, our ancestors were being taken to be murdered, and they sang it. Hearing you reminded me of it. I couldn’t bear to see someone go to their death singing that song again. So I gave everything I had.”

“Thank you very much. Were you the person in the crowd?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled. “It was a shock. Sometimes I feel like my family are the only Jews, because of how separated from everything we are.”

“I am very glad for your support,” Diana said, and went back to the function.

When Diana was told that George Chaterhan wanted to see her, she could only shrug. It was still training, and being in the presence of the country’s richest family could only help her Tributes. So she took the taxi to the hospital where George was recovering from a stroke. The hospital was so exactly like on the television, it was surreal. No wonder rich people lived to ninety.

“There you are,” a young woman said. “Let me ask if he wants to see you.”

“Who are you?”

“Minnie Griffith. I’m Chaterhan’s cousin twice removed.”

Griffith, like the mayor of Ten? The elites really were one giant family.

Griffith stuck her head into a room for a few seconds. “He’s awake.” She leaned back and closed the door. “Come in.”

Diana came in and had to stop herself from expressing her shock. George looked dead, half-sitting in bed under a blanket. His face was drawn and skeletal and his hands shook as he tried to move balls from one bowl to another.

“Who’s that?” he snapped in a weak, scratchy voice.

“Grandpa, that is Diana Cohen, the Victor from Six,” Antonius explained. Aside from him, seven other family members, including Alexandra Chaterhan herself, sat in comfortable chairs in the spacious room. Even dying was more comfortable for the rich. Her relatives had all died at home, looked after only by exhausted family members who lacked the qualifications to wash an adult who had no idea where or who they were.

“What did she win?”

“The Hunger Games.”

George put the ball down. “What? I thought McCollum hasn’t decided yet?” He looked around the room with a foggy gaze. Eventually, he settled on looking at Antonius. “Bob, have you signed the anti-Hunger Games petition? It’s an outrage, how they’re splitting the country. You’d think the Capitol wasn’t Panem at all! Why did we fight to preserve the nation, huh?”

“Grandpa, I am Antonius. Toni. Your grandson.” The young man’s voice was thick.

George ignored him and looked around the room. He froze when he saw Chaterhan. “Sandy!” he said happily, sitting up. She leaned in closer, and his face suddenly fell. “Sandy…why are you so old?”

Antonius took out a handkerchief and tried to wipe away his tears. Chaterhan was crying, too, and the others sat frozen like statues. “My poor old man,” she whispered, taking his hand in both of hers and kissing it. “Oh, my Georgy…”

“You can leave,” Griffith whispered to Diana.

“But-”

“He doesn’t know who you are. Look, I’ll pass along the money he promised, and if he gets better, he’ll invite you again.”

Diana nodded and slipped out of the room.

George Chaterhan lived on for six more years, but he never invited her - or, according to rumour, recognized anyone except his wife.

Chapter Text

“Alright,” Diana said after Portia had explained as much as she could recall about the survival stations this year. “It’s definitely going to be warm to the point where cold or exposure will not be a problem. If you were taught water purification but not finding water, there are two options - a wet Arena where it’s everywhere, or a very dry one where water is only found at artificial oases, making any attempt to find any the usual way pointless.”

“So what do I do in each of the two situations?”

Good thing Diana had had all these lengthy phone calls with the other Victors and watched the films of every single Games ever with Leonella providing expert commentary on random bits of trivia no sane person cared about (sanity was overrated). “If it’s a swamp or something of the sort - if you don’t find anything useful in the Cornucopia, I’ll prioritize it. Don’t drink anything before I send it to you, you will have two days in which your functionality will not be severely impaired.” Money was the big issue. Being the most recent Victor Diana was still fresh in everyone’s mind which meant she had an advantage, but as it stood, even if only one of the Tributes survived the Bloodbath, it would be very difficult to supply them.

“And if it’s completely dry, like your Arena?”

“If you don’t see obvious water sources at the Cornucopia, then they’re out there, just keep looking, the Gamemakers don’t want half the field to die of thirst.” Of course, their competence was questionable, but best not upset Portia ahead of time. “If it’s in the Cornucopia, like with me - I’m sorry, but you’ll have to go there. If there are identical bags with one for four Tributes, don’t bother, that will only be an advantage, but one for two is a different story and survival without one will be impossible. Remember what I told you. Tomorrow, learn to fight with a knife and show it off at your individual evaluation. That will get the Gamemakers to put a knife close to you.”

“And if they don’t?” John asked.

“It would be a very boring bloodbath, so they will.”

The next day, Diana had a more pleasing errand to run. She went to a nearby synagogue to tell the rabbi that Rabbi Miller said hi.

The synagogue from the outside looked like yet another little shop from a row of shops, with only the blue six-pointed stars in the windows signifying what it was, but inside was small and cozy, albeit with benches of wood with no sort of cushioning. Diana went to the women’s section, as always wondering what people who were neither male nor female did - the Talmud probably had to have something on that because it had something on literally everything - took out her siddur, and said morning prayers. She may have been in the Capitol, but being in here made her feel at home.

She waited for Rabbi Kaes to finish praying and went up to him. “Um, Rabbi?”

He turned around. Rabbi Kaes was around seventy with light skin, dark eyes, and completely white hair and beard. “Ah, Diana, how nice to see you!”

“Rabbi Miller told me to tell you he says hi?”

“He also told me to give you something,” he said with a conspiratorial smile. “Let’s go to my office.”

On the way there, he inquired after the congregation, her family, how she was doing, and so on. “Now, Diana,” he said, turning somber. “This is serious.” He closed the door and went through some papers on his desk. “You are going to break a law.”

“What are the chances of getting caught?”

Rabbi Kaes laughed. “Slim to none, if you’re careful. I want to pass on to Rabbi Miller some photographs I had smuggled in. They’re from last year’s protests in Israel.” He stretched out the prints to her, and Diana was hit with an overwhelming emotion she could not identify.

There were tens of thousands of people there, hundreds of thousands, in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem and Haifa and in countless cities, towns, and villages. A print of a newspaper proclaimed that by percentage of population, this was the biggest anti-Panem protest in the world and the biggest protest in Israel ever.

Diana stared at the Hebrew words. She could speak it decently well, as could a few others in the congregation, but to her, it had always been the language of prayer and nothing more. But it was more than that. It was a language like any other that could be used to order noodles, argue with the neighbours, sue your ex for child support.

“So that was all they had to do to make people care,” Diana said. “Try to kill a person someone out there cared about.”

“Many someones.”

In the photographs, people carried signs demanding action against Panem. A group of protesters carried a sign in Arabic and Hebrew that read ‘Neighbours do not abandon each other - free Diana Cohen!’ “What does it say in Arabic?”

“Probably the same thing as the Hebrew.” He studied the picture. “This is right on the border in Jerusalem. I remember when I was a child, my grandmother said this was the most-fortified border in the world. How things change.”

“Er, yes.”

Other signs read ‘Bring her home!’ or ‘Let my people go!’ or quoted lengthy passages from the Law of Return. Of course, it hadn’t worked, but Diana was still impressed that people could just go out and march for a stranger. That wasn’t how her Panemian brain worked.

Seeing contemporary photos of places that had always seemed distant and semi-mythical was odd. Be’er Sheva. Ashdod. Netanya. Kiryat Gat. Ashkelon. And across the border - Hebron, Nablus, Huwara, the two countries now locked not in mortal combat like in the stories in history class at the synagogue, but in a friendly embrace. Israel could probably fit into Six five times over. Diana read the names of cities and towns, wondering what it was like to live in a place where you could go march in the streets if you didn’t like something.

“Would you leave if you could?” Rabbi Kaes asked quietly.

Was he implying that Mossad would smuggle her out? “No. Who would mentor the Tributes of District Six?”

“Understandable.”

The way the training scores worked was simple - Diana had guessed at most of it already before, with only a few nuances that had escaped her understanding. The scores were given relative to others in the same field, which meant that the top scores were always tens with perhaps an eleven once every few years, and at the bottom would be a three or perhaps even a two. According to the other Victors, a twelve was given roughly once a decade when a Tribute went absolutely above and beyond. The last such score had been two years ago, when John Brown had demonstrated his martial arts. And ones were given only to defiant Tributes who refused to do anything. Diana’s suspicions that John would get one were soon confirmed.

Portia got a six. “That’s a good score,” Diana said encouragingly. “Good job.”

“Is that going to help her?” John asked.

“It certainly helped me.”

When it came time to prepare for the interviews, Diana did as some of the others did and delegated learning how to act to Elly, who was a master at speaking to people the way they wanted to be spoken to, going by the fact of him having this job. Diana had gone to the stylists and personally vetoed high heels because of the risk of falling, but even in flat shoes Portia and John just couldn’t walk like Elly wanted, and plus John obviously didn’t care.

“Actually, how about I take John for the morning and then we switch off after lunch?”

John wasn’t any more cooperative with her. “What does it matter? I’m just in this to die instead of someone else.”

“Spoken like a Career, but even they aren’t so open about it.”

“How dare you compare me to them?”

Diana was two years older than him, but status magnified small age differences. “Listen up, boy. I compare you to whomever I see fit. Do you want me to help you with your interview?”

“No.”

“Then get out.”

Even John’s defiance was more palatable than Portia’s desperation. Diana did her best to coach the girl, but she kept on getting hit with the realization that Portia was going to die soon, which tripped her up and made her feel sick.

“Alright,” Diana said. “The best way to appear in the interviews is to be sincere, so that you don’t have to fake anything. But you do need to fine-tune it to appeal to the audience. Can you smile the entire time?” Portia immediately smiled. Wow. No matter how hard Diana tried in her own interviews, she could never glue a smile to her face like that. “That’s great. Now, I’ll ask you a few of the most common questions, and we’ll see how it goes, alright?”

Portia was quite unremarkable. She wouldn’t lose potential sponsors, but it was unlikely she’d gain any, either. Where Diana had managed to appear harsh and uncompromising, Portia was just too nice. Which was a minor problem compared to the fact that she didn’t have anything to appeal to sponsors with.

“Excellent,” Diana said, feeling like she was telling a person on their deathbed that everything would be alright. “Why don’t we get some dinner now?”

Diana kept careful tabs on the other Tributes. While they were unlikely to say something completely earthshattering at the interview (in her memory, the most shocking revelations had been of the who-is-the-father variety), a lot about their state of mind could be gleaned there.

The girl from One was very pious, but in the ‘In the name of Jesus Christ, fire!’ way. She had gotten a ten in training. According to Portia, she was a bit of a jack-of-all-trades and was best at unarmed combat, which was odd given how rarely it got to the point where an unarmed Career was up against someone. Though on the other hand, if someone underestimated her because she was unarmed for some reason, they would not live for long after that.

The boy had scored a nine and used a sword. He talked like a typical Career - noble combat, heroic death, sacrifice for the nation.

The girl from Two had scored an eight, the lowest of the Careers. She was great with a short sword or a large knife, and could also use a javelin. If the preceding boy had sounded uncaring about death, the girl seemed to actually want to die, and not in the sense of sacrifice - just for the sake of not existing anymore.

The boy, who had scored a ten by using a flail of all possible things, was just as checked out as the girl. Well, if the instructors had wanted to give the District peace of mind by sending in trained sheep to the slaughter, they had succeeded.

The first non-Career, the seventeen-year-old girl from Three, had scored a six and did not appear to have any serious combat skills, having spent all of her time at survival stations. Despite her good score, she was disoriented and struggled to piece together a coherent sentence.

The boy was sixteen and had scored a five. He was a possible threat. He was tall, and talked aggressively, but his attempts to learn a weapon had been perfunctory.

The girl from Four had scored a nine, most likely thanks to her spears. She sat silent and menacing, replying only in brief.

The boy had scored a ten, but with what was a mystery, as he had never touched a weapon and had spent his time doing things like the obstacle course, at which he was a master. Whatever his weapon of choice, a rugged Arena would be easy for him.

The girl from Five, a sixteen-year-old who had scored a six, was someone to keep half an eye on. She seemed halfway well-fed and alert, which bumped her up in the rankings.

The boy was a year younger than her and had scored a four. He was very nervous, so he probably wouldn’t be able to do much in the Arena.

And now, Portia. It was exactly as Diana had thought - unremarkable. She did manage to use her respectable score to give herself an aura of danger, and she did not appear completely lost, but she lacked the determination Diana had managed to pull off in that position.

John, fortunately, had enough brains in his head to not say something stupid right on television. He muttered something about not wanting others to know what he knew and afterwards replied in monosyllables. Unfortunately, he was just too small for that to draw in sponsors, nobody would believe he had some kind of secret skill.

The eighteen-year-old girl from Seven had the next lowest score, and little wonder, because she was lost and dazed. Diana wrote her off immediately, wondering why some Tributes were lost while others were focused.

The boy, a year her junior, was better - he had drawn a five - but Portia hadn’t noticed him being particularly good at anything.

Portia’s peer, the girl from Eight, had a four. She tried to charm the audience, but pity did not motivate sponsors, they wanted either a promising candidate or one they felt kinship with or preferably both.

Her eighteen-year-old counterpart had gotten a five and seemed resigned.

The thirteen-year-old girl from Nine, the youngest one in the field, had gotten a five and was visibly terrified.

The boy was eighteen and just as terrified. His six was hardly better and he had spent the entire time at survival stations.

The eighteen-year-old girl from Ten had scored a seven, most likely on the strength of her hand-to-hand ability. She projected confidence and steely resolve. Now this was someone to watch out for.

The boy was sixteen and had scored a four. He tried to pretend he had a secret, but Diana didn’t believe him.

The girl from Eleven was seventeen, had scored a five, and barely said a word. According to Portia, she was good with starting fires.

The boy was eighteen, had likewise scored a five, and literally trembled on stage. He tried to compensate for that by being arrogant, but just like John, he was too small to be imposing.

The seventeen-year-old girl from Twelve had a six and mostly just looked blank. She had spent training drifting from place to place, and what exactly she was good enough at to get that score was a mystery.

The boy was a year older, had a five, and tried to sound defiant, but only came across as pathetic. He had also focused on knives, but his score presumably meant that he was not as good at them as Portia, unless he had avoided demonstrating his abilities for whatever reason.

Of course, anyone could suddenly turn out to be a threat, and it didn’t even have to be direct. Diana remembered well how the boy from Five had lasted just seconds longer in a fight with the girl from Two than she had expected, allowing Diana to kill her. One of those lucky things Diana worked with Adam on not constantly dwelling on. What had it been, five seconds he had managed to resist? Three? A time interval too short to ordinarily notice, and Diana had eliminated a strong contender and made her own survival possible.

“Any more advice?” Portia asked just moments before they were due to leave.

“Look at the situation and decide what to do. We went through all the scenarios. And don’t die before death. Don’t give up just because it seems hopeless.”

“I’ll do my best,” John quipped.

Once the Tributes left, Diana had to go to her own workstation, a little cubicle on the top floor equipped with two televisions and a telephone. Some of the others explained that one screen would mostly focus on her Tributes and the surroundings, while the other would show the official feed, which was delayed by five minutes to remove anything improper.

There was nothing else to do. Since Diana was here alone, she wouldn’t have someone to switch off with so that she could go sleep. She fiddled with the cable of her telephone, flipped through her phone book, and made a few calls. Diana hated talking on the phone, but it was only a few people. On the table was this year’s catalogue of things she could send in. Going through the prices of survival gear made it obvious that the Arena would be swampy, but that wouldn’t help her now. Diana simply couldn’t afford to send in more than energy bars and water purification tablets. There was no chance whatsoever of sending in a knife. Portia would be on her own there.

Just in case, Diana jotted down in her notebook the catalogue number of the water purification tablets and energy bars. If it came to it she would probably be able to send in a very small canteen as well, but that would mean putting all of her effort on Portia. The others had talked about picking favourites. If you could afford it then you supported both as much as possible, but if money was tight, it was sometimes better to pick the likelier candidate and give them all they needed.

Diana played on her phone for a while until mandatory began on one of the screens. She listened with half an ear to the newscasters discussing the odds of the Tributes. Much to her own surprise, she wasn’t anxious. She wasn’t the one about to die, after all. The only thing she was feeling was mild irritation at the fact that she had to stay until the end of the Games, because the others wanted her to become familiar with the entire process. Next year, if both of her Tributes died in the bloodbath, she’d get to go home immediately.

Some time later, the other screen also switched on, showing Portia and John ascending their tubes. Diana tried not to think about having been in the exact same place last year. And indeed, as she had guessed, they emerged into a swampy Arena. The area around the Cornucopia was solid grass, as the commentator explained, and some of the twenty-four paths into the thickly forested bog were solid as well. The paths were not evenly scattered, with Portia being equidistant from two, one of which would lead her into swamp. Diana was more concerned about the knife three metres away from her next to a bag, luring her into a fight with the boy from Eleven.

The camera focused on John, who was taking off his boot.

“What’s he doing?” the commentator asked.

John lobbed the boot at the pedestal of his neighbour, the girl from Two. Nothing happened. Diana kicked herself for not having mentioned that and wrote it down in her notebook for next year. The mines were manually activated, as John now found out. He must have assumed that they were faulty and jumped off, dying immediately. His half of the screen disappeared and now that television showed only Portia. Diana could only shake her head. When would his family and friends find out? Would the owner or manager of whatever farm they were working on now take the time to alert them? Did the owner even know that John’s relatives were working for them?

The countdown ended, and Portia, as instructed, realized she would never make it in the swamp without anything and ran for the backpack. The boy from Eleven tried to grab it from her hands, and in the tussle, Portia forgot about the knife, which the boy picked up and shoved through her stomach and chest. Diana unexpectedly burst into tears. She had told herself that they would both die, but she had to admit now that she had hoped Portia would stand a chance. The girl had been in good shape, well-nourished, focused, and done everything right. She had been pretty much the best Tribute Diana could have hoped for. A momentary distraction had still been her undoing.

Diana tried to grasp at reasons why Portia had actually been doomed to die all along - an eighteen-year-old would have been maturer and more mentally stable, as well as stronger, it had all been because no matter what Portia had simply been fourteen - but it was scant consolation. Most of her Tributes would be like John, sixteen to eighteen but undernourished and likely to be chronically ill, they wouldn’t have any better luck, either. Her watch said that the Games had begun twenty seconds ago. And already, her Tributes were dead.

Diana pushed the catalogue away and watched the same feed as the rest of the country, bar those with no televisions like John’s family. There were a total of nine deaths in the bloodbath. Diana took notes, hoping it would help her somehow next year. Aside from hers, there was the girl from Three, who had stood paralyzed and unsure of where to go. The girl from Five who had seemed relatively put together made an ambitious dash for the more quality supplies at the centre but was thrown on the ground by the boy from Two and then killed by him. The boy from Seven had tried to grab a knife and was shockingly killed by the girl from Nine, who had gotten there first. The girl from Eight had run back and forth between the pedestal and a path, eventually falling prey to the boy from Four. The boy from Nine went for a large backpack and was killed by the boy from Twelve, who had gotten his hands on a machete but was killed in turn by the girl from Eleven, who was cut down when trying to get away by the girl from One.

The Career pack began to go through the supplies, and the camera cut to the others in turn. Diana wondered how it had shown her on that first day. A part of her wanted to watch the old broadcasts just to know what had been said about her and her chances, but another revolted against the slightest suggestion of watching herself in the Games.

The boy from Three had nothing and was walking down a solid path. The boy from Five had managed to grab a packet of dried fruit and was sitting in a tree despite his proximity to the Cornucopia. The girl from Seven was on a solid path with some water purification tablets, but she had nowhere to put the water except perhaps her cap. The boy from Eight had wandered off the path and was now walking thigh-deep in water. Diana would never have dared venture off-path, it was so strikingly obvious that in this dense Arena, the Gamemakers didn’t want them hiding. The girl from Nine had a little backpack with basic survival equipment but her path was taking her to a bog, so she would have to turn around soon. The girl from Ten had a knife and, when reaching a turn, went in the direction that, unknowing to her, was leading directly to the boy from Eleven, who had nothing. The boy from Ten had tried to go off-path and ended up bitten by something. He was now sitting on the ground semi-comatose and appeared to be dying. The girl from Twelve had nothing and had lost her cap on top of that. She was already being bogged down but stubbornly kept on walking, probably presuming that the bog was a minor obstacle when in reality there was no other road for kilometres.

The boy from Eleven had a hand injury from stabbing Portia - he must have gotten her in a rib, not between them, as Diana had been taught.

The Careers began to hunt now. They left the boy from Four behind to guard, but he grabbed a bunch of supplies and went away on his own, leaving the Cornucopia unguarded. However, there was nobody who could use that to their advantage, as Diana had noted several times when watching previous Games this past year. Desertion was rare, which was why the pack still formed every single year. Diana hadn’t wanted to bring up that possibility because staying close enough to the Cornucopia to see what was going on was simply too dangerous.

“Alright,” the girl from Four, the unquestioned leader this year, said. “Let’s do this methodically. Sweep up and down the paths, watch out for ambushes and mutts, don’t go off-path because those ones are going to get themselves killed without our help.”

That would take a while.

“Anyone notice what sort of weapons the others have?”

“A knife at most, I think.”

The boy from Two made a face. “We’ll have to be careful, then. A scratch will kill here, medications will simply be too expensive. I remember when I was little, my aunt died from a scratch, and we weren’t living in the middle of a swamp.”

Diana blinked. Did the editor of this segment seriously think that dying from scratches because of the cost of treatment was perfectly normal?

“We’ll have to be on guard,” the girl from One said. “Any of you know how to track?” Predictable head shakes. Once, Careers had been master trackers, following a set of footsteps over grass easily. “Whatever. There aren’t that many paths.”

At that moment, Diana received a text message from Aunt Raisa, who offered condolences and asked if she was willing to chat. She agreed. So far, nothing was happening. The Careers were walking down a path that led to nobody, the girl from Seven was delivered a tiny canteen she immediately put water into, the boy from Eight returned to the path, now soaking wet to the thighs, the girl from Ten and the boy from Eleven would probably collide tomorrow if they kept walking at that pace, and the boy from Ten was going to die in a few hours without treatment, which he obviously would not receive.

Raisa, as it turned out, wanted to distract Diana from the Games by going on and on about how things were like at home. Michael’s wife was pregnant - good for them. Dad got a promotion at work. Sooty was doing well - the most important thing, everything else paled before the well-being of the fuzzy little void. And Francine had dropped by, so now Raisa was dropping hints if perhaps their relationship was more serious than Diana had said.

Diana could only sigh. Six’s Tributes were coming back to their families in caskets, and here was Raisa worrying about Diana’s personal life. “Aunt Raisa, we’ve only been dating for half a year.”

“Long enough to know what you want out of this relationship.”

“What I want and how it works out are two different things. Anyway, so when Sooty fell out the window, what happened then?”

On the screen, the boy from Four was bitten by a snake when he tried to wander deeper into the swamp. Diana realized she was hungry, politely ended the call, and left her room to get something to eat. Some of the others were also there. “You doing alright?” Haymitch asked as he poured himself some watermelon liqueur.

“Of course.” Diana had some grape-blackcurrant juice instead, as well as noodles with beef and tofu, an orange, two peaches, and a chocolate bar.

“Surprised you have an appetite.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Going hungry would hardly have improved her mood.

“Are you really alright?”

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” She retreated to her room to avoid more questions and ate her lunch. That evening, when the Careers returned to the Cornucopia, they presumed that the boy from Four had been killed via ambush, and the killer had taken a handful of supplies.

The entire next week was not what the Gamemakers called exciting, but it was well-paced and the audience was engaged. The Careers picked off one person after another - boy from Five, girl from Seven, boy from Eight, girl from Ten. After the girl from Ten’s killing of the boy from Eleven, there were no fights whatsoever, only the Careers’ methodical killings, suspense provided by means of ‘can X escape, or will they too fall prey to the alliance?’ The calling of a feast backfired massively, as nobody but the Careers showed up, likely because they had gotten lost in the maze of paths. After two days in which food became expensive to the point where the girl from Nine and the girl from Twelve were getting four hundred calories a day, the Gamemakers finally livened things up for the final eight - or rather, for the Career pack.

Were those alligators? They certainly looked like them, but Diana was fairly sure that normal gators weren’t as maneuverable. In the meantime, smaller mutts herded the other three towards the Cornucopia, but the Gamemakers had learned the lessons of last year, so the worst they did was nip at the three Tributes’ shoes. If there would be a dark-horse Victor this year, it would be the boy from Three. Like her last year, he had gotten a fair amount of sponsors and was well-fed. He had even been sent a tiny knife the blade of which was maybe five centimetres long - the best Beetee could do.

Diana realized that the Gamemakers wanted these Games to end immediately. The alligators killed one Career at a time in a way that made Diana almost feel the flames reaching up to the sky around her. It was a footrace, a simple footrace over the dry but uneven path maybe a metre wide at most, and it was not a fair one. The Careers had noticed the girl from Twelve a few days ago and tried to reach her, but walking through the swamp had resulted in sprains and bites. They ran now, dropping their equipment and weapons in their desperation to be just a tiny bit faster than the Tribute next to them.

The boy from One died first, then the girl from Four and the girl from One. The boy from Two was badly bitten on the leg and the mutts retreated. The girl from Two gave him a mercy death by suffocation and continued on, now missing all of her weapons. Diana wondered if the Gamemakers had liked the end of her Games so much, they’d have similar things happen frequently. It was certainly a good decision from the cinematographic point of view, a literal race for survival drew you in, but Diana would need to do far more work with Adam if she was to constantly watch something that triggered her PTSD.

A cut to the Cornucopia showed that there was nothing there, and prices were jacked sky-high to the point where even Jing Yi Lyme and Brutus Donaldson couldn’t send their Tribute more than some food and a small bottle of water, as well as a single tablet of over-the-counter painkiller.

Now this would be exciting, from the Gamemakers’ point of view. The other two girls were not likely to survive, but if they bided their time, it was very possible that the long days with no changes had made the others forget who was alive and who was dead, which meant that one could hide and wait for the others to kill each other, or at least be greatly weakened. On the other hand, the only weapon among the four of them was the little knife of the boy from Three.

The Cornucopia was reached simultaneously by all of them - someone would get a promotion for this. It didn’t enter anyone’s mind to hide and bide their time. For a second or two, they stared at each other, the girl from Two desperately trying to figure out who to attack first and how, the others reluctant to do anything that put them in danger. And then something the audience didn’t get to see roared.

The boy from Three leapt sideways and stabbed the girl from Twelve in the side and neck. The girl from Two attacked the girl from Nine, but killing someone bare-handed fast was difficult at the best of times. The girl from Two held her opponent in a choke hold, and when the boy from Three tried to stab her, used her adversary as a literal human shield. The knife went between the ribs, in the lower back, the shoulder. Face twisted in a snarl, the boy stabbed the girl from Nine in the back of the neck. The girl from Two continued to use the body as a shield before growing tired and dropping her.

Diana wasn’t sure who was likelier to win. In pure physical strength, the girl from Two had the edge thanks to her intense training and feeding compensating for her body composition, but the boy had the knife. Did she know how to disarm him? Indeed she did, and he had no idea what to do when her hand clamped down on her wrist. They fell on the ground, rolling around, the girl desperately trying to not let go of the boy’s wrist, but as long as she did so, she could not put him in a choke hold.

The boy’s arm tightened, trying to free the knife. As Diana watched open-mouthed, the girl literally bit him on the neck and managed to tear free a small chunk of flesh. She then shoved the knife into the ground (a better move would have been to throw it away, but even the Careers could not keep their composure in a fight to the death) and used the boy’s shock at being bitten to manoeuvre around and begin to choke him. He tore the knife free and stabbed her in the side repeatedly, making this a battle of attrition. But how much damage could such a little knife do? He gave up on his only hope of survival and tried to get her in the chest, but from his angle, all he could do was slash at her face, opening up small wounds. The girl was too afraid to try to relinquish control even partially to grab the knife and instead only choked harder, using her legs to twist the boy’s body into a painful position.

Finally, she was able to fully strangle him, and within fifteen seconds at the most, he was unconscious. The girl sat in obvious pain, oblivious to the fact that she could use the knife now, her forearm on the boy’s throat. Several minutes later, the cannon finally sounded.

“Congratulations to the Victor of the Sixty-Second Hunger Games! I give you - Enobaria Seemu of District Two!”

Enobaria slumped sideways. The hovercraft arrived, and the screen turned off. Mandatory was over, they didn’t like to show it when the injured Tributes had to be helped into the hovercraft. Feeling exhausted even though she had done nothing, Diana went into the central lounge where the Mentors could ostensibly relax. There were five people including her - Brutus, Haymitch, Beetee, and Junie.

“Interesting that Twelve made it so far two years in a row,” Junie was saying.

Haymitch poured himself a large portion of strengthened berry wine. “Not surprising. They all tell me - all I have to do is survive, I know how to survive. Survival my ass, you ever spend a week living outside without as much as a blanket? Even if you do make it, and the Gamemakers let you, you’ll be a malnourished and frostbitten wreck picked off before the final battle starts. There’s no second place here. Even Annaliese killed two.” He tossed back the drink in one go. Had Diana tried that, she’d have thrown up on the spot, but Haymitch looked as if he had gulped down some cold tea.

“I think mine knew that,” Beetee said quietly.

“It could easily have gone the other way.” Brutus, as usual, was knitting. “My girl was in no shape to really fight. One stab going in the wrong place, and that would have been it.”

“That’s how it goes.” Junie perched on the edge of an armchair. “It’s all luck. For all of us.”

It took as long to put Enobaria back together as it took to tear her apart, a fact that Snow used to foist even more clients on Diana. Once, she was invited to some kind of party and forced to take some kind of drug that made her unable to remember the entire thing. Diana now had no idea why in the world so many of her fellow Mentors abused drugs. By now, of course, there were chemical processes in their brains that forced them to crave it, but why had they gone back for a second dose? With Blake, it at least made sense - he had started out being prescribed painkillers, and once the prescription ran out, even the much reduced pain was too much and he needed more. But Maria? It seemed that she had just randomly injected herself with opiates one day.

Diana could easily see how anyone could end up like Blake, but she was certain now that she would never end up like Maria. The hazy feeling of euphoria had revolted Diana, her brain desperately beating on the bars of its cage and shouting that something was wrong, she should not be feeling happy. At the same time, the awareness of her own vulnerability had sickened Diana even as she had recognized that even fully sober she would have had all sorts of things done to her and not resisted.

All in all, Diana was now terrified of psychoactive substances, to the point where at a fancy ‘date’, she requested alcohol-free drinks and, in response to her ‘date’’s raised eyebrow, muttered something about her neighbour (who had actually been on ‘cough syrup’, whatever the hell that was, but whatever). She had no idea what she would do if she developed chronic pain that required medication.

Diana desperately wanted to go home and be free of this place. Everything constantly reminded her of the Games and made her feel unhappy and exhausted, people kept on having sex with her against her will, and she missed her family. So when it was finally time for the ceremony, Diana was ready to stand up and start cheering.

Shortly before the ceremony was due to begin, Jing Yi Lyme, who had arrived to the Capitol for a ‘date’, walked up to Diana and Haymitch, who was using any excuse he could find for avoiding Twelve.

“Oh, you’re still here?” Haymitch asked.

Jing Yi made a face. “Someone asked for me.”

Haymitch shook his head. “Four years, and they’re still after you.”

Diana was not surprised. Jing Yi was very beautiful, tall, broad-shouldered and broad-hipped with a lovely figure. Her short hair was cut in a way that made her look both young and fresh-faced and serious and mature. All in all, plenty to envy - or desire.

“In any case,” she said, “what is it?”

“Enobaria has had her teeth sharpened to fangs.”

What? Involuntary body modifications were known to happen, from scar removal to cosmetic surgery on the face. But teeth? “How is that even going to work?” Diana asked, hand flying to her mouth. “The enamel is gone, they’ll constantly be damaged and hurt.” After the epic saga that had been Mom getting a mouth’s worth of new teeth, Diana was an expert.

“They put some kind of coating over it, but nobody knows how long it will last for and how tough it will be. I suspect she won’t be able to eat solid food for a long while. All we can hope is that they get bored fast and she can get them replaced with implants.”

What the fuck. And all this because she had bitten someone?

“Well, then,” Haymitch said, “I am suddenly very grateful for what I have.”

So did Diana. With all she had to put up with, at least nobody was taking away her ability to eat properly.

Before going home, Diana went to the grocery store to stock up on cheesecake bars. Back home, even the expensive store only had a few types to pick from. Diana had grown up on the cheap bricks of vaguely flavoured sweet cottage cheese, but she preferred the kind that were chocolate-coated and had a filling. She took one of her bags and filled it with several of each flavour, cherry and lemon and apple and boiled condensed milk and so on. A bunch of people mobbed her, taking pictures and asking questions. Diana ignored them and took some extra blackberry-filled bars from the box in the freezer.

Chapter Text

“You know,” Francine said as they got out of the car, “you’re nowhere near as stupid as you think. Not everyone can get a GED so fast.”

“I had nothing to do this entire time but study.” Diana fidgeted with the strap of her brand-new backpack. She was nervous about going back to school, and insecure about going to university. Before, she hadn’t known anyone who went to university. “You sure we’ll have time to sign up for everything?”

“Given the time of morning it is, yes.”

Today was registration day. Diana and Francine made their way to the rows and rows of tables in the poorly paved lot between several shabby buildings. Where had the tuition money gone? Probably the university president’s cottage.

“First-year courses there,” Francine pointed out.

There was already quite a crowd even though it wasn’t even six yet. Diana took out the schedule she had drawn up (she had backups in case she couldn’t get her desired courses) and went to queue up. Immediately, she was recognized.

Maybe she shouldn’t have worried. She signed up for everything she wanted without issue, the only problem being people taking pictures with her at every turn.

“I knew I made the right choice to take calc,” someone said. “I can’t believe I’ll have class with a Victor!”

Diana beat a retreat to her car and waited for Francine. “How was it?”

“Alright.”

The plan from here on had been to drop off Francine at her place, but her parents were there and insisted Diana join them for breakfast. Diana agreed with some hesitation. Francine had met her family, and everyone liked her (except Sooty, who had nothing but disdain for two-legged creatures trying to grab her with their dirty paws), but she couldn’t shake the feeling that this meant it was serious, which meant it would be a real catastrophe when it ended.

Diana took a deep breath and sat down at the table. Francine’s father was a middle-manager of some sort with a large agricultural estate and her mother didn’t work. Before, Diana would have considered their apartment the height of luxury. Now, it was just an apartment.

“It is such an honour to be sitting at the same table as you,” Mr. O’Neill said.

Diana shrugged. “Thank you.”

“You know, we sponsored you.”

“Thank you,” Diana said, sincerely this time.

“So, how did you and Fran meet?”

Diana had forgotten what it was like to meet the parents. She opened her mouth, inserted a forkful of eggs, swallowed, and began to explain.

University itself turned out to be like nothing she had ever experienced. It had nothing in common with school, for starters, even if she was scurrying to class and doing homework like when she had been little. Sitting still was still a nightmare, but actually having to take notes made her far less fidgety. In ideology class, she knitted as a Peacekeeper officer monologued about something. She had quickly gotten used to being surrounded by students, most of whom had grown up knowing they would attend university one day.

“I wish he could speak more clearly,” Diana complained to her neighbour, who was doodling.

The young man with multiple facial piercings shrugged. He wore an expensive-looking blue shirt and his hair was artfully styled and dyed. “It’s better than at my highschool. There, we just had a drunk Peacekeeper rant about something until we gave her money to go buy a half-litre. Even combat-prep was better, and we had to crawl through mud while being beaten with sticks. How was it at your school?”

He hadn’t recognized her, then. “Basically like that,” Diana recalled what Leonella said about her Life and Defense Preparation class. There, they were supposed to be taught first aid, orienteering, and how to service and fire a gun, but in practice, it was like a second gym class where they ran obstacle courses and had to fight each other while the teacher drank beer with the principal’s secretary. “Once, everyone had to run around the yard in just their underwear in December. Someone actually got frostbite.” Thankfully, Leonella had been okay, if cold.

“You never know when the Dark Days might happen again and we have to run naked through a snowy field, I guess,” the man said in a flat voice that made it impossible to tell if he was being sarcastic.

“We’ll be ready for everything,” Diana replied in the same tone.

Fortunately, most of her classes were actually interesting, but the homework messed with her head. As a child, Mom and Dad had needed the help of the broom to get her to at least half-do her homework, so the concept of coming home and sitting down to do more thinking was foreign to her. At least when you came home and did chores, it used a different part of your brain. But Francine knew exactly how to motivate her, and the intense work on her GED had given her some discipline, at least. All in all, being a student was better than being an apprentice, if only because the odds of back pain and joint problems in twenty years were far lower. Mina had always been the only welder at her workplace to wear kneepads, and they teased her for being ‘delicate’. Knees were delicate things - Mina was smart to be careful.

The Victory Tour crept up somehow. “I can’t believe the year is almost over,” Grandpa muttered, adjusting his magnifying glass to see his sewing better. The family was gathered around the television, everyone working on their own thing. Grandpa had always said that you had to be productive when watching TV or listening to the radio. Diana didn’t mind, because she couldn’t sit still without having something in her hands, like a pair of two-at-a-time socks.

“That’s how it goes,” Aunt Nelly sighed.

“Meow,” Sooty said. Michael petted her back.

“I can’t believe what that Seemu’s wearing,” Aunt Sarah said disapprovingly.

The television was showing Enobaria’s appearance in Seven. Despite being underage, she was wearing a little leather dress that showed more leg and cleavage than anything Diana had ever worn to go dancing, and she had once modified an old shirt to leave her stomach completely bare (her ex had approved, Uncle Busybody at the park - not so much).

“I should wear that for a date,” Diana said and immediately regretted it.

Grandpa raised his eyebrow. “You’re a grown adult, you can wear whatever you want on a date.” Now that was a drastic transformation. “This is a solemn occasion, you can’t dress like you’re going to a nightclub!”

Diana clenched her teeth and made several stitches way too tight. “Grandpa, she has no choice. Her stylists are the ones who decide. Had Warner wanted, she’d have dressed me like that, too.”

Grandpa moved his ire to Enobaria’s stylist and muttered about that for the rest of the evening. “No respect for the fallen,” he said to the television the next morning, which was announcing Enobaria’s arrival to Six. Diana ignored him and got ready. Warner had sent in instructions, which she followed carefully. Due to the cold weather (which would hopefully force Enobaria’s stylist to dress her in a way that even Grandpa would find acceptable), she didn’t have to put in that much effort. Diana combed her hair, put on her favourite simple makeup, and pulled on her outer clothes as a taxi came to take her to the ceremony. The television was by now tuned to ‘Unveiled Secrets’, with some ex-civil servant blaming District Thirteen (what?), reptilians, and mesmeric forces for her involuntary retirement, so Diana was glad to get out of the house.

Much to Diana’s extreme shock, the organizers had somehow managed to find John’s family and bring them in. A man who looked at least fifty but was probably in his thirties stood with a child of ten or so and a woman who had to be barely of age and had a baby in her arms. For a second, Diana thought that was John’s widow - underage marriages were very common in rural regions, and even in the cities you couldn’t shock anyone with married seventeen- or eighteen-year-olds - but then she remembered he had volunteered. Probably his sister, then. Though who knew, plenty of people killed themselves even though they had kids, and volunteering was just a very public way to do that.

Diana hoped they’d get to keep the nice clothes they were wearing.

For Portia, she had her entire immediate family - parents, siblings, grandparents - all in mourning black. Diana felt a stab of sadness looking at them.

The delegation from Two finally arrived. Enobaria was, thankfully, wearing a coat long enough for her to not freeze in. The crowd, who had been there for hours because places in the square were first-come first-served, mostly looked cold as they listened to the newest Victor.

“I would like to start by commending the courage and honour of the Tributes of District Six,” she read off a card. “John Keenan heroically took the place of Christian Freeman, a married man with three children and a fourth on the way.” Who the hell had a fourth child on the way aged eighteen? Diana did the mental calculation - even had he started at fifteen, his wife would have needed to produce babies at a staggering rate and then kept them all alive somehow. Or maybe there were multiple baby mommies? “Mr. Keenan - know your son died to save another. Elizabeth - remember your brother was a hero few can compare with in bravery and integrity. Mrs. Ross - raise your child knowing that their uncle gave the ultimate sacrifice, and the nation will always thank him for it.”

Of course, the unfortunate death was not mentioned. The speechwriter knew what they were doing. Portia got a somewhat less overblown oration, though her bravery was still praised, everyone clapped, and the public part of the ceremony was over. It was hard to believe that a year had passed, and now it was Diana welcoming Enobaria to being a Victor.

“How are you holding up?” They sat in a small lounge on a couch. Enobaria had taken off her coat, revealing an unbelievably sexy getup Diana really wanted to wear for Francine.

“Awful.” Enobaria took a tube out of a coat pocket and squeezed out some gel on a finger. With her other hand, she took out her mouthguards and applied the gel to her gums.

“Does the gel work?”

“For a few hours. I have a stronger one which lasts the night, but it numbs my entire mouth.” She sighed. “I can’t do this.”

Diana had no idea what to say. This was worse than when the veterans began predicting their deaths. “It’s not for long, you’ll get them removed eventually.”

Enobaria put her mouthguards back in. “I can’t do the Tour. Brutus told me about what they do to you in the Capitol. I can’t.”

“Have you ever had sex before?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s more of the same, it’s just that they decide what to do to you.”

Enobaria dropped her face in her hands. “I can’t,” she sobbed. “I can’t do it again.”

Again? “Were you raped?”

“He said the only way to be free of him was to die.” She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her coat. “But I’m alive. And now I’ll never- never-”

“What?”

“Be happy,” she choked out.

“Of course you’ll be happy,” Diana said. “All this is only a small fraction of the year. You can do whatever you want the rest of the time. You can do stuff you like, go to therapy, have relationships.”

“There’s nothing I like,” she whispered. “I was supposed to die. I never had any plans for life.”

“You can make them now.”

Enobaria shook her head. “I don’t want to. I don’t want relationships. Not after that.”

“That means nothing,” Diana insisted. “Between ninety-five and ninety-nine percent of people, depending on the definition, want a relationship of some sort. If you’re one of those who don’t, that’s perfectly fine, but that’s an inborn thing, not caused by what happened to you before.”

“You sound like a computer,” Enobaria sniffled. “Are you really sure it’s just like how people say?”

“Sort of, I guess?”

“Can you-can you show me?”

What? Diana thought for a second she was hallucinating. Having such an attractive girl proposition her had been the stuff of daydreams (and night dreams) once. “I’m in a relationship.”

“You don’t want me?”

“I don’t know what kind of people you lived surrounded by, but I’m faithful to my partner.”

“My stylist said nobody would be able to resist my looks.”

“Honestly, the only thing I’m thinking is that I really want to have my girlfriend see me in this outfit. Or see her in it. Doesn’t matter.”

Thankfully, Enobaria laughed weakly at that. “You’re a strange person. But nice.”

Diana was ‘asked’ to participate in an advertisement for a company that made hygiene products. Thankfully, she only had to travel a few blocks to get to there, and all she had to do was pose for the camera dressed for a long trip in the forest with a gun slung over one shoulder, a basket of mushrooms and two fake rabbits in one hand, and holding a box of disposable pads in another. She had to smile widely, presumably glad that no bodily functions could hold you back from hunting and foraging when you had this company’s products. Diana really hoped the pads were actually good.

Looking at the photographs, it was impossible to tell if she had female sex characteristics at all - a far cry from the advertisements Enobaria appeared in, which could be found in the sort of catalogues Diana had used to hide under her mattress. Diana’s camouflage clothes were loose enough to conceal her figure and she wore only basic makeup that covered up minor blemishes but was not enough to transform her facial structure.

Diana wasn’t sure why they were being treated so differently. They had basically the same bodies, but while Enobaria had to pose mostly naked, Diana’s capacity for sexuality was only relevant because of the tendency of uteri to haemorrhage blood every so often when you were at a certain age. It didn’t seem very fair, but what could you do?

Watching reports about how the potato harvest was perfectly fine and there was nothing to worry about, Diana felt glad for the first time that her name had been drawn out of that ball. She wasn’t the one who had to panic. Grandpa didn’t spend his time standing in queues and Mom didn’t stare miserably at the contents of her wallet. Heck, Diana didn’t even know how much a kilo of potatoes cost! This, she decided, was what it meant to be rich.

The rumblings of a new purge were more worrisome, but as a Victor and her family, as long as she said the right things, everything would be just fine.

“Have you heard they’re slaughtering the cattle because the oilseeds and turnips are going to the markets?” Francine asked on the night before Reaping Day. They were having a romantic date in a restaurant. Her girlfriend always knew how to take her mind off things.

“Oh, they are? It’s not going to be like 31-32, is it?” That was the famine everyone still spoke of in whispers so as to not scare the children - unless they were the sort of people who yelled at their kids for not clearing the plate because ‘back in the day we would have killed for this’. According to Rudolf Wang, that famine, worse than even the one during the Dark Days, had been the reason why people in Nine still joked about dismemberment, even if that professor in Centre who had killed his secretary hadn’t tried to eat her.

The professor had tried to throw out the body into the Missouri but fell in and had to be rescued, only to be arrested for having a severed head and a pair of hands in his backpack. As Rudolf joked, classic Oh-my-hand.

“I don’t think so. My cousin says we’ll be eating turnips and corn for a while. I wonder what this will do to the price of plant proteins.”

Probably nothing good. “The cousin who’s in the Ministry of Agriculture?”

“Yeah.”

“And are they, with the situation-”

“They’re a loyal person with integrity, they’re not worried.”

Well, the Peacekeepers and the NCIA weren’t exactly the best at sorting out real crime reports from denunciations caused by business rivalries and personal drama, so maybe they should have been worrying, even if they were fairly low-ranking. “Well, Grandpa was told by his doctor to cut down on his meat consumption, so we’ll all be eating vegetarian ‘for health’ soon enough and not care about the price of meat.”

“Is there another reason to eat vegetarian?”

“Being middle-class and not being able to afford meat because of your mortgage.”

“But lots of people can’t afford meat at all.”

“That’s why middle-class people say they’re vegetarian - so they can pretend they’re choosing to live off beans and rice and lentil stew, not being forced to do it by their bank accounts.”

Francine laughed out loud. “Good one.” Turning serious, she added, “Lots of people will be doing that soon enough. There will be a drop in price during slaughtering, and I’m sure farmers will try to preserve as much as possible to mitigate the crisis, but it’ll be a long time yet until the prices of fresh meat come back down.”

Cheap meat had always been an oxymoron. Diana had heard somewhere that back before the Cataclysm everyone had eaten meat, but a) that might have been someone making stuff up and b) the Great Swine Flu (which also affected most mammals including humans) had certainly not existed before the Cataclysm. It was just too hard to keep lots of animals in one place, because they would just get sick and die, and keeping lots of animals in one place was the only way to lower costs. Thus, Diana’s family having had meat once a week even though they had been in the upper ranges of the working class, and those had always been the cheapest cuts to boot.

The food arrived. Meat was present on the plate. Diana ate her chicken and wondered at what point Grandpa would try to convince the family that chickpeas were the superior form of protein.

“I wonder why you can’t just give medicine to animals so they get better,” Diana mused.

Francine nearly spat out her wine. “Honey, there aren’t enough antibiotics and antivirals for humans to go around, let alone animals. Medications are very hard to make.”

“Oh. That makes sense. I remember when I was little I was taken to the hospital for pneumonia, and we had to bring our own bedsheets.” She leaned in closer. “And I was once at a hospital in the Capitol to give a speech, and there was mold and cockroaches everywhere and the elevator wasn’t working even though the X-ray cabinet was on the fourth floor.”

“No way. Chief doctors steal in the Capitol, too?”

“Of course they do - why wouldn’t they?”

“And nobody cares?”

Diana shrugged. “I guess it was even worse before they fixed it for my visit.”

“Awful.” Francine ate an elegant bite of baked vegetables. “Let’s change the topic. It’s Reaping eve, you need to relax. I shouldn’t have brought up such a heavy topic.

“Sure,” Diana said. “My Chem TA was arrested for synthesizing and selling alpha-PVP and ‘springs’. They found bags of the stuff in her room.”

Francine snorted. “Typical. My first-year professor made mephedrone and desomorphine right in the lab under some general’s protection.”

“Desomorphine?” Diana asked, remembering the morphlings in her home city with their flesh rotting off their bones. From talking to the other Victors, she knew that the situation was basically the same all over the country.

“Yeah. I bet she’s still doing it. Unless she fell out of favour. I love your dress, by the way.”

Diana had thought her parents would veto the dress, but they had just giggled about her wanting to look good for her girlfriend and approved it enthusiastically. What a difference being an adult made. Before, they had acted like the world was ending when she went on a date in something that showed her collarbones, and now, they thought it was perfectly fine for her to go on a date in a dress that showed most of her boobs and had a slit up to her hip. And when before, Diana asking to buy some lace for a bra had resulted in uncompromising refusals to make her anything made for taking off, now, she bought sexy underwear and Grandpa winked and told her to not wear out poor Francine too much!

Even when Diana quipped that it was her being worn out, her relatives laughed uproariously instead of scolding her for rushing into things.

“Glad you think so.” Diana adjusted her six-pointed star pennant that, when worn with something so revealing, glued everyone’s eyes to her boobs. It always worked on Francine, like now.

“It’ll look even better on my bedroom floor.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Diana reached out and took her girlfriend by the hand. Francine was stocky and had big extremities, so when she covered Diana’s hand with her other hand, it enveloped the palm fully. Diana loved the sensation. It was like a cocoon of warmth for her hand, a promise for what would happen to her entire body soon enough in Francine’s arms.

Adam said that the reason Diana’s anxiety had reached the clinical threshold was her having been Reaped. Having such an unlikely event happen had unlocked something in her mind and made her constantly think that other, equally unlikely, things could happen. Like Leonella being Reaped. Diana mentally slapped herself when seventeen-year-old Mary Everett was Reaped and told herself to stop being irrational. Some time later, the unimposing girl mounted the stage to stand next to Albert Lee, who was eighteen. Both were crying.

The two fed off each other. When one calmed down, they would look to the other and start crying again. When Diana said she would be their only Mentor, Mary burst into tears all over again.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Diana snapped. “They told me there was no point in helping me because I’d die anyway. And here I am. You’re better off without them. So stop crying if you want to live.” That had the opposite effect. Diana sighed. “Don’t die before death. Don’t give up now.”

“What’s the point?” Albert asked morosely. “We’re going to die.”

Even John’s defiance had been easier to deal with. “Look, Albert, I’m not going to lie - I also thought I was going to die, and my being here is thanks to luck. Just as it is for everyone else who makes it out. But luck alone is not enough, you have to seize on the opportunities you have, and you can’t do that if you’ve given up already.” Mary shook her head. Diana had no idea what that was supposed to mean. “Please just try to calm down. You’re not dead yet. For-for as long as in the heart, a soul yearns, hope is not yet lost.” Diana was impressed by her own quick thinking, she had never spoken these words in English before.

Albert shrugged and wiped his eyes.

Diana may have already mentally buried her Tributes, but she still had to give her all for them. She encouraged them, advised them, had sex with sponsors for them. Mary got a four and Albert - a five. Diana advised them to appear calm and reserved in their interviews and then it was time.

The girl from One seemed to not know a word of English (though she had a score of ten), so everyone sighed in relief when she was replaced with her male counterpart, an exotically handsome boy with blond hair and green eyes and the palest skin she had ever seen. Not a colouring you’d expect on anyone naturally, let alone someone from the scorching One. He was friendly and charming and mentioned that he had a sister who wanted to volunteer next year.

“Does she also look like you?” Flickerman asked.

“Yeah,” the boy said. “All three of us take after our father.”

“Oh, there’s another one of you?”

“Yes. I have an identical twin sister.” Their poor mother.

“Did she also want to volunteer?”

“No. We all know stories from the Dark Days about siblings facing each other in battle. That never ended in a way compatible with honour.”

A pause. “I presume you were not always known as brother and sister?”

The boy nodded. “Yes. We were once believed to be twin boys. I’ve known my sister to be my sister since we were three, but we barely managed to afford puberty blockers, let alone hormones. So if you want to sponsor me, please give the money to my sister instead.”

Diana flapped her hand. There it was. The second Tribute up, and he had already done something to make himself the most noteworthy. Nobody had ever asked for money for their family before. Nothing anyone else did now could compare. And indeed, it was Gloss Delacruz who survived in the lush forest, much to the delight of Clio Delacruz, who was finally able to get the treatment she needed. Mary and Albert perished at the Cornucopia, Mary - at the end of Gloss’ javelin.

The funeral was a massive occasion, Mary and Albert’s relatives drowned out by the sea of functionaries muttering about the ultimate sacrifice. When the caskets were lowered into the graves, everyone applauded, as if the two had been artists. Watching the televised funerals before, Diana had always been confused by that - what had they performed? The role of a Tribute? Were the gathered mourners subtly nodding to the frequent complaints that the way the Games were edited made them look like a really weird television show? Or did they actually think of it as a kind of television show?

Diana still had no idea why they were clapping, but she put her hands together nevertheless. That was how you learned how to behave in society. You mimicked the others, whether you understood what was happening or not. You clapped for Uncle Noah the harmonica player, who had died ten years ago from food poisoning, and you clapped for the Tributes, simple as that.

The boy Tribute for the Sixty-Third was George Pittman, ID number 092492406. The first boy to come up, a thirteen-year-old who must have run all the way from the back, thankfully wasn’t the one.

“And now, for the ladies!” Elly reached his hand into the bowl and drew the slip, Diana’s heart hammering with irrational fear. “Edie Wu!” Seventeen years old.

The correct George, an eighteen-year-old, turned out to be scrawny and seemingly in control of himself. Edie was visibly pregnant. It hit Diana that she had never heard of pregnant Tributes, just like she had never heard of kids going in missing limbs or unable to see.

“Any volunteers?”

Nothing.

“Girls, where is your honour?” Elly raged. Diana had never seen him that emotional. “When my grandmother was drafted, half the eligible youths in her village stepped forward for her! Would you let your District be represented on the national stage by someone who cannot fight? Are you willing to live knowing a mother-to-be died for you?”

That explained why visibly pregnant girls never went in. Which made sense - they were neither capable of honest combat nor were they the innocent martyrs dying for the nation people sometimes spoke of (Grandpa complained about the Christian overtones usually present in the latter rhetoric). Half a minute of ranting later, a mass of voices began to shout that there was a volunteer, and they could all sigh in relief. Diana was convinced this would be edited down for television. The volunteer turned out to be a very well-dressed sixteen-year-old named Patricia Armstrong.

“Thank you for your sacrifice,” Elly said, bowing so low, his head was at the same level as his knees.

“Thank you for your sacrifice.” Edie had tears in her eyes as she shook Patricia’s hand.

“Thank you for your sacrifice,” Diana said sincerely.

George turned out to be the child of farmers who owned too little land to live off of, and Patricia was the daughter of a lawyer. She had volunteered simply because it was the right thing to do. George ate a lot but remained in control, and Patricia was obviously forcing herself to eat.

“Thanks for volunteering,” George told Patricia. “I thought we were going to have to stand there forever.”

Patricia shrugged. “I didn’t want to,” she said quietly. “But someone had to.” She looked at Diana. “Where are the other Victors?”

“They stay at home.” The Tributes looked scared. “Don’t worry, Elly and I are on top of things.” Diana took a chocolate bar and ate a piece. Elly was on his phone.

“So what do we do in the Arena?” George asked.

“You’re getting ahead of things, but it depends on what the climate is and what supplies there are. How good are you at foraging?”

Both of them shook their heads. “My mom always looks over what I forage,” George said shamefacedly.

“Don’t worry, my grandfather does that for our entire family.” George smiled weakly. “Anyway, it’s no big deal, odds are the climate won’t be familiar enough for that in any case. Don’t touch anything you’re not a hundred percent certain about. The more barren the Arena, the cheaper food will be, because the Gamemakers don’t want everyone to be too weakened to fight, but if it’s a lush Arena, you will have problems.” Diana knew full well by now that sponsors would be thin on the ground. “Usually, there’s some provisions close to the pedestals. If there’s twelve identical backpacks, go for one. Grab small backpacks, they have survival kits. Don’t dawdle, but try to kill someone.”

George turned pale. “I can’t.”

“You have to. The Gamemakers will make your life hell if you just run away.” Diana took a deep breath. “Let’s take things in order. First, we need to see what kind of competition you have.”

They sat silently for a while until Elly said the recap was about to start. As Diana had expected, Gloss’ sister stepped forward, onwards toward her noble death. Beyond that, there was nothing noteworthy. The demographics were about as usual. She ran through the analysis for George and Patricia, who steadily became more and more scared. “Don’t worry. Like I said, my Mentors dismissed me after taking one look at me, and here I am.”

“So what do we do?” Patricia asked desperately.

“First - do what you’re told. When we arrive tomorrow, you’ll be prepared for the parade. George, it might be unpleasant, but stay calm. Patricia, it’s like a visit to a very expensive bathhouse.”

George looked baffled but nodded.

“You might be put in very revealing clothes. Do not protest.” Patricia turned red. “Above all, be charming. Can you smile?” They both smiled. How did they do it? “Excellent. Do that. Now, the training. Spend the first morning looking around everything and pay notice to what kind of survival training is being offered, that offers clues to the Arena climate. Once you’re done with that, do first aid. Second day, fighting with knives. Morning of your last day, go around the climbing, jumping, and so on stations just so that you know what you can and can’t do.”

“Only a day to learn to fight?” George asked.

“Three days isn’t enough. A day is enough to learn how to stand, hold a knife, and kill an unarmed person, and that’s all that’s realistically possible in the time we have. I spent the better part of two days there, and had I run into someone who was also armed, I would have died.” Even the boy from Five could have very easily inflicted severe injuries on her. “In your individual evaluations, show off both knife skills and first aid. If it does so happen that you collide with someone as untrained as you who has a weapon, you’ll be badly injured at best, so best demonstrate that you know what to do in that case. All of my Tributes so far had knives placed close to them, so you’ll have that advantage as well. The Gamemakers want excitement, so they hand out small advantages very generously at the Cornucopia.”

“But then couldn’t everyone do that?”

Diana knew full well nobody else did that because she hadn’t brought anyone home. Her strategy had only been a small contributor to her survival. Like yeast making dough rise, it had allowed her to succeed when she had luck. “Each Mentor has their own strategy. This is mine.”

“But what about the Careers?” Patricia asked.

“Pretend they’re bears. There’s nothing you can do if they catch you, so try to stay out of the way.”

“But how?”

Get lucky.

“Run as far as you can on the first day. They will start hunting after a couple of hours to go through the Cornucopia and consolidate, but they usually don’t go too far because it’s difficult to guard the Cornucopia, so you have to stay out of their reach. This is why it is absolutely crucial that you kill someone at the Cornucopia. The Gamemakers will allow you to hide for longer.” She looked at them intently. “Your goal is to stay out of reach of the Careers until they get killed off by something or other, and to remain strong enough to fight off everyone else.”

“What if we reach the end of the Arena?” George asked.

She had a good pair this year. Maybe they had a chance. “You probably won’t be allowed to - in my Games, the Arena was gradually shrunken with barriers. This is an important thing to consider. Sometimes it’s hard to tell if there is something on the other side of the cliff, and the forcefield is invisible and will kill you. Usually, it’s preceded with something like an unscalable cliff or dropoff, so it’ll be obvious you have to turn back. Some Arenas do have difficult landscapes as part of it, so just be careful. If you are not running away from someone or something, don’t go somewhere you have to fight the terrain. The one thing you should not do is go up or down very steep cliffs. That never ends well.”

“Should we stay together?”

“Absolutely not. You’ll kill each other on the first night. From now on, think only about yourselves.”

George and Patricia did as instructed. Diana was able to guess that the Arena would be cold and barren, which was not good. “I will prioritize sleeping bags if I have to, but no guarantees.” Not that many people wanted her now, and those that did tended to have smaller wallets.

“So should we go deeper into the Cornucopia?”

“If it is truly that cold, they will have something on the outside. Boring if everyone just freezes to death.”

George got a four and Patricia - a three. Diana was unable to figure out what it was they had done wrong. She certainly hadn’t done anything supernatural in there, and she hadn’t been particularly noteworthy in training, either.

For interview prep, she and Elly did their usual thing. In the morning, she took George, who by now was resigned to death and spent hours in prayer every day. His token would be his cross necklace.

“Let’s try some typical questions first.” George slouched, but Elly would fix that. “So, George, what do you think of the Capitol so far?” She had a list in her notebook of most popular questions by average amount of times asked, complete with trends courtesy of Leonella.

“Well, it’s nice. I like the food.”

“So do I! What’s your favourite?”

“Chocolate,” he said after a pause.

“Excellent choice. Now, you don’t have a very high score. Anything up your sleeve?”

“I guess?”

“What will you do when you’re in the Arena?”

“Try to survive, I guess.”

“What do you have at home waiting for you?”

“My family.”

Diana sighed. “Alright, we can work with this. We’ll do quiet and confident. No ‘I guess’ or anything of the sort. You’re in good shape, so that speaks for itself. Stick to brief answers, but speak more confidently. And pretend to be confident about the Arena. You can admit you know your odds are low, but if you sound like you’ve given up, you’ll be forgettable. Don’t say ‘I’ll try to survive’, say ‘Do everything I can to return home’. If he asks about your score, say some things are hard to demonstrate.”

George nodded. “Uh-huh. Act confident, like I know what I’m doing.”

“Exactly. Let’s try again. Do you think that score of yours reflects your capabilities?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Some things are hard to demonstrate.”

“But they’re the key to success?”

“Yes.”

“How will they help you?”

“How do I answer that?”

“Say something like ‘you’ll see’.”

“Uh-huh. You’ll see.”

“Excellent. Monosyllabic is fine, Flickerman will do the talking, and as long as you have a few interesting remarks, it won’t be dull.”

Over lunch, Elly said that Patricia did great. The middle-class girl was more practiced in speaking, too. “So, what do you think of your competition?” Diana asked.

“I prefer to keep that to myself.”

“How are you liking the Capitol?”

“Oh, I love it. My room is so nice, it’s so big and comfortable, and I have so many clothes to choose from. I wish I could live here.”

“Do not go into that level of detail, the average Capitolian doesn’t want to think about your room being the size of their apartment.”

“Alright. Um, my room is lovely and very comfortable. Everyone I’ve met is so nice, I can’t believe such a nice place exists.” Diana imagined the faces of working-class Capitolians listening to Tributes singing the praises of luxuries they only saw on television. “And I love my clothes. This outfit is so nice. My stylist is great.”

“Do you think we’ll see each other again?”

Patricia kept her face even. “I know I will do everything to come back.”

“Do you trust your Mentor?”

Patricia looked weirdly at her.

“He asked variants of that question multiple times each year in the past few years. I’m not the most popular, but I’m fairly young, so it’s possible he’ll decide to talk about me instead of you.”

“I trust her with all my heart and know she will do everything to help me. She is an example and an inspiration.”

“Good. This is generally good. Make sure to smile even when he asks about disturbing things. You’re naturally fairly upbeat, stay that way, it’s a good look. Now, is your training score deceptive?”

“It is. I might have tried something flashy but impractical there, but you’ll see that when it comes to it, I have no equals.” She smiled.

Everything Patricia and George said at the interview rapidly became irrelevant when the girl from Seven confessed that the baby daddy of her ten-month-old was actually someone else (“I just don’t want her to grow up not knowing the truth!”) and the boy from Ten admitted that he didn’t actually love his wife (who was pregnant with their second child) and wanted her to marry someone else instead of mourning. The well-bred Capitolians in the audience clearly struggled to wrap their heads around the small-town drama. Diana was just glad Patricia had volunteered.

Unlike the Tributes, the audience had several minutes to scrutinize the Arena before the gong. It was a cold, rocky, and barren place pitted with holes and canyons. The Gamemakers had gotten creative this year. Not only were the Tributes far further from the Cornucopia than usual, but there was a four metre wide, metre fifty-deep moat between them and any supplies bare metres from the pedestals. Diana rechecked the catalogue, but she remembered right - survival gear and even water was extremely expensive. There was absolutely no way she could send two sleeping bags. One would drain her resources.

Someone was getting fired for this.

The gong sounded and, understandably, sixteen Tributes ran away from the Cornucopia with nothing. There weren’t even any loose rocks that could be used as weapons. The Careers waded across, too far away from the others to attack, as did two others. The Cornucopia itself was unimpressive. There were six identical bags with sleeping bags, enough MREs to last the pack a week if eaten at the expected pace, so enough once they stretched it and added in sponsor gifts, and enough water. There were spare socks, but no other articles of clothing, which would be a nightmare, and a first-aid kit. Weapons-wise, there were ten knives, and that was it.

The boy from Three reconsidered halfway across the moat and went back. He would freeze to death. The girl from Eight got across, realized she was in trouble, and tried to go back, but the boy from Four easily caught up to her and slit her throat. A cannon rang out.

“So,” the girl from Two said. “Anyone has any ideas how we’re supposed to not freeze to death?”

The camera cut to the others walking around. The phone rang. It was Leonella. “This sucks,” she said. “They should have had twelve sleeping bags and have them be the only things outside the moat, alongside with a knife next to each one, and made the moat not so wide. Or not had it be so cold. It is really interesting to have running away or towards the Cornucopia be more clearly delineated choices, but there is no good option here unless you have loads of sponsor money, and going by how nobody has more than a bit of water, you don’t.”

“I’ll pass on your application to Seneca Crane.” If he wasn’t being fired for this, that was. Leonella giggled. “I have to work now. I’ll call you back.”

“Alright.” She hung up. Diana sent George and Patricia some food and water and called up her usual sponsors, but they said they wanted them to survive the night first.

Diana wished one of them had died so she could send in a sleeping bag, but they had about equal chances, so it was hard to choose one over the other. Two Tributes died from accidents over the course of the afternoon and two were badly injured, though they would linger for days if not put out of their misery. Diana stayed up all night, knowing that if she fell asleep, the cannons would give her flashbacks. She sat in her armchair, read books, crocheted, and kept an eye on the screen. As the temperature dropped, the Tributes began to freeze. The soaked boy from Three went first. Then another. Then another. And another. Diana struggled to keep her eyes open as the hours ticked by until the clock hit midnight and her ‘second wind’ set in. Another quiet death. And another.

Diana was so infinitely grateful to be the way she was. Rabbi Simon had always said that God made people in certain ways on purpose, and maybe he had a point. She would have taken a thousand more accusations from exes of being ‘cold’ or ‘unfeeling’ or even ‘sociopathic’ if it meant being able to sit here and watch Patricia fade away in her sleep without feeling any emotion.

George and a few others had the good sense to stay awake, but he was obviously struggling to not pass out. The price of everything had jumped, but thanks to nocturnal sponsors she was able to send him a decent blanket, which he wrapped around himself as he sat on the ground. She then finally turned off the audio and slept, only to discover the next morning that ten Tributes remained. Forget firing, someone was going up against the wall for this.

The temperature did not increase. It was below freezing and remained so. Was some sort of equipment broken? The Careers only had heat-reflecting blankets and socks to wear, so even though the moat was gone, they opted to stay where they were. This had to be bad planning. That moat should have been gone immediately after the Bloodbath and there should have been spare clothes.

A spear was delivered. The boy from Two wrapped his blanket around himself and set off, but just minutes later, he was attacked by wolves and had to beat a retreat, masterfully swinging his spear this way and that to prevent them from pouncing. When Diana had been little, she had seen someone survive being attacked by a pack of stray dogs by using her satchel in a similar way. It was impressive, but what were the Gamemakers thinking? The Careers now sure as hell weren’t going anywhere.

That night, the temperature fell so low, the Careers only survived thanks to huddling in a pile under their blankets. George did not make it, and neither did the others. Once the last cannon sounded, the pack stepped outside, looking rather absurd in their blankets and socks and armed with one or two knives each. They took off their blankets - thankfully, they were wearing underwear - bowed to each other, and the final fight, the first pack collapse in over a decade, began. Wounds were instantly apparent on mostly naked bodies. Since the fight was so big, there was no time to finish off an adversary. The boy from Two, down with a gut wound, managed to slash the boy from Four’s ankle and make him fall down.

Several minutes later, it was over. The Fours and the girl from One were still breathing, but they were too injured to do more than lie there, nearly naked in negative twenty, their blood steaming in the air. The girl from One made it the longest, becoming, technically speaking, the first-ever Victor with no kills to her name, not even a partial - Templesmith cheerfully announced that none of the wounds she had inflicted had been major. Despite everything he had said about his sister being willing to sacrifice herself and him being fine with it, Gloss Delacruz wept from joy and relief. Diana couldn’t fault him. Sometimes luck was on one person’s side, sometimes - another.

Chapter Text

Diana was very glad to be in university and not school - when she returned, the school year still had a few days left, while she had been on summer vacation since mid-April. She could relax. Leonella was panicking about how she had done on her final exams, which would determine if she would make it into university (she would), excited about her graduation ball (she was the only one in her group of friends going with someone, but he was, alas, only a friend), and frantic about the all-District Games trivia competition, the last one she would compete in. Ever since Diana’s victory, she had been consistently making it to that level, coming in the top ten last year. In Diana’s opinion, her sister had it in the bag this year. Who else could memorize such a vast amount of facts? Diana herself couldn’t even manage amino acids, and here was Leonella with all 1560 Tributes ever on the tip of her tongue!

“How do you know all this?” she marvelled one morning as she helped Leonella study for the competition, which was in a few days. “I don’t even know the Victors!”

“Being autistic comes in handy sometimes, I guess.”

“I’m also autistic, and all I got was being bad at flirting!” Leonella had been diagnosed by someone at her school, and Adam had said that Diana obviously had it too, but she hadn’t bothered getting a formal diagnosis. She had made it this far, so it clearly wasn’t that bad. Her family didn’t believe them, but Grandpa’s retort to the psychologist had been ‘Leonella’s perfectly normal, she’s just like her father at that age!’, so Diana suspected they had a skewed view of what normal was.

“You’ve been dating Francine for years, you can’t be that bad.”

“The trick was to finally find the person who doesn’t mind.” Sooty meowed on the windowsill and hopped onto Leonella’s bed. The little ball of soot curled up a metre away from the two of them and went back to sleep. She, like Francine, was simply a part of Diana’s life she could not imagine living without. By now, Diana had begun to seriously think of marriage, but she wanted to first see how Francine liked living in their house. Her parents didn’t want her to move out before graduation, and she had one semester left. “Alright.” She plucked a piece of paper from a box. “This Tribute was Reaped as the boy from One in the Nineteenth but was formally registered as non-binary.”

“Isi Cuaron. Placed nineteenth, killed by the girl from Three with a spear at the Bloodbath. First ever Tribute to be formally registered as non-binary.”

At the highschool level, the first round would ask for names, but the next two rounds demanded progressively more obscure bits of information. “How the hell do you know that?”

“It’s all in the books.”

Diana had once flipped through the statistical companion to her Games. It had been fascinating but also odd. Seeing the Tributes receive rankings had sat uneasily with her since her victory. There was no second place in the Games. Aut victoria, aut nihil, as Aunt Raisa said.

“Okay, fine.” Diana made up a question in her head. “This amount of Tributes died of dehydration in the Thirty-First.”

“Zero. There were clean streams all over the Arena.”

“This Tribute fought for Two in the Third and was the first from the District to die.”

“Jeanette Lundquist. Killed by-”

“Just answer my questions. I think it’ll be more like the real thing. This Tribute was the girl from Eleven in the Sixtieth.”

“Are you really going to be a judge in the competition?”

“Yes, but not for you.” The organizers had asked, and Diana had agreed, even though it made her feel uneasy. Leonella had always been a massive Games fan, but now, the idea of memorizing as many facts about her near-death as possible unnerved Diana.

“Aww. But everyone else isn’t coming, right?”

“No.” Leonella preferred it that way.

“Phew. Bad enough everyone’s coming to graduation.”

“Are you going to the afterparty?”

“Of course not.”

It really wasn’t fair that Leonella had all the brains in the family.

Diana hated her sister’s graduation because everyone was far more interested in her, and they kept on asking uncomfortable questions.

“Do you wish you could have graduated highschool, too?” a reporter asked after the ceremony.

“I wasn’t one for schooling at that age,” she said with a smile.

Leonella just looked vaguely bored. Her nice enough but very modest dress fit her perfectly, but she still managed to look a bit unkempt. Some of the others would be changing into different clothes for the ball, but she was too lazy for that. She met up with her friend, went to the ball, and was back two hours later in time to play cards with the cousins.

“Ready for the competition?” Mina asked. Michael was busy most days with Yeon-Joo, his newborn son, so he wasn’t playing today. Yeon-Joo was very cute but also very noisy and tried to grab Sooty by the tail.

“I guess,” Leonella said glumly.

“What do you mean, you guess?” Akash teased. “You won in your age category last year.”

“I got lucky. The other one misspelled something.”

“It’s always about luck.” Diana picked up her cards. “Practice is so that you can seize on good luck and compensate for bad luck.”

“Hey, Diana, can we come for the movie showing?” Mina asked.

After the competition, the winners would be invited to watch the premiere of the film of her Games. The films were always released several years later, to remind people of that Victor’s existence. “Elly said everyone can come.”

“Even Sooty?” Akash asked.

“Especially Sooty.”

Leonella giggled. “I don’t think she’d like that.”

Diana didn’t think she’d like watching the movie, either, but nobody was asking her. Several days later, she drove Leonella to the competition, glad that the Games had been so short. Elly was here today, hovering in the background. Usually, he just texted her if she needed to do something specific and answered her fan mail, but this was not your usual event.

“Hey,” she said to him. “You got a new tattoo?” He had a complicated design on the back of his hand that looked simultaneously like vines and metallic and skeletal. The black threads went down his wrist and across the hand until stopping with the fingertips.

“It’s temporary. I’m trying to decide if I really want to get a visible tattoo. This one-” he pointed to his face “-I can cover up with hair easily enough.”

“It looks beautiful.”

“I know. I have a friend who owns her own studio, she’s a real master. And someone wants to talk to you.”

Diana took a deep breath and went off to mingle. Leonella had disappeared for some last-minute panic with her friends, but Diana couldn’t do that. The banquet for the important people would be starting soon - they were only going to watch the last round. Diana shook hands with the District mayor, who as as prone to skimming the budget as his predecessor, as evidenced by his watch and multiple intricate earrings, the carved gems and intricately detailed gold a far cry from the small hoops of pure gold Diana had in, themselves not something an average person could afford. Keith Yao’s makeup had obviously been professionally done, the eyeshadow going from dark blue to light blue in a way Diana would never have gotten right in a million years. She hadn’t put on any today for fear of it being ruined during the long day, sticking to washing and moisturizing instead.

A parade of functionaries who wanted to get their picture taken with her later, she could finally go to the large room where the grade sevens were mostly gathered, with some trickling in. They were overwhelmingly middle-class and stared at her wide–eyed. Diana waved to them and they looked down, one particularly pale child as red as a beet.

“What an honour it is,” the other two judges said, nearly tripping over each other in their haste to get up and shake her hand.

“Glad to be here.” She really wasn’t. These kids mostly either had or would be turning thirteen in this calendar year, which meant they had all stood in the Reaping Field less than two weeks ago, which meant that theoretically next year, she could be returning with a casket with one of them inside.

Diana redirected her thoughts by looking around the room. It was on the shabby side, but big enough to fit the hundred or so kids decently comfortably. They each had a lined sheet of paper and a pencil in front of them. A few minutes later, the kids were told to write down their names and to get ready, and the head judge, a local history teacher, asked the first question of the first round.

“This person was the Victor of the Twenty-Eighth Hunger Games.”

Diana actually knew that one - Richard Smith of Five, the only living male Victor from Five, was always there during the Games. He was a quiet person prone to alcoholism who lived alone and seemed to be existing on autopilot.

“This Tribute from Eight was killed by the girl from Eleven in the Ninth.” Already jumping into the difficult questions, since these were the finals.

“This male Tribute from Four was the only one to have his death be partially credited to the girl from Twelve.” Even Leonella would have struggled with that one.

“This Tribute from Five was killed by the eventual Victor of the Sixty-First.” Diana nearly choked, everyone glanced at her.

A total of fifty questions later, the sheets were collected and a photographer came in to take pictures of Diana with everyone. The two other judges then quickly went through the answers, the kids had a break, and Diana drank tea.

It was time for round two, which would be information about the Games themselves. Fifty questions along the lines of “this year’s Arena featured giant isopods” (Diana actually remembered that one; the isopods had been adorable and harmless but the Tributes had been understandably terrified of them) later, the scores were tallied up and the top ten were announced, as well as individual rankings.

The third round took place in a larger room with an audience present. The top ten in each year wrote the answer on slates and held them up, the judges noting down who had made mistakes. Diana didn’t have the answer sheet with her and the questions were ludicrously esoteric, so all she had to go off of was that Leonella, who had taken first in her grade, always had something written down and was usually among the majority.

“This District was the third eliminated in the second Arena to feature subzero temperatures.”

The contestants had thirty seconds to recall which Arena that was and the order of deaths and to write down the answer. Leonella thought the answer was Five.

“This Tribute from Four died due to Amanita phalloides poisoning.”

Aside from that one year with the mass mushroom poisonings, there had been multiple cases of such deaths, but Diana did not recall the exact species of mushroom. Leonella did, or at least she thought she did. It would have been really unfortunate to lose because you mixed up Amanita phalloides and Amanita bisporigera. Usually, it didn’t matter which one it was, because you needed to avoid both. Every year, someone in the District died because they mixed it up with a puffball.

After fifty questions, ten contestants advanced to the final round, which had a unique format. Unlike in other competitions of the sort, where points were tallied and announced at the end, here, a single wrong answer got you eliminated. Clearly, someone had thought it would be amusing to have it work similar to the Games themselves. One wrong move, and you’re out. Diana took deep breaths, trying to dispel that stress. That was the one emotion she did remember. The gnawing anxiety, the knowledge that you were not making it out battling with the inability to accept that you were about to die.

The questions began easy. “This Victor won the Nineteenth.”

Then, they got trickier. “This Victor won after their only remaining adversary died of blood loss in a different location.”

Then, they became even more insane, and contestants began dropping out. “This Victor won the Games that featured the girl from Ten making an alliance in a lush Arena.”

Soon enough, there were only two contestants remaining, Leonella being one of them.

“This Victor was the fourteenth-oldest.”

Diana grinned. This was the exact sort of random information Leonella lived for. And indeed, when she held up her slate, it had a name on it, and the other contestant’s was blank.

“Congratulations, Leonella Cohen.”

Diana couldn’t even feel happy for her sister like a normal person because she now had to present the certificates and shake hands and get her picture taken. Poor Leonella was interviewed by the District television channel that had aired the finals.

“Did your sister’s victory inspire you to participate?” a journalist asked.

“Um, participation is mandatory,” Leonella pointed out.

“But you never placed so highly before.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, her being Reaped made me more curious about the Games. I wanted to know everything, and that reflected on how well I did in the competitions after that.”

“Are you disappointed you were never Reaped?”

“No. I’m not really the martial sort.” That was a good answer.

“What are your plans for the future?”

“I’m going to university next year.”

“What are you studying?”

“Biology and math. I want to be a doctor - a phtisiatrist.” Despite often having her head in the clouds, Leonella had decided on the more practical path.

“Best of luck with that.”

“Thank you.”

Diana finally congratulated her sister, who brushed it off. “It’s whatever. It’s nice to win in my last year, I guess.”

“You studied so hard, I’m not surprised.”

Leonella shrugged. “Where’s the food?”

Diana usually avoided watching her Games on television. It was easy enough, with her family also reluctant to have the memories brought back. So this was the first time since her victory that she was seeing the Games onscreen.

This was a real documentary, though, not just some collated footage. It began with clips from Blake and Maria’s Games, followed by a sequence of Tributes from Six dying as newscasters speculated about when Six would get another Victor.

“I don’t think it’ll be as long as a wait as we had for Maria,” someone said as the screen faded to black and then turned into names being called out, the image slowly fading into Diana’s Reaping. Diana had been caught on camera for all of two seconds, and that, of course, shown. She tuned out, not eager to relive that moment - Adam wouldn’t be happy, but at least she’d be able to tell him she watched the movie without having a flashback.

The eight years between Maria and Diana really weren’t much. She may not have been Leonella, but she did track some things, one of them being the last time each District had won. One had enjoyed two consecutive victories, and two years ago had been Two. Diana had won a mere three years ago, which felt like nothing and an eternity simultaneously. Four years ago the crown had gone to Eleven, and five years ago - Eight.

Nine had triumphed six years ago, Five - eight years ago, Seven - nine years ago. Three had last won twelve years ago, Ten - thirteen years, and Twelve - fourteen. Four was the outlier, its last Victor had won thirty years ago. Sometimes Tributes from the same District won shortly after each other, other times, there were droughts. When there was a drought, smart Mentors emphasized that fact when fundraising. The Gamemakers didn’t care about those sorts of things, but audiences did, and when audiences cared, money flowed in.

On screen, it was still the Reaping, so Diana refocused on stats. The first Victor had been from Two, the second from Eight, the third from Nine. The fourth had been from Seven, the fifth from Eleven, the sixth from Ten. Diana did know her firsts. The seventh Victor had been from Four, the eighth from Five, the tenth from Twelve, the twelfth from One. Six had had to wait for the fourteenth Games for its first Victor and Three had had to wait the longest, until the Seventeenth.

Diana snapped out of her thoughts and focused on the screen, where her parents were being interviewed. She had forgotten how shabby their old building had been.

“Do you think your daughter will win?” a journalist asked Dad.

“I hope she returns, but we have to be realistic.” Dad had tears in his eyes. “We are all very proud of her.”

Her neighbourhood was shown from the most flattering angles, which still made it look not very impressive. Newscasters discussed if she had any advantages from her upbringing.

“Let’s be realistic, she’s an apprentice, not even a worker yet. What does she know? Sanchez at least has experience with real work.”

“I think you’ve got it backwards. How is farming applicable to the Games? Cohen’s family is well-off enough to keep her in school, which means she’s well-fed, which means she won’t weaken as fast as many, and being an apprentice, she’s familiar with manual work. It’s the best of both worlds.”

The segment ended there, the implication obvious.

The parade recap focused on her, even though there wasn’t much to focus on - her outfit had been good, but unremarkable. A Gamemaker described her performance in training.

“She did knives and first aid, but what really impressed us was her single-minded focus in group training. You’d have thought she had been preparing for this moment for years. Didn’t show any emotion at all.”

So she had gotten a seven because of her autism? Diana twisted her hands in her lap, unsure of what to think about that.

Some of the others who had placed highly were also described, and then it was time for the interviews. Of course, the singing was left out. That was one thing Diana didn’t like. They had left out an entire part of her life. They hadn’t mentioned that as a child, she had spent her summers at the synagogue learning Hebrew and Jewish history instead of working. While her friends had spent their days at workbenches or on the streets, Diana had sat entranced by stories of medieval Jewish life ‘under the cross’ and ‘under the crescent’ and read her way through primers Rabbi Simon made himself with the help of a typewriter and a library photocopier. The movie did not explain why she had had so many sponsors, because it could not do so without revealing who she was and why it mattered.

It was strange to see the Games from a more universal perspective. The camera heavily focused on the boy from Twelve struggling to survive with the limited resources he had grabbed at the Cornucopia and the Careers making their way across the Arena. Diana wondered what everyone thought about the food and water she had received regularly. What reasons did they come up with to explain it?

Having Francine move in wasn’t much of a change, in the grand scheme of things. Her girlfriend had already stayed over countless times, and a bunch of her things were already in Diana’s room. The only difference was that everyone was now on her case demanding marriage tomorrow.

“This is a trial run,” Diana explained for the tenth time. “We want to see how we live together.”

“Meow,” Sooty said from the windowsill.

Aunt Nelly said nothing, but Diana had the feeling she did not approve. Well, she couldn’t do anything about it. Diana preferred to take her time, because there was no rush. As the weeks went by, Francine began to slot nicely into the family routines, from the laundry to family outings. When the family was gifted a dehydrator by Diana’s loyal corporate sponsor conditional on them participating in an advertisement, Francine was included.

“Worth it,” she said. “Can you imagine having to dry all these mushrooms in the oven?”

The other day, the family had gone on a mushroom-hunting trip. They of all people didn’t need to worry about food supplies, but Diana had to have gotten her anxiety from someone - Grandpa, to be exact. The failure of the potato crop, the second one in mere years, was already resulting in queues, high prices on everything else, and mass panic, and that wasn’t even getting into the intensification of the purge ‘up there’, a topic discussed only in whispers.

“Yeah, that’d have been a nightmare.”

Francine held up a bag of mushrooms. In the house, there was a small room dedicated to storing nonperishables. They had so many tomatoes this year, Aunt Nelly was going crazy trying to can all of them. “I hope there’s no deathcaps in here.”

Diana shuddered. “There better not be.” There were a few edible mushrooms that looked like deathcaps, and Grandpa refused to as much as look at them. “Can you help me get the bags in the pantry?”

“Sure.”

In the pantry, Diana paused to admire, as she often did, their stash of food. It made her feel calmer to know they’d have something to eat no matter what. Money was an abstract thing, it was hard for Diana to reassure herself with the thought of numbers, but the garlic hanging from the ceiling was something she could touch.

“What do you want to do now? It doesn’t sound like the rain is letting up.” It hammered on the house at such a loud volume, her head hurt.

“We could work on that programming problem you were talking about.”

By that, Francine meant watching Diana work on the problem. “Sure, let’s do that.”

As the months went by, there were plenty of things Diana didn’t pay attention to. The reshufflings up there hardly mattered when none of the people in question wanted to rent her, the queues outside the shops were in Aunt Sarah’s sphere of competence, and the smallpox epidemic wasn’t something to worry about. Until it was.

When Diana threw up one night and woke up the next morning feverish, she assumed she had some kind of viral infection. Francine was duly evicted to a spare room more out of Grandpa’s anxiety than anything else and Diana spent the next few days sleeping.

She woke up in the middle of the night and reached for the cup of water on her nightstand, which she had found outside her door the last time she had woken up. The cup had a large ‘D’ written on a piece of tape, not the ‘X’ Diana associated with the dishes set aside for the sick and quarantined apartments or even entire buildings. She could easily imagine Mom taking away the used dishes as always, but in a medical mask and gloves now, not gauze wrapped around her face. At least Diana was big enough to clean up after herself now - and at least she could quarantine in her own room, instead of cramming all the sick people into one room and the healthy into the other. And having her own bathroom instead of a bucket was an absolute godsend.

With shaking hands, Diana moved the cup closer to her and dropped in an ORT tablet from a little box - she still couldn’t keep anything besides water down. The tablet dissolved quickly, making the water turn purple. She lifted the cup with difficulty, savouring the blackcurrant flavour, and dropped back on the bed gratefully, feeling like her muscles had turned to jelly. Her throat hurt badly.

Diana spent over a week in that state, presuming that she had the flu. She got vaccinated every year, but the flu changed so much, it didn’t always work. Diana had always been sickly, so she wasn’t surprised she was the only one in the household to come down with it. And honestly, better her than anyone else. If it came to it, she’d get the best treatment in the country, and even before, the flu had only ever been two weeks of forty-degree fever and feeling like you had been hit by a bus.

Her family put a television in her room so that she’d have something to do. It was hard to stay awake for long with a fever of thirty-nine point eight degrees. Diana woke up, reached for the water, and realized there was a rash on her arm.

Diana stumbled to the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. She had had chickenpox as a child - most people didn’t bother paying for the vaccine because of how low the risk of a bad outcome was - but this was different. Possible diseases ran through her mind. Typhus? Paratyphoid? Scarlet fever? No. Diana went back, fell into bed, picked up her phone, and called the family doctor - it was midmorning.

Dr. Bryson appeared on the scene quickly. Diana heard her family discussing in hushed voices - as a child, she had hated when they had done that, because she had associated the whispering with how everyone was quiet at a funeral. Now, it was just annoying to have everyone fret over her. It wasn’t so bad when Francine did it, in fact Diana liked having Francine taking care of her, but seeing Mom and Dad’s worried faces made her feel uncomfortable. Thankfully, smallpox was too contagious for them to even think of coming inside. Dr. Bryson perfunctorily looked her over and took a sample. That afternoon, they called to say it was ordinary smallpox. Diana had hoped for the nonlethal modified form, but at least it wasn’t malignant or hemorrhagic - those might have killed even her and would have required immediate hospitalization.

With the ordinary form, which formed the vast majority of cases, unvaccinated people faced a mortality rate of up to 30%. Thankfully, even Yeon-Joo was fully vaccinated, which meant that even if he got sick, which was extremely unlikely, he had a 25% chance to get the modified form, and his overall probability of death was 1%.

Diana had had the shit luck to get sick, but with her vaccines, including the booster, having all been done on schedule, she also had a 99% chance of survival. A few days later, her fever began to fade, but the pustules were only forming. This was nothing like chickenpox. Then, she had been spotty all over and had to crawl because of the spots on the soles of her feet, which she later found out were uncommon in that disease and had confused some of her relatives into thinking she had modified smallpox. This was on an entirely different level. Diana had no idea how to get to the bathroom without pain because her extremities were covered in the pustules. She really wished she could fly. Instead, she scooted on her side. In the mirror, she could barely recognize herself. She had covered her pustules with brilliant-green like her parents had done when she had chickenpox, but the different distribution of pustules resulted in her face looking completely green.

Nobody in the Capitol would rent her now. There, as in Six, smallpox scars were a marker of low status, not something that would lure in potential buyers. Diana limped back to bed, wobbling from the balls of her feet to the sides to the heels. She gratefully collapsed onto the mattress - she had to change the bedding constantly - and turned on the television, which was talking about the epidemic. In what passed for good news, crews were going door-to-door in the slums and removing dead bodies so they wouldn’t be dumped in the open.

Diana picked up her phone (what did sterilizing a phone look like?) and called Gloss. She didn’t talk to her fellow Victors much, but she did get along with them, especially the ones around her age.

“Hello, Diana.”

“Hey. I was wondering - do you also have smallpox in One?”

“Yeah. I think the entire country has it.”

“That’s unfortunate.” According to Rabbi Miller, even poor countries didn’t have smallpox anymore, it only existed in a couple of war-torn countries vaccines physically couldn’t be delivered to. But because Panem was so cut off from the rest of the world, nobody helped them with vaccines, which they could only produce in small numbers. Too small for everyone. Enough if you slapped a large price tag on them.

Maybe the Minister of Health would get hemorrhagic smallpox and die.

Diana talked to Gloss for a little while until someone knocked on the door. She ended the call and went to pick up her tray of food, pushing it along the ground. She couldn’t wait to get better, swallowing was agony.

Being sick was so boring. Diana lay around waiting for the pustules to scab over - she would remain contagious until the last scab fell off. They’d probably hire professionals to disinfect her room after that. Diana missed Francine. It felt so lonely in the room without her. Outside the window, winter began to turn to spring, but it didn’t matter, because she couldn’t as much as crack open the window.

Diana read a novel Leonella had lent her a few weeks ago - her sister had expected it to be about war, but there was too much romance in the ‘based-on-a-true-story tale of the Dark Days’ in it for her liking. It was about James ‘Raven’ Roberts, who had commanded the Green Ravens, a loyalist mercenary group, during the Dark Days. Much to Leonella’s disappointment, the book was about not only Raven’s military heroics, but also about his romancing of Mahmoud ‘Sledgehammer’ Abubakarov, who had led a volunteer detachment mostly made up of his mosque’s congregants. Diana liked the book, even if she was fairly sure the details had been exaggerated for dramatic effect. At the end there was a photo of the actual Raven and Sledgehammer after the Dark Days with the war orphans they adopted after getting married. It was very sweet.

Diana took a nap after she finished reading, waking up when she heard a letter slide under the door. It was from Rabbi Miller, and was actually a compilation of various articles from the international press, in English and Hebrew. They had headlines like ‘Scenes of horror not seen in the world in forty years’ and ‘Consequence of isolationism - catastrophic vaccine shortage’. It was strange to read those articles. They talked about Panem like it was some crazy thing you couldn’t understand, when Diana literally lived in it and was used to it. According to one graph, 99% of smallpox fatalities worldwide were in Panem. The photograph next to it depicted what Diana thought was a typical small-town ambulance crew taking a patient from their home, and what the journalist thought was the most horrifying thing they had ever seen. Diana studied the picture, unsure of what was so upsetting about it. It was just a house and an ambulance.

Another article described how defectors from Panem arriving in South America were being quarantined on arrival. Diana wondered if the same thing was happening up north. She envied people who could leave the country. She wasn’t even allowed to leave her room.

When Diana recovered, she began to wish she hadn’t, because of all the classwork she had missed. Most of her professors showed leniency, but that was because she was a Victor, not because she had had smallpox. Everyone looked at her oddly in the corridors, and someone even asked without prompting if she was immunocompromised.

“I’d be dead if I was,” she said. “I just got unlucky.”

“Yeah, that sucks.”

Diana now looked kind of like she had acne scars, but the bumps in her skin were more pitted, more disfiguring. It wasn’t as bad as some of the people she had seen growing up, whose faces were completely covered with pockmarks, but it was still obvious she had had the disease. It could have been worse. Most likely, she had gotten it giving a speech in an elementary school - and there, out of a class of forty-one ten-year-olds, seven had died. It really wasn’t fair how few vaccines were available. One neighbourhood only had a few infants and immunocompromised people die, another got flattened.

The epidemic was over by the time the Reapings came around. Hopefully the lists were all up-to-date, she had heard stories about the escort drawing name after name only to have an assistant run in and whisper in their ear that this youth was near death or had passed away hours ago.

At least in Six it went smoothly. Julius Anderson, seventeen, and Emma Simpson, sixteen. Both rural, both small but mostly healthy-looking. As always now, the first thing that jumped out at Diana when seeing Julius was that he was lightly pockmarked.

“Did you get smallpox this year?” Diana asked.

“No, as a kid. I caught everything you can catch - smallpox, polio, scarlet fever, you name it.”

“Any complications?”

Julius shrugged. “I get sick easily and I’m tired all the time. And my breathing isn’t great.”

Depending on terrain, that could be a minor problem or a life-ender. “As long as you can walk long distances, you should be good.”

“I can do that.”

“Excellent.”

Even without being compared to Julius, Emma was very pretty. She had light-brown skin, freckles, and black coily hair done up in box braids. They’d have to deploy that to their advantage, and hope that Julius’ face would look better with makeup on it.

The Tributes’ eyes widened when they saw the food. Julius looked at her. “Can we have this?”

“Yes, go ahead, it’s all for you.”

Hesitantly, they piled their plates high and began to eat. They had vastly overestimated how much they could consume, but they ate at a measured pace - a good sign. Venus, the new escort this year - Elly was now Diana’s full-time personal assistant when she was in the Capitol and some Gamemaker’s PA when she was home - still looked disapprovingly at them. “Eat neater,” she snapped.

“Who cares?” Diana asked. “Sponsors aren’t going to see this.”

The escort huffed. Venus was every bit as beautiful as her namesake (Francine agreed), but Diana was starting to suspect she wasn’t as nice as Elly. Maybe she’d thaw with time. Escorts tended to be the younger children of very important people (Elly the social climber was more of an exception), so Venus was from a very different world.

“What they’ll see is your face,” Venus said. “You should get those scars removed.”

“Even making acne scars look not as bad takes half a year, and smallpox scars are worse.” It actually depended, but in her case, even the worst acne scars would not have been so disfiguring. “And I’d be paying out of pocket.” The fact that Snow had personally called to inform her that her cosmetic procedures would not be covered anymore was a giant shining sign that her sex work was virtually at an end. Maybe someone would want her even with the scars, but these people would be few and far between.

“I’d have paid anything to not look like this.”

Ouch. Diana thought she looked nice - her hair was freshly cut and she had combed it, she was wearing her best elaborate makeup, and her nails were painted sparkly pink - but yes, the only way to hide the scars was a thick layer of concealer, and she hadn’t figured out how to make that look good yet. Her attempts so far made her look like she was, well, caking on the concealer. “My grandfather refuses to buy dairy milk because it’s a dollar more expensive per litre than oat milk, he’d have a coronary if I wanted cosmetic procedures done.”

“We have two cows,” Julian said.

“That’s very nice,” Diana said. “Do you sell the milk?”

“Yeah. But we do keep some. My grandma makes really tasty cottage cheese.”

Venus huffed.

“Does that lentil pie taste good?” Diana asked Emma.

“Yeah, it’s great. It’s got mushrooms, too. And some other stuff.”

This year, there was barely any meat on the table, a consequence of how fragile the system was - and how desperate the organizers were to saw up the budget. At least they hadn’t tried to foist rotten meat on them.

“Who’s gonna get the leftovers?” Julian asked.

“Train staff.”

“Huh.”

Diana ate the lentil pie. Instead of a crust, it was topped with mashed sweet potatoes, and it had loads of mushrooms and tofu. The taste was magnificent, it was like something out of Aunt Nelly’s cooking magazines. As she ate, she kept an eye on the Tributes. They seemed to be in denial to some extent, but not completely absent - probably convinced they’d manage to make it out. That was one of the easiest mindsets to work with.

“Alright,” she said once they finished dessert (a delicious peach pie). “Let’s watch the Reapings.”

It felt strange to not have Elly next to her. He had seldom said anything, but she had trusted him to arrange sponsors and deal with all that stuff, and his presence had been reassuring. Now, Diana felt like she was the only adult in the room.

Julian and Emma didn’t notice that as they went to the couch and sat down. This year, there was a surprise - both volunteers from Four were fourteen. Granted, they were the sort of fourteen-year-olds who could pass for nineteen, but they were still fourteen. Some of the Victors had alluded to an unfortunate situation in Four with a former instructor; that instructor must have been very unreliable, to have the candidates they had trained to be undesirable even years after their departure.

“They’re fourteen?” Emma asked incredulously. “They look grown up.”

“The one thing Careers do get is enough nutrition to grow tall.” Rumour had it that in Two, they were given drugs to make them bigger, but Diana’s fellow Victors had dismissed that with a laugh. Nobody ever spent that much money on people whose job was to die.

Emma rubbed her arms. “What do we do?”

To this, Diana could reply in her sleep.

Emma and Julian did decently well. They scored a four and a five and their interviews were solid but unremarkable. It would have been difficult to outshine the boy from Eight in any case. First the small and skinny eighteen-year-old got an eleven (Diana suspected mastery either with a small weapon or a survival skill he had managed to figure out would be crucial), and then, in the interview, he did his best to condemn the Games even as Flickerman had effortlessly defused every single one of his incendiary remarks until when the boy shouted ‘Fuck you all!’ and stalked off, the audience roared with laughter. No matter what Rabbi Miller may have thought about Flickerman, he was highly competent.

So Diana didn’t have much in the way of sponsor money as she sat down in her office and went through the catalogue. One oddity - weapons were very cheap this year. Would there be no weapons whatsoever in the Cornucopia? That would be an interesting twist. Another difference this year was the wider variety of flashlights, suggesting a dark Arena. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too dark for the cameras to see. The Gamemakers didn’t need another fiasco.

The screens flashed to life, revealing a rocky and barren Arena where it was already pouring rain. The Tributes stood in a plain surrounded by small hills. Diana winced in sympathy, she hated the rain. As she had suspected, this year, there was a good amount of equipment at the Cornucopia but no weapons. The Bloodbath would come down to how fast everyone was and whether anyone had the raw power to kill in seconds with their bare hands.

Templesmith cheerfully explained that this year’s Arena had two levels - this one, and an underground one, a system of caves that could be accessed through the countless openings in the rock. Diana could only wait and see. It would all hinge on how dangerous the caves were.

When the gong sounded, most ran for the supplies. Julian and Emma, as instructed, were able to read the territory. Julian, seeing the lack of weapons, hightailed it for the mouth of the Cornucopia. Diana had cautioned against trying that, but when the only weapons available were bare hands and maybe some rope, it was a calculated risk, and Diana would have done the same thing. He grabbed a large backpack Diana knew was stuffed with supplies, a sleeping bag, and a full bottle of water, and correctly picked his escape route - the boy from Twelve and the girl from Nine did not try to attack him. He reached the hills, ran inside the cave, and was soon in a dry and warm chamber dimly lit with what was probably artificial light.

Emma did not do so well. She ran for a small backpack but froze when she saw two Tributes fighting on the ground, and the girl from Two, who was nearby, used the cord from a small drawstring bag to strangle her. Emma ended up one of the four Bloodbath fatalities. Not very many, but these Games were promising to be far better put-together than the last.

Due to the lack of weapons, Diana hoped that Julian’s audacity would be enough to spare him from attacks for the next day or two. He was very well-supplied for now, so Diana got him a medium-sized knife, which drained her account. The Careers all got small machetes, and some of the others also got knives. Maybe next year would be the year she couldn’t buy anything, either. Jewish communities from all over the country donated to her and rich people in Six did likewise, but it was becoming harder and harder to wring money out of rich sponsors in the Capitol.

The Tributes were all underground, but in different conditions - some were in caves that had holes in the top that let in the rain, others were in pitch blackness and could only be seen in infrared, still others were navigating difficult steep terrain. The cave system was big enough for Tributes to not find each other unless Gamemakers stepped in.

On the third day, Julian collided with the girl from Five but ran away. For that, he had to fight off something that looked like a small cougar, which he managed to do, but not without being scratched on the arms. Fortunately, he had medical supplies, but some of those scratches were fairly deep and had to be causing him pain.

The Career pack was annihilated when they tried to cross an underground stream which had a much faster current than anticipated. The boy from Four survived thanks to knowing how to swim, the others did not. And all of a sudden, it was the final eight - or rather, final six. Diana was starting to feel hopeful.

Despite her best attempts to woo last-minute sponsors, the only thing Diana could send Julian were warm gloves - the temperatures were dropping more and more every day. The boy from Four got a trident. Diana had noticed him getting many sponsors purely based on his exotic good looks, but she hadn’t grasped just how much money Gareth and Mags had to throw around.

Diana just about choked from laughing too hard when the commentator suggested the boy from Four knew how to use a trident from fishing - independent fisherpeople like the boy’s family used nets and lines, even Diana knew that - but there was nothing to laugh at here, really. If he was allowed to go around and systematically finish everyone off - only four remained the following day - there was nothing Julian could do.

The rain stopped and the water level in the caves rose, forcing everyone to the surface. As luck would have it, Julian was the first person the boy from Four spotted. There was nowhere to hide in the bare rock, the openings had all been sealed, and even had Julian been fully healthy and well-fed, he would still have been slower. He stopped suddenly, let the boy come closer, and did the one thing he could - stood his ground.

The boy tossed a weighted net over Julian. As the seventeen-year-old farmer struggled to free himself, the boy from Four stabbed him through the neck. And laughed.

Much to her own surprise, Diana felt a burst of emotion. She was mad that one of her Tributes had gone so far only to be the third-last to die. She was mad that a farmer could catch so many infectious diseases in his short lifetime, it left him smaller than a boy three years younger than him. And she was mad that the boy from Four was smiling when for Diana’s entire life, it had been hammered into her brain that this was not a time for laughter or levity, only stoic duty.

Diana sat and numbly watched as, over the next few hours, the boy from Four hunted down and killed his remaining opponents. She politely congratulated Gareth - he would have done the same thing had the positions been switched, and Four’s last Victor had been a long time ago - and went home with the caskets.

Chapter Text

Diana threw herself into her last year of university with a passion, trying to distract herself from the painful loss with something like a normal life. Adam cautioned her that she should not split herself in two, which was a good thing to keep in mind, but that wasn’t what Diana was trying to do. She simply wanted her life to not be defined by two weeks in June, exactly as he had told her. There were other things. Like university. And friends. And family. And Francine.

So when Diana left her last university exam knowing that she would never study for another midterm again, she knew it was time to embark on a new journey that would fill her evenings and not let her turn into Blake and Maria.

“Let’s get married,” she told Francine as they ate celebratory lunch alone in the kitchen. “Have kids. All that stuff.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, too,” Francine said, wrap suspended in midair halfway to her face.

“So let’s do it?” It felt completely surreal to be saying these words. “Get married, have kids?”

“Let’s.” Francine chewed on her wrap. “So how do we want to do this? I know you want a religious ceremony, but I really don’t think it’s feasible.”

Not feasible for multiple reasons. Some of the strict congregations, the ones where everyone really paid attention to those obscure rules like not mixing certain types of fibres or not entering same-sex relations, would not have been willing to hold their ceremony for that reason, but while Rabbi Miller followed the 613 mitzvot scrupulously, he would be willing to oversee the marriage of Diana and Francine. The bigger issue would be Francine’s total lack of desire to convert. Diana had already had multiple arguments on the issue of how their future children would be raised with Francine, Rabbi Miller, and her parents, and Francine was very opposed to raising children in a religion. Diana had explained a thousand times that she wasn’t going to tell them what to think, but Francine still didn’t get it.

“I think it’s feasible,” Diana said.

That evening, they had a more serious discussion on what was and was not feasible. “Look, Diana, you can’t just marry in a religious ceremony and then have your children be brought up outside religion. That’s disrespectful.”

“But why not?” Diana paced back and forth as Francine sat on the bed. They still had not told anyone about their plans. “I just want my children to be aware of where I come from.”

“Diana, I told you a billion times that I will not tell our children what to think-”

“And I told you a billion times that’s not the point! The community saved me!”

“So you feel like you have to have our kids be part of it, in case they ever need help?”

“Exactly. There’s people in the congregation who don’t believe, they’re just there for the community.”

“I don’t see how you can encourage a child to attend prayer sessions and then say it’s just for the community.”

Diana sighed, trying to figure out a way to phrase it. “Look, Francine. Either way they’ll see us celebrating strange holidays.” On top of convincing everyone to at least half-heartedly keep the Sabbath Grandpa had also announced his desire to keep a kosher kitchen, which with their finances was trivially easy. “They’ll be curious, they’ll be more drawn to it the more secretive I am. There’s no hiding it. If they see that synagogue is just a bunch of aunts and uncles saying things in a weird language-”

“Why weird?” Francine asked. “I have nothing against them learning Hebrew. Maybe not the most useful skill, but it’s certainly more productive than many pastimes.”

“Alright, so aunts and uncles saying weird things in a language they half-understand. How about this? I go for services, the kids ask eventually, I take them, they are very bored and don’t want to show up again.” It hurt Diana to imagine her children not having any interest in the community, even for such a reason. She had refused to compromise ever since the idea of children had been floated, but now that they were actually going to go ahead with it, Adam’s words forced Diana to concede that point. Yes, this was important for her, but it was also important for Francine - and given how Diana constantly pestered her girlfriend into doing what she wanted, she needed to be the one to take a step back here. “If you want, I can say that it’s boring family things when they ask, I doubt they’ll ask again after that.”

“I’d be alright with that,” Francine said. “More than alright. And if they show interest in religion when they’re teenagers, I don’t mind that, it’s only when they’re very little that I’m wary of telling them how to think.” Their plan was to adopt a child between the ages of three and five once they got married, and two more later on.

“Either way we’ll be telling them what to think - about society, themselves, so on.”

“Yes, but in religion, where there really isn’t an absolute truth easily available, I want them to make their own decisions.”

As if there was an absolute truth out there about the country - or rather, as if Francine would be comfortable telling their kids. Francine was a fairly passive person overall, she had always half-heartedly cheered out of pure laziness, so now that Diana had told her about the sinister side of the regime, she had drifted into a vague disapproval walled off by an indomitable ‘But how else could it be?’

‘Literally any other way’ was Diana’s reply, but Francine didn’t see the point in actually hoping for it. Neither did Diana. Israel was Israel, and Panem was Panem. Maybe it was true that there were countries where people ate fruit every day. But in Diana’s mind, it was perfectly natural that the rich ate meat and fruit every day, the decently-off ate rice and bread, and the poor ate corn and potatoes, and the mental image of a farmer eating fresh pears in January refused to form.

The family’s reaction was predictable - cries of hurrah, hats being thrown in the air, Aunt Nelly rushing out to buy lace weight yarn for the wedding canopy, etc. Just as predictable was the ensuing interrogation. When did they want to get married, and where, and how many guests, and this, and that. Diana’s list of demands was short. She wanted the civil ceremony, where the papers would be signed, to take five seconds and be witnessed only by the parents, for the religious ceremony to start and end on time, and to have the feast afterwards proceed without them because she’d be mentally wrung out by that point.

“But nobody will be there on time!” Mom said.

“I don’t care. I don’t want to have my marriage delayed because the guests couldn’t be bothered to arrive on time.”

“Diana, that’s not how it works.”

There had always been clashes with her family over that. Diana hated lateness in others and did not tolerate it in herself. If you were told the party starts at two, then arrive at two. If you promised to have the party start at two, have everything be ready instead of just starting to clean the apartment.

Diana was still irritated at how she had once shown up to a party before the host despite being only ten minutes early.

But to the others, it was different. Somehow, they could hear ‘the party starts at two’ and know that it would actually start closer to five, as was custom with upper-crust weddings all over the country.

Now hold on one second.

“Wait, wait,” Diana said. “We need to keep in mind the possibility that we might have to get married in the Capitol.”

Dad sat up a little bit straighter. “Will we still be able to attend?”

“We’ll still have the religious ceremony here, it’ll just be the signing. If it happens, which is doubtful, I’m just saying it now so that if it does happen you aren’t completely shocked.” Thanks to the four-year streak of Careers, Diana had been successfully forgotten by everyone who mattered. During the Victory Tour, Snow had called personally to tell her to keep a low profile and consign herself to irrelevance. That would be very difficult with her being the only Victor from Six to mentor, and thus the only one who could make appearances when the Tributes did well for a while, but she saw the greater point. Even if she appeared from time to time, she would not be in anyone’s field of view, not be hired by client after client because all that had been interesting about her was her youth and fresh-facedness, and there were younger and more fresh-faced out there now.

“Well, I hope it doesn’t, I want to witness it,” Mom said. “So when do you want it to happen?”

“Shortly after the Games, to minimize the attention on us.” Unless Six won, but that wasn’t happening, Diana had to admit.

“Oh, that’s still some time away, then,” Grandpa said.

“Are you two sure you don’t want to have an engagement party, or anything?” Raisa offered.

“No, no, it’s alright.” By now, Diana preferred to stay in and found going out to be too tiring. Especially since she didn’t need to find partners anymore. Why waste money on taxi fare when you could drink beer in bed and cuddle and play on the computer?

“Alright. And congratulations again!”

This year, the warmth of May and the heat of June brought not the thoughts of ‘huh, another Games soon’ - or rather, not only them. Diana also had her wedding to look forward to, which she still could not wrap her head around. Was she seriously getting married? Planning on having children? Wasn’t she too young, too incompetent? And what did Francine even see in her? Diana was annoying, whiny, and prone to falling into despair. In mid-June, she happened to see a recap of her own Games, and seeing herself kill the boy from Five - or rather, seeing him scream - had made her suddenly recall it with frightful clarity.

The memories of killing had always been fuzzy and noiseless, emotion stripped away and only the vague knowledge of a knife sinking into flesh remaining. But as Diana watched the segment, she could suddenly hear the boy screaming desperately even though the footage, too, had its sounds muted, the boy’s mouth open but no sounds audible. She could hear him screaming. He had begged for mercy, cursed her, sobbed in agony. She could feel his blood on her hands, warm and sticky. It had taken several stabs to get him to fall down, and he had screamed the entire time. How had she not noticed that?

And the girl from Twelve. She had gasped in shock, hands flying to the wound in her neck. The girl from Two had screamed when the knife had entered her back. The girl from Seven had begged her for mercy. Diana could hear the screams. Had she really not heard them then?

Adam’s explanation was simple - she had noticed it, but her brain had later blocked it out. Diana wished she could block it out again, but that wasn’t an option anymore. She spent over a week doing nothing, wandering from room to room to stare off into space like when she had just won the Games, her family and Francine dragging her to mealtimes and outside. Diana was glad on some level for the Games, because it gave her something she had to focus on. And this year, things would be different. Mentors would all sit in the same room - and Snow had decreed that more of them needed to show up.

As soon as Blake found out, he overdosed, and it was a miracle Raisa found him in time. He mostly recovered, but something was permanently gone from his mind. When before, he had been a fairly alert person even while high, now, he either couldn’t or didn’t want to voice complex thoughts. Maria got him into painting, and now he spent most of his time standing or sitting at an easel and drawing abstract designs that Diana didn’t see much of anything in and that Aunt Nelly claimed spoke of loss.

“I’m sorry you have to put up with this,” Diana said at the family dinner the evening before Reaping Day.

“Why?” Janet asked. Diana’s cousin-in-law was pregnant again, so the four-year-old Yeon-Joo would soon have a sibling. Akash and Mina also had families of their own, but they had moved out. Soon enough only Leonella would be on her own. “It’s hardly anything that needs putting up with.”

“I’m glad you think so about having journalists coming to the house.”

“Compared to what you go through, it’s nothing.”

“Compared to what the Tributes are going to go through-” Diana half-heartedly poked at her food. “I can’t complain.”

“You went through it yourself,” Dad said softly.

“Yes, but I survived, so it doesn’t count. Anyway, are you going to the Reaping tomorrow?”

Six’s Tributes this year were both eighteen and both farmhands. Neither Daniel Oldman nor Sylvia Mendez had a sliver of a chance, which Blake and Maria made very clear by not even bothering to look at them.

“Don’t worry.” Lying to Tributes was as easy as breathing. “They did the same thing to me.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Sylvia said, more focused on the food. Some of the Tributes absolutely pounced on it, others ate moderately, still others couldn’t stomach a bit. Only the ones in the middle category had ever done even halfway well. If they had no control over themselves now, they would not have it in the Arena.

These two pounced. The shock of being Reaped had rattled them, and their acute hunger from not having had anything to eat since yesterday combined with their chronic undernourishment to make them incapable of rational thought around an abundance of food. Most likely they would have always leapt at any food lying around, but the messy way they ate now betrayed a mental state altered by stress.

Once they were done, they were too full to focus on anything Diana said, so she said nothing, instead solving a programming problem on her fancy new smartphone the likes of which had been available to the rich in the rest of the world for a decade. They watched the recap, where nothing out of the ordinary happened, save perhaps for the fact that two twelve-year-olds were Reaped.

Finally, Sylvia and Daniel looked ready to listen, so she began her usual routine. “What sort of combat or survival skills do you have?”

They shrugged. “I can pick mushrooms?” Sylvia offered.

“Potentially useful, but be even more careful than you normally are. If there’s a suspicious abundance of mushrooms, don’t even try. Fifteen years or so back, they had what looked like edible mushrooms everywhere. All poisonous. The Victor needed a liver transplant.” Sylvia gulped but nodded. “And you, Daniel?”

“No woods in our parts.”

“No big deal. Plants are a tricky thing. A while back there were nightlock bushes - it’s a type of poisonous wild berry- mixed with the blueberries, and two died. Well, that’s never in training, at least some poisonous plants will be missing. You need to not just recognize the edible ones, but remember every little bit about them, the bark texture and the appearance of the leaf and whatever. Which is why even in a lush Arena, supplies are important. Do you know your height and weight?”

They shook their heads no. Sylvia was a metre fifty or maybe a bit less, and Daniel was a metre sixty or so, and they were both quite skinny.

“Well, I can tell you’re fairly small compared to an average urbanite, and especially compared to the Careers. Which is why you will need to operate by stealth. An extremely important thing - do not, under any circumstances, show off survival skills during your individual evaluations, that will cause the Gamemakers to not leave any supplies close to you, as it is interesting for them to see people figuring it out on their own.” Diana had figured that out a few years ago. “Show off combat skills instead, and they will leave weapons. But do pay very close attention to the survival stations, because that will hint at what the Arena will look like.”

“Do you really think we can survive?” Daniel demanded.

Of course not.

“Of course. I did it, after all. So did Young and Popescu.”

“But how did you do it?” Sylvia asked.

Right, they had no televisions. “Young was chosen in the Twenty-Fifth and he was simply the toughest of the lot.”

“Oh, right, that one,” Sylvia said. “Old people say they didn’t even ask them on the latifundia. Some rich people in Centre voted in some bandits from Centre and that was that.”

“Well, yes. Popescu won by grabbing some supplies and a knife, winning all the fights she got into, and only colliding with the Careers when they were much weakened. And I did something similar, but the Games were cut short by the Gamemakers igniting the forest and me being the fastest to run away from the inferno.”

“Oh.”

“Look. Yes, it is all luck - luck to have an Arena where you stand a chance, luck to not be cut down by the Careers on the third day, luck to win all of your fights. But people make their own luck, too. The more you pay attention to the survival stations, the more confidently I’ll be able to tell you what the Arena will be like and give you advice. The more you train with the knife, the higher the odds of getting out of a fight, even a knife-on-knife fight, without damage. The more you listen to my advice, the higher the odds of evading the Careers.”

Last year’s two had listened to her advice, though it hadn’t done them any good. This year, Daniel looked focused, but Sylvia looked confused. If she did not regain control soon, she would never regain it at all.

It was certainly interesting to see more of the Victors, but that was a charitable description. One had to bring in the blind Jose Pilar who was currently mourning his husband. From Two, the sixty-six-year-old Jasper Coni was dragged in out of comfortable retirement - at least they hadn’t forced Malachi Hope to come, too. Beetee was only able to force two of his fellow Victors to come in - Wiress Ling, who was afraid of crowds and had a speech disorder due to falling down and hitting her head while drunk, and Lucretia Evans, who was sixty-five and kept on telling everyone she just wanted to go home to her family.

From Four, Diana got to truly meet Mags Flanagan, the fifth-oldest living Victor, and Emmanuel Marin, the fourth-oldest and more outspoken about his parents having come from Romania than Diana felt safe. It was all ‘Moldova is actually Romania’ and ‘the Hungarians are trying to steal our culture’ with him when he wasn’t singing nationalist songs or insulting Jews, Muslims, and Romani, which was a really weird thing for someone who had never even lived in Romania to do. Five brought in all three of its Victors - Annaliese Gupta came as always in the company of the middle-aged Richard Smith, who was known to be an alcoholic but looked fairly decent for someone with that affliction, and Margaret Smith, who had won two years after Annaliese but looked twenty years older because of her addiction.

Diana knew what the other Victors thought about her. Out of the sole mentors, she was the youngest and the most willing to play by the book and do everything for her Tributes, which meant they pitied her. Now, seeing the state Blake and Maria were in, they pitied her even more. Diana told everyone a thousand times it was Grandpa, Aunt Nelly, and Raisa who really busied themselves with the two, but they still felt bad for her. Blake and Maria were thought of highly enough to at least share information with, but any time anyone wanted to ask Six something, they went to Diana even if Blake and Maria, who were quite a bit older, were standing literally next to her.

From Seven, it was Blight as usual, but now with Martin Chen, who lived with family in much the same way as Diana and thus was extremely unhappy about being torn away from that and reminded of the Games. Diana wondered when someone else would finally win from Six and she’d get to stop doing everything herself.

From Eight, Woof Kuznetsov was now in the company of two younger counterparts - Eve Chapman was over fifty and Rajesh Kelly was approaching it. Eight had had three Victors in the thirties, quite the streak. Nine was represented by all five of its living Victors, not just the youngest Alexander Red. Ten had three - Giselle Hopkins and Kevin Dobrev, but also the seventy-eight-year-old Jorge Vargas, the third-oldest living Victor who was constantly on the verge of tears and wanted to go home to his wife and grandchildren, of which he had a small army. From Eleven, Seeder James and John Brown had dragged in Chaff Kielce, the surly alcoholic, and Cassidy Petersen, who was nearly eighty and very obviously in the last stages of dying from her addiction. And from Twelve, Haymitch came on his own like always.

Diana wasn’t sure what she felt more strongly - relief that she wasn’t alone like the mentor from Twelve, irritation that when it came to it, she was just as alone like him, or envy at the Victors who even with this command from Snow had not needed to come because there were plenty of others to pick up the slack. Yes, those who had stayed behind were generally in such a psychological state that even Snow agreed it was best they didn’t come, but Diana was still annoyed. But on the other hand, it was nice to talk face-to-face with people she had spent a few years now talking to only on the phone.

Rudolf Wang managed to corner Diana as she was walking back from the bathroom. “Hey,” he said, trying to appear casual. “Um, you know I write songs, right?”

Barely. “Yes.” Rudolf was one of those Victors forgotten after five years.

“Well, I wrote this one, and I think that given your connections you might like it?” Despite being more than fifteen years older than her, he seemed desperate for her approval. Diana took the proffered piece of paper and read.

The artist Spring, after a long disease, takes the stage again,
Fluttering lightly to the eaves of the buildings now thawing and damp,
Reads a ballet of a nightmarish love and a beautiful treason,
Dances a poem of insidious heroes and faithful destroyers.

The applause of the streets has painted the city a verdant green,
This prayer has cascaded an avalanche of warmth from the skies,
The never-ending encore of the squares has flowered the galleries of the lovers,
In the much-mended jackets of facades the houses have crammed into the back rows.

Artist Spring, artist Spring
Let us keep living, let us keep singing
Until spring.

The sun-president fiddles with glasses in the emperor’s balcony
Mutters darkly about upset nerves, not helped by the heat
Raises by the chins the smiles of the passerby
And, waving, announces the opening of the sixty-sixth theatre season.

Artist Spring, artist Spring
Let us keep living, let us keep singing
Until spring.

Wow. This was simultaneously so blatant that every cell in Diana’s body wanted to rip the paper to pieces and flush it down the toilet and so subtle that it took her a while to figure out what Rudolf was getting at. The first stanza especially made perfect sense after reading the third. Of course spring was the perfect allegory when the tyrant was literally named Snow. Diana was especially drawn in by the lines about heroic treason and faithful destroyers. In this kind of regime, everything was topsy-turvy.

“I like this song. It’s a fun song about spring.”

“Oh.” Rudolf looked sad. Diana knew that ever since he had met his best friend, he had been seriously working on kicking his opioid addiction. Now if only Diana could force Blake and Maria to meet someone who would motivate them to do the same thing. “Do you, er, get it?”

“What else is there to get? It’s not a cipher, it’s a song.”

Rudolf shrugged and took the paper from her.

While some of the others had a lot of the pressure taken off them by working as a larger team, Blake and Maria were hardly in any shape to talk to sponsors and appear on television. Maria did make a few appearances, but Blake either wouldn’t or couldn’t do anything. Diana’s biggest worry was him overdosing again, and this time, dying. She told her family to hire someone to look after them, but that would only be a partial solution.

They had already lived for a very long time, by addict standards. They had a home they couldn’t get kicked out of, funds that were basically unlimited by the standards of their purchases and thus could always order take-out, which meant they had been half-decently nourished before Diana got there, and bought expensive drugs from reliable dealers, so it was very unlikely they’d get a batch adulterated with fentanyl and OD from that. They could afford to get healthcare, which they did when they had acute problems, and were not at risk of violence. But even with all of that, Blake had been on heroin for more than forty years. Even given that his addiction had started mild and ramped up when he had Maria and then Diana to push all of his duties on, that was still a very long time, and a lot of luck that he had not overdosed before.

Diana simply didn’t understand why Blake refused to seek help. Obviously this wasn’t the sort of thing you could understand from the outside, but it still seemed to Diana that if she had felt she was becoming reliant on prescription painkillers, she would have told Adam. Though who knew. Maybe she’d have slipped into addiction without noticing, cut everyone off, and lived like that.

Either way, Diana was alone. Well, there was also Venus, but she had never made any claims about actually caring about her job and constantly muttered about wanting a promotion. Diana did have Elly to set up her calendar and manage her appointments and Venus did teach the Tributes how to act during the interview, but beyond that, Diana may as well have been on her own. The only person she could really talk to was Francine.

“Are you doing alright?” her fianceé asked.

Whether or not the phones were tapped was a mystery for the ages. Was the NCIA capable of it? Without a doubt. Had the resources for spying on Diana all been spent on Talvian’s new car? Very likely. Still, given how Snow micromanaged the Victors in every aspect of their lives, it was likely that spying on their calls had top priority.

“As alright as I could be given the circumstances. So much to do, so little time.” Diana was so experienced at this by now, she played this combination of lies and half-truths and truths instinctively, making decisions on the fly and not being able to say later why she had said this but not that. Francine did it as if she had been born to it and had not required any practice, because she was normal.

“Well, I hope it all goes smoothly.”

“So do I. How’s Sooty?”

“She’ll have a degree in computer science any time now.” Grandpa, Aunt Nelly, and Raisa had gotten into programming lately to keep their minds sharp. It was rather odd how they could struggle with things Diana found elementary - of course they had grown up not needing to think in these ways, but it was still surprising that basics could elude them - but the way they problem-solved and found crazy solutions once they had the basic building blocks down was nothing short of stunning. And Sooty, of course, spent her time napping on top of the computers.

“Good for her.”

“Oh, and by the way, crazy thing. You know the stray cat we’ve seen a couple of times by the house? Well, he’s come around again, and your father let him into the house, so now it looks like he’s ours. So when you get back, Sooty will have Orange to hang out with.”

“Good thing Sooty’s like me, otherwise we’d also soon have had five kittens to hang out with.”

Francine laughed. Diana was glad she had gotten her tubes tied, because the thought of pregnancy and the vulnerability it entailed still made her feel ill. “That’s true. We’re going to get him fixed and all that, but it’ll take some time.”

The newly named Orange was a small, lithe creature, painfully skinny and with the most heart-rending little ‘mew’ any of them had ever heard (especially Aunt Raisa, who had spent the past few months leaving food out for him - no wonder he had decided to stay!) “Well, that’s great. I look forward to seeing Orange when I get back.”

“Do you know when you’ll be back this year?”

“As soon as Six is out.”

It probably said a lot about Diana that at this point, she looked forward to the deaths of her Tributes, because it meant going home.

“Hey, Diana?” Emmanuel asked her as she got some fresh air on the roof.

“Yes?” Diana said warily. The older man disliked her because of the crucifixion of Christ, which made even less sense than most of her life.

“You’re in contact with abroad, aren’t you? Your sort seems the type.”

Diana didn’t have the energy to argue with someone who was older than Grandpa. “I am.”

Emmanuel sagged slightly, one arm on the concrete wall that was about chest-high for both of them. “Can you help me? I hear people talk about writing to relatives who left, but I have no idea how to do it. Everyone acts like it’s obvious and I’m the only idiot who doesn’t get it.”

Diana could relate to that. She gave him some of her contacts.

“Thank you.” He looked out at the city for a few seconds. “My parents told me so much about Romania, I sometimes feel like I’m from Oradea myself, even though I was born in Panem. I feel like I know the culture, the customs, and the jokes - but if I ever did go there, would I be nothing more than a time capsule speaking in an accent not heard for fifty years? Would I be like a time traveller who jumped a century forward? Or just a clueless foreigner?”

Diana felt like that too, sometimes. If she ended up in Israel somehow, would she even know what to do there? “Your idea of Romania might be completely wrong.”

“It might.” Emmanuel cleaned his glasses. “It might. But I have nothing else of it. Only what my parents told me.”

“Do you speak the language?”

“With my family. My siblings are all gone by now, but I have a granddaughter who only speaks Romanian at home. I can’t imagine why. Who does she think she’s going to talk to in it, once I’m gone?”

“Romanians?”

Emmanuel raised his hand as if to gesture, looked at it, and dropped it. “I can’t imagine leaving. But it’s different for the young. Maybe she could leave. See our home for herself. 165 Mihai Eminescu Street, apartment 47 - unless the building’s gone by now. Cheresig, where my parents were born. Unless those damn Hungarians invaded again.”

A lot could happen in eighty years. “That’d be nice.”

“It would be.” Emmanuel cleaned his glasses again and looked down to where people hurried along, unaware that there had once been two engineers named Mihai Marin and Alina Mitu who hadn’t realized that Panem could not be trusted with its promises.

Diana kept half an eye on the proceedings, taking note of anything that could help her Tributes, but they were completely unobservant and couldn’t tell her much about training. The most Diana could estimate was that supplies would probably be lacking. The main intrigue was the taciturnity of the girl from Ten who had joined the Career pack. While the girl was definitely a prime candidate for that with her grappling experience that netted her a ten, her silence had a simple explanation - despite her English name, she was a monolingual Spanish speaker from a very remote village registered when she needed treatment at the paramedic-midwife station. That happened all the time, but the odds had not been in this girl’s favour. She was stuck being mentored by One because they had the only fluent Spanish-speakers in their delegation.

Agate was a genius, though. She effortlessly transformed ‘lost and confused’ into ‘mysterious and dangerous’. In the lush Arena equipped only with giant spiked maces (at least this year, food was cheap), the girl proved herself to be a worthy part of the pack, though Diana was home after the second day and watched Shelley Weldrick beat the boy from Two dead with a metal water bottle (the maces were too heavy for all but the Career boys, someone was getting fired for that) from her couch, like the rest of Panem. She had her own life to plan now.

The wedding went off without a hitch. Documents were signed, the ceremony started promptly (most of the guests were late regardless), and Diana and Francine were now Mrs. and Mrs. Cohen. As Diana put on her kerchief the next day, she couldn’t believe she had gotten so lucky. She shouldn’t have been alive, and yet, here she was, twenty-three years old, a married woman, tucking stray strands of hair under a bright-orange kerchief. Perhaps this was the work of a capricious power somewhere out there, taking away with one hand and giving with the other. Diana tried not to dwell on it. She had what she had, no need to drive herself into an anxiety attack over contemplating how she could have easily not been here at all. Just keep moving forward from here.

Chapter Text

Diana was not surprised when Snow called to congratulate her on getting married and imply that he wasn’t going to throw her children into the Games because she was too boring. “And on the topic of children,” he said, “when are you going to have them?”

What was he, Mom, Dad, and Aunt Sarah all put together? At least Grandpa’s cohort weren’t so demanding, but that was because the prospect of even more great-grandbabies made them feel like they should have shuffled off this mortal coil a good decade ago. “Hopefully within the next few months,” Diana said. With her finances, having children was easy.

“And how are you planning to achieve that?”

As if there were multiple ways to have a child in that timeframe. “We wrote to the adoption agency already.”

“Aha. Are you looking for children of a certain demographic?”

“Sort of.” Might as well be honest, he’d find out in any case. “We asked for a child from three to five and with a disability we’ll be able to care for at home, since we have the resources and might as well.”

“Very kind of you. How many do you want to have in total, if you do not mind me asking?”

“Probably three.” They could afford far more, but Diana had the examples of her family, which said that three was more than enough.

“Very compact.”

Diana immediately went to Francine once the conversation was over. “I can’t believe he wants to know everything about your life,” her wife said.

Diana couldn’t believe Francine was her wife. “Why repair the infrastructure when you can know everything about my life?”

Francine shook her head. “Awful. So does he give his blessing?”

“Said that our family would be compact.”

Francine chuckled and crouched down to pet Orange. Unlike Sooty, he always wanted to sit on everyone. “Your family is pretty small, now that I think about it. Everyone has three kids at most.”

“That’s because the ex-mayor in our home town does free vasectomies.”

Francine stopped giving Orange belly scritches, resulting in an angry hiss and a resumption of the legally mandated cat adoration. “What, personally?”

“No. Mayors used to be elected in our town, so people elected him. He paid out of pocket to have a group of surgeons ride around in vans and do free vasectomies. So, obviously, people like my dad, and Aunt Sarah’s husband, got their tubes snipped once they had the children they wanted, which freed up the money for making sure your kids actually survived. The mayor was booted out of office because he made the healthcare system look bad, but they didn’t stop him from sterilizing the poor. It’s a win-win - the poor can decide how many kids to have and thus do not become as poor as their parents were with seven kids, the elites don’t have to worry about an army of unwanted youths nobody can afford to care for running around the streets.”

“I have no idea how to react to that.”

“Well, I think it’s genius. Not everyone can hand out good things in a way that will make up there approve.” In hindsight, her neighbourhood back in her hometown had been a good deal nicer than you’d expect from a place where people with such occupations resided. And her family had been socially ascendant even before Diana’s victory, gaining qualifications and thus higher wages. It really was unfair that in order to earn more, you needed to invest in training, which took money tons of people didn’t have.

“That’s true.”

It took so unexpectedly long for the process to go ahead, Diana had time to discuss with Adam her mental state and how that would affect her parenting at least ten times, but at last, Snow personally called to say that it would happen in…half an hour.

“Of course,” Diana said, mentally throttling the president. Half an hour? They had thought they’d have weeks to get to know the child! They hadn’t even started working on their room because they had thought the child would be able to pick from the empty spaces depending on their needs and wants! “Thank you very much.”

On the plus side, everyone was even more indignant than her, even Sooty and Orange. Even little Owen, currently being bottle-fed by Michael on the couch (Janet earned more than him, so who went on unpaid parental leave was obvious) seemed to be angry, or maybe he thought the milk was the wrong temperature.

“How can he do such a thing!” Raisa exclaimed. “You can’t just drop a child on a family like that with no warning! Did he say anything about who they are, what they’ll need, how old they are?”

“No. Nothing. I think he’s trying to mess with me.”

“But why? Didn’t he say he just wants you out of the way?”

“He did.”

There wasn’t much they could do when they had zero information to go off of and the child could have had any special needs imaginable. Aunt Raisa called a friend of hers and asked him to go to the mall and wait for instructions regarding what clothes to buy. Grandpa made semolina in case they were hungry. Francine fretted with Aunt Nelly. Diana petted Orange. Sooty sat on the windowsill. Michael played with Owen, but he also looked tense.

The actual child acquisition was very underwhelming. A van pulled up, the driver told Diana and Francine to sign a few forms, handed over a folder, and opened the back of the van.

“Get out!” he snapped.

Three children emerged. They were malnourished and very badly dressed. It was already October, but one wore only a pair of shorts, which revealed that they were emaciated to the point of their life being in danger, another had on an oversized T-shirt and flip-flops too small for them, and the third had a T-shirt and trackies but no shoes. Their hair must have been cut a while back, but it was messy and they obviously had lice. They were shivering in the cold morning air. The two better-fed ones were skin and bones, but the other one looked like an anatomical drawing of a skeleton. Just looking at them made Diana feel sick. How could anyone treat a child like that? WHY HADN’T ANYONE CARED THAT THE CHILD WAS ABOUT TO DIE?

By the time Diana recovered from the fact that a) there were three of them and b) clearly Snow didn’t care if she found out that Community Home directors skimmed the budget worse than the municipal government, Grandpa, Aunt Nelly, and Raisa had burst into action.

“Diana, call Dr. Bryson and tell them to come here!”

Diana did just that. Grandpa and Aunt Nelly ran to set up the shower in the backyard usually used for rinsing off after dirty work. Raisa told her friend the approximate proportions of the children and that one, the one in the long T-shirt, had no arms. Francine shouted for some time at the driver, who rapidly beat a retreat, and looked inside the folder. Her face fell.

“What is it?” Diana asked.

“Their names are Helen, Alf, and Kim, and they’re all six, but that’s all we get. We don’t even know who’s who.”

Could children be neglected to the point of not knowing their names? “Um, Helen?” No reaction. “Alf?” Maybe they had something wrong with their hearing? Diana wanted to punch Snow. At six, they would have been working - but Diana’s children would go to school. Had it been just a few months later, Diana would have had them delay for a year, but it was still October, they would have to be prepared as quickly as possible so they didn’t waste the year.

The children looked confused and terrified. The one with no arms had beige skin and black hair that was probably wavy. The emaciated one who wore only shorts had dark-brown skin, coily black hair, and now had their hands on their ears and their eyes squeezed shut as they sat on the ground, not having the energy to stand. The one in trackies had light-brown skin, epicanthic folds, and probably straight hair in a very odd hue of reddish-brown Diana couldn’t believe was real. They were constantly looking around but were hunched over, shoulders on the same level as their ears.

The grandparents really were a well-oiled team. Just minutes later, the first child, the red-haired one, was washed, had their head shaved and nails trimmed, and turned out to be a boy. Since ‘Helen’ and ‘Alf’ were gendered names, that was probably the best they had to go off of to determine who was who. They’d wait for confirmation to be sure, many a parent only gave up their child once they could not afford to take care of them anymore. Perhaps the boy’s parents had simply suddenly become unemployed. Or perhaps the way he didn’t seem to react to sound at all meant he was deaf.

The boy now wrapped in a giant fluffy bathrobe and slippers and perched on a wicker chair with a cup of warm tea, the next one went up, the starved one, who reacted furiously to being touched, batting at Grandma with weak hands.

“Don’t worry, it’s perfectly normal,” Grandma said, carefully washing the girl with a minimum of contact as Diana held the towels and Francine called anyone else anyone could think of. The girl was so cachectic, her bones appeared to be about to poke through her skin. “Your Dad hated being touched, too. So did you and Leonella.”

The girl seemed happy to be shaved. She ran her hands over her head over and over before sitting down and rocking herself, arms wrapped around her knees, which were wider than her thighs.

“That can’t be normal,” Francine said, phone halfway to her ear.

“It’s perfectly normal,” Grandpa said. “All the kids in the family do that. I wonder what’s wrong with her, aside from the starvation - didn’t you ask for children with disabilities?”

“Forgive me, Grandfather, but it is not normal. I’ve never heard of anyone rocking themselves like that.”

The last child had somewhat deformed male genitalia - they’d need to ask if this was a problem or just a difference. He seemed to be fairly adapted to his lack of arms and appeared to be the most alert of the three.

“So, who wants breakfast?”

The boy with no arms looked up, looking suspicious. The other two didn’t react. When Aunt Nelly gently prodded them out of the chairs, the boy went obediently, but the girl began to shake and scratch her arms, face twisted in a grimace.

“She is just like Pablo,” Grandpa said quietly to Aunt Nelly. Diana couldn’t imagine Dad acting like that.

The boys devoured the semolina in seconds, the girl refused (no wonder she was so dangerously underweight - ARFIDs were considered a children’s condition in poor areas for a reason) and was eventually convinced to drink some meat broth. The girl then curled up in a corner and continued to rock, the boy with no arms sat frozen and clearly had no idea what to do now, and the other boy walked up to the window and stared out of it, constantly looking back to see around the room. That was the tableau poor Dr. Bryson walked in on.

Dr. Bryson’s main conclusion was that they needed to see something like ten more specialists. They plugged their little ID machine into the computer and managed to verify that the girl was Helen, had a known date of birth, and was formally registered at Community Home #12. The doctor suspected she was on the autism spectrum (“She is perfectly normal, just like my grandkids!” Grandpa insisted) but could not make any promises regarding what she could and could not do without a full checkup at the psychiatrist’s. The seemingly able-bodied boy was Alf, also had a date of birth, and his records included him having become deaf after a fever aged just one and a half. The last child thus had to be Kim, even though they were not in the system, which made sense, as their parents must have seen them and realized they could not take care of them. Given the dismal infant survival rates in Community Homes (Diana suspected that she was now going to become an expert at this), it was a miracle Kim was alive.

While Kim’s lack of arms was a very serious disability they would need to put in a lot of effort into adapting for, the bigger head-scratcher was the fact that they had both male and female external genitalia, which was apparently very rare.

“Do you know what their further development will look like?” Diana asked.

“We will need to do further tests.”

Diana pitied the kids, who would be dragged all over the place in an attempt to figure out what exactly was going on with them. “Of course.”

“I must say, it’s a good thing you did. Not many would take in children of that age.”

“We didn’t do it to do a good thing, we did it to have a child. Children. Whatever.”

“Still.” They finished writing and handed Diana instructions on how to feed Helen.

Raisa’s friend had arrived with clothing and a large box of blocks, so now Alf was busily working on putting something together while looking around constantly, Kim was trying their best to do likewise with their socked feet, and Helen was rocking herself in a corner as she drank more meat broth. They were very adorable in their identical orange sweaters (Kim’s was sleeveless), and Diana felt like she’d die for them if she had to. What she really wanted to do was hug them, but they didn’t seem interested. When she sat down next to Kim they shied away, so she got back up and joined Francine in setting up a bunch of light non-perishable snacks on the counter.

“Do they even know it’s food?” Diana asked. If the Community Home staff were fine with having their charges go barefoot in October and die of starvation, she didn’t want to imagine the state of the food.

“Uh, children?” Kim looked up, looking worried. They poked Alf in the leg, who also looked up. “Here’s some more food, if you want.” Diana distributed a few pieces of the snacks. Helen ate a few crackers eagerly but immediately went back to rocking.

“Now what?” Francine whispered to Diana. The grandparents had gone to set up rooms for the children. Diana would have to make sure Kim could climb out the window in case of fire.

“Bring in Orange?”

“But what if they hurt him?”

“Best we know now.” They could have been treated in an infinite variety of ways. The sooner Diana and Francine knew their children tended to act inappropriately, or hurt themselves or each other or the cats or Yeon-Joo and Owen, or anything else, the better.

As it was, the children loved Orange. Diana and Francine showed them how to pet him, and they sat as if hypnotized by the floof. Diana felt like she should have been doing something. What did parents normally do when their six-year-old was playing on the carpet in front of them?

As the hours went by, Diana was able to draw some conclusions. The children were wary but not terrified of adults, and considered being approached a sign that something bad was going to happen. They were accustomed to indoor toilets but appeared to be confused by the showers. They were used to food insecurity and hoarded food, especially Helen, who understandably tried to create a stash of the food she could eat. They tried to take up as little space as possible and make as little noise as they could. Kim could do things with their feet many couldn’t do with their hands. Alf could lip-read somewhat but had not been taught ASL - he would have to be taught both, as Kim would not be able to sign - and tried to compensate by constantly looking around. Given how Helen moved and ate, her motor skills were fine, so her disability could not have been too severe, she was probably just in shock from the sudden change. Alf either couldn’t or didn’t want to speak. Kim could talk fine but was very taciturn.

“Do you know why you’re here?” Francine asked kindly. Alf looked confused and drew into himself. Kim tilted their head, eyebrows furrowed. “We adopted you. You’re our children now. I’m Mom Francine and that’s Mom Diana.”

Oh God, she was actually ‘Mom Diana’ to someone - three someones.

“Uh-huh,” Kim muttered. Diana felt her heart break. They were six years old, shouldn’t they have been talking non-stop about all sorts of things?

“Are you glad you live with us now?”

Kim looked at them blankly, obviously perplexed at having been asked a question.

“What did you do before?”

“Asked people to give me money.”

“What did you do with the money?”

“Gave it to Aunt Celine.”

Diana was not surprised, but Kim’s words still tore at her heart.

“My poor little skeletons,” she whispered, reaching out to cradle Kim’s sunken cheek.

There were about infinity things they needed to take care of, and the suddenness of the situation made it even more of a headache. Fortunately, there was no shortage of people willing to help out in one way or another. It was rather awkward to have the grandparents basically do everything when Diana and Francine weren’t working at this moment (Diana had gotten into the habit of going to work every day and found the change strange), but Diana had to admit it was a lifesaver. While the two of them played with the children and tried to make them feel comfortable, Grandpa, Aunt Nelly, and Raisa went about their tasks with the methodical precision of an elite Peacekeeper squad.

Diana had insisted that they must get their vaccinations as soon as possible. Francine’s family was well-off so that had never been an issue and Diana’s family had had enough money for a partial course of vaccines for both her and Leonella (they had gotten caught up after her victory), so the thought of her children being vulnerable to everything from smallpox to polio to measles made her sick. In the unsanitary and cramped environment of the Community Home, they had, of course, already survived several dangerous illnesses. When crouching down to sit next to Helen, Diana had noticed faint tell-tale scars on her face and arms that indicated she had had smallpox. Being one of the most contagious infectious diseases it was inconceivable that the others in the Community Home would avoid it, but Kim said they had never had it. Perhaps they and Alf had simply been lucky, or had a mild case. Diana’s heart hurt for the girl. What must it have been like for her, to be sick with smallpox and not have anyone around to help?

Figuring out how to best communicate with Alf was a nightmare. They had hired one of the country’s foremost experts in the field to teach him (and also the rest of them) ASL, but the boy still struggled to make sense of his new environment and it was slow-going. His comprehension ability went up once the family was taught how to speak in a way that made lip-reading easier, but there still remained the problem of alerting him without touching or startling him, which scared him.

None of the children were capable of taking initiative. If told to do a task, they would do it and then continue to sit or stand. Helen especially was capable of spending hours playing with the fibres of the living-room rug. According to the psychiatrist, her capacity for learning was probably the same as that of anyone else, which was a relief because Diana had zero experience with people with intellectual disabilities (aside from throwing rocks at beggars with disabilities when she was a child), but it would take her a long time to acclimatize. Her biggest problems were with her physical health. Helen was too weak to stand for more than a few minutes, she had problems with her heart from the starvation, and the psychiatrist could only guess at how her brain had been impacted.

There was an absolute pile of things that needed to be bought for them, but they had to take it slow, because they wanted the kids to be able to choose but their mental state was such that being in a crowded store was extremely difficult (though Diana felt the same). Furniture for their rooms - each had their own room, unfortunately in the basement in the little spaces meant to be servants’ quarters, but after what was most likely a large room full of cots and mattresses, a cozy little space of their own would hopefully be pleasant. They needed full sets of clothes. Finally, in late November, after the Victory Tour Diana had completely forgotten about and participated in very perfunctorily, they decided to go on a real shopping trip to buy toys as a gift for successfully going to school for a week.

Alf, of course, went to a school for the deaf. With difficulty, Kim had been slotted into a normal school where they were already popular for their ways of doing things with feet and mouth instead of hands, but with Helen, there had been arguments and psychiatrists until the administration had agreed to accept her together with her sibling. It had gone much better than anyone expected. In class, Helen (still underweight, but not in danger of death anymore) was quiet but attentive, and that was all the teachers cared about. That she spent recess rocking back and forth in a quiet corner was irrelevant to them.

Francine, the better arguer, had gone to their teachers and begged them to not use corporal punishment. Diana remembered well the ruler connecting with her knuckles and could not imagine how her children would react, she had specifically gotten together with Francine when they had begun to seriously discuss the idea of adoption and decided that there would be absolutely no hitting or raised voices, as with kids from Community Homes, that would likely have no effect. The teachers hadn’t been able to directly defy the spouse of a Victor, but Diana still worried. As it was, the kids said they had never been punished, but that was probably because they were the most terrifyingly well-behaved children Diana had ever seen. On one hand, she wished they could thaw and run around and play like other children, but she was also worried about them becoming uncontrollable out of overcompensation.

For now, even in a toy store, they stood close to Diana and Francine, touched nothing, and looked around wide-eyed. Various relatives and friends had dropped off this or that, but Diana and Francine saw how they reacted to being given brand-new things and had decided on this.

“Alright,” Francine said, “we’ll all pick two toys now, alright?”

Diana instantly gravitated towards a gigantic plush blob. Helen agreed with her. Diana found that it was the easiest to interact with the girl, whose behaviour made the most sense. “Which one do you want, little skeleton?” There was an entire shelf of blobs in various colours and sizes.

“The big grey one!” It was as tall as Helen.

Big grey one it was.

Over at the section with dolls, Kim wanted to get one but couldn’t decide. “I want one like this,” they said tentatively, pointing their chin at a couple with more adult-like proportions. “But not a boy or a girl. I have that.”

Unfortunately, non-binary dolls could usually be found in approximately the same amounts as non-binary people. Diana went through the shelf and found nothing, but then an idea entered her head. “You know,” she said, “there’s an entire store where all the toys are like you.”

Kim’s eyes widened. So far, by far their favourite toy was a butterfly Francine’s uncle had crocheted that had different wings because it was a gynandromorph. Kim was hyperaware of their difference even at this early age because they had constantly been teased by other children over it in the Community Home. Diana didn’t have the faintest idea how atypical genitalia were something one could tease someone for, but children could latch on to the oddest things. At least Kim seemed happy to be the way they were, going by their love for the intersex butterfly.

Diana told Francine they’d pop over to another store. Alf and Helen seemed relieved they weren’t being dragged somewhere else as well. Diana went with her child to a store that sold scientific equipment and had a little section of science-themed toys.

“See?” she said, holding up a plush cholera vibrio with cute little eyes and a mouth. “This is a bacterium. Bacteria aren’t girls or boys, they split in two to make more bacteria.”

“They make us sick,” Kim said.

“This one does, yes.”

“Cool.” They poked the toy with their shoulder. “I want it.”

Diana let them look around. The kids all found it difficult to make independent decisions and even more difficult to voice them, so when Kim began to stand next to a crate and half-heartedly stretch their head towards it before drawing back, she walked over. “You like this worm?” It was a life-sized plush tapeworm. This would be the perfect gift for a friend of hers who was a doctor.

“How do worms have babies?”

“It’s different for different worms, but this one - see how it has segments? Well, these segments have both boy and girl parts, and when it wants to have babies, segments fully develop one set of parts, and it basically makes its own baby worms.” Diana had prepared herself for a lot, but as it usually went, she had ended up with something completely unexpected. Like the mating habits of tapeworms.

“Will I be able to make my own babies?”

“No, humans don’t work that way. You might be able to have babies like boys do or like girls do, we won’t know until you’re older.” Kim’s condition was called ovotesticular syndrome. Their karyotype was 46,XX/46,XY (which could result in anything from a typical physical presentation to Kim), making them a chimera. If they did eventually end up capable of having biological children, it was far more likely that their ovaries would be the ones to be functional.

Kim nodded thoughtfully. “Is this worm actually this big?”

“Yes. It lives inside humans who don’t cook their food properly.”

Kim’s eyes widened. The kids had all arrived with pinworm infections, resulting in the entire household taking anthelmintics prophylactically, but those weren’t long enough to wrap around the entire family.

Diana hadn’t thought that raising children while being rich was so much work. She had thought the upper-class fashion involved having someone else do most of the work while one spouse worked and the other attended functions, but Diana hadn’t realized that simply having a giant pile of money only removed one stressor.

First, there was the fact that there were three of them. Helen, Alf, and Kim were all different people, they had different wants and needs, they wanted to be treated differently. Due to their upbringing, they did not act like most children, though by now, they had made great strides towards it. Helen especially was an absolutely normal six-year-old, though Diana and Francine’s families disagreed massively on that.

Somehow, Diana was not surprised to discover that there wasn’t a single normal person in her family. For two generations, autism had been drawn towards autism, with poor Francine the odd spouse out.

With Alf, there was the hurdle of communicating with him. There were no hearing aids that could compensate for brain damage, which meant ASL for everyone (except Kim) it was. The entire family spent hours poring over books to learn what Alf picked up in minutes at school. They also got together with other parents of students from his school, where it was glaringly obvious who had deafness run in the family and who had had to learn to sign in the past few years. Diana noticed a rather unsurprising trend - there were quite a few working-class children who would have been able to hear with a fairly basic hearing aid.

Diana had never known that there was an entire deaf community with its own cultural institutions. Alf would be able to attend plays that were entirely in sign language and dances where music was specially picked for the vibrations to be easily felt.

“Hey, Mom Diana?” Alf asked verbally one day as they were digging in the garden.

“Yes?” Diana signed, turning around to face her son. Alf had been taught to vocalize so that he could communicate that way if necessary, and he used it to get people’s attention when their back was turned.

Alf put down his spade. “If I didn’t have that fever when I was little, would I be deaf?”

“No.”

“So I wouldn’t have been friends with Ursula and Chris?”

“I suppose not.” Diana hoped she hadn’t mangled that.

“Mom, you’re doing it wrong, this is how you do it. Suppose not. See?”

“Thank you.”

“Why did you adopt us?”

“Mom Francine and I wanted children, so we wrote to the adoption agency and asked for one. And they gave us three!”

“Why?”

“Well, because they knew you’d make such good siblings. How can you have Alf without Helen and Kim? It makes no sense.”

Alf’s face gave away nothing. In sign language, exaggerated facial expressions were important, but Alf struggled with showing emotion. He simply picked the spade back up and resumed digging.

By the time spring came around and Helen turned seven (on her insistence, there was no party) Diana tended to forget the kids hadn’t always been hers, but there was always something to remind her. Sometimes, when playing with dolls, the children would come up with horrific scenarios ranging from polio epidemics to maniacs buying children Diana and Francine could only shake their heads at when they got home from work. They worked in different firms - Diana was with a company that made electronic display boards, and Francine was an IT person with the Steelworks, the company that most people had no idea was owned by a person originally from Six.

“So what’s Uncle Archie doing?” Diana idly stacked some blocks. Francine had taken Helen and Alf to the playground, but Kim had a cold (as soon would everyone including the cats).

“Taking out the bodies.” Kim moved a doll around the floor with their foot as ably as anyone could with their hand. “Uncle Archie is like Yeon-Joo. He used to be Aunt Archie and sells children to buy medicine.”

What the fuck. “Who’s dead?” Yeon-Joo had recently begun to declare that she was actually a girl. Diana was surprised that children understood gender at that age, she herself had never given any thought to what parts she had or being called a girl until puberty. Maybe normal children were different. As it was, everyone had simply shrugged and accepted it, except Helen, who had not yet grasped the importance of talking about her cousin differently and thus refused to have anything to do with something being different than before.

“Jamie. He suffocated.”

“That’s sad.”

Kim held two dolls close to each other. “He’s putting the body in the van. The driver is drinking kefir with the orderly.”

Diana doubted that had been kefir. “Who’s the orderly?”

“The orderly has a clipboard and checks off dead people. Charlotte died at the hospital and they gave her organs to sick people.”

“That’s normal,” Diana said. “If someone’s heart or lungs or liver are broken, they can get one from a dead person.”

“Will is alive. Dr. Medical Student inflated his lungs.”

During the polio epidemic two years ago, medical students had been sent to hospitals to manually ventilate patients. There had even been cases of patients being taken in for free. “A medical student is not a doctor. They’re a future doctor.”

“I want to be a doctor. They’re powerful.”

To a Community Home child who had needed to beg strangers to have shoes to wear in the winter, a doctor was an almost fantastical figure. “You could be a doctor, like Aunt Leonella.” Surely not all specializations required arms.

“Nobody can afford a doctor. Not even Aunt Celine, and she’s rich. She limps and coughs. She’s almost a grownup, she’s fifteen.”

What? Hadn’t the kids referred to her as the director? “Is she the director?”

“The director is on sabbatical in warmer climates,” Kim recited. “Aunt Celine is in charge.”

Sometimes Diana thought she and Francine had grown up in different worlds, but they and the kids had grown up in different universes.

It was strange how politics, the Games, reshufflings up there - all that faded in the light of work and family obligations, such as regular fights with Francine (where the children couldn’t hear or see, of course) over whether yet another allegedly atypical behaviour of Helen was bad or not.

“I understand it’s an autistic trait!” Diana hissed, wanting to beat her head against the wall. “But so what? It’s just her. Nobody likes being in crowded spaces, she’s just seven years old, she’ll get used to it with time.”

“A seven-year-old having a meltdown in a grocery store, though?”

“Just give her time! What do you propose we do? She already meets Cassidy every week.” Cassidy was an expert on ASD who taught Helen various tips and tricks on how to make existence easier. Some of them were revelatory to Diana. She had never understood what ‘looking someone in the eyes’ meant and had instead looked to their side or above their head, but apparently, all you had to do was look at the point between the eyes! How had she never figured that out? Though even Grandpa had spent his entire life looking at the floor, so she wasn’t alone here.

Somehow, they managed to go around in circles the exact same way every single time. Diana suspected that even Adam was exasperated when he tried to get them to see the other’s point of view.

Diana wasn’t sure how, but the conversation moved to Francine’s opinion that the house was no place for children to grow up. Diana actually agreed, the extreme isolation that required half an hour to get to the playground was hardly conducive to cultivating independence, but she was in no mood to agree with Francine.

“And so?” she snapped. “We’d never be allowed to move.”

Francine was a much more patient person than Diana and did not blame her for that, instead saying that the children should be enrolled in programs where they’d get to socialize outside of school.

“Why are you saying that like an accusation?‘

Francine held a hand to her forehead. “I’m not saying it as an accusation! I just think that it’s not good that they’re reliant on a grownup to go to the playground.” Diana had suggested that they could go alone perfectly well, but that had been strictly vetoed. No independent bus usage for the kids until they were ten. In Francine’s opinion, they lacked the required skills.

“How are programs going to help with that?”

“It might make them capable of communicating normally and asking for help instead of standing like a post and waiting for the consequences.”

If school hadn’t helped there, nothing would, but Diana was tired of arguing. “So what do you think they should do?”

“First, they need to learn how to swim.”

That was how next Sunday, Diana, Francine, Michael, and Aunt Sarah took the five cousins to the nearest pool. Given the pool’s presence in an upper-class area, it was not the rectangular prism hole in the ground filled with water Mom and Dad had taken Diana and Leonella to a few times so that they wouldn’t drown if it came to it.

“Can I go there?” Alf gestured with his chin at a large slide while signing.

“First you need to pass the swim test.”

“How do I pass the swim test?”

Diana was still sometimes struck by how much fun being rich was. She could just pay a lifeguard to instruct the kids in actual correct swimming instead of muddling through on her own! Diana and Francine sat on the side of the pool and watched the three splash around in the shallow end. She had worried about Helen not liking the water touching her head - trying to get her to wash her head was an ordeal, good thing she insisted on having a very short buzz-cut and thus her hair could be washed quickly - but Helen was the first to pick up swimming and seemed happy. It was actually Alf, who Diana had thought wouldn’t have any problems, who seemed to be neutral about the entire thing.

But if Helen was having fun, Kim was shocking the lifeguards - multiple ones. The young man had told Diana and Francine that he’d try to teach them to tread water so they wouldn’t drown but made no promises, but underestimating Kim’s legs was never a good idea.

“Mom Francine, Mom Diana, can you go without arms?” they called out as they swam by without any flotation devices.

“No, we can’t!” Francine said. “Wow, Kim, you’re so fast!”

“Your child must have extremely strong abdominal muscles,” another lifeguard, a young woman, said. “Not to mention their legs. Do they do any other sports?”

Francine shrugged. “We just try to encourage them to be independent and do things on their own?” she offered.

“You certainly succeeded. Do you know if they’d be interested in joining a swimming club?”

“Kim! Get over here!” Francine called out. Kim swam over and stopped, standing next to them. “Do you want to join a swimming club?”

“I want to join a swimming club!” Helen shouted.

“Of course,” Francine said, clearly stunned by Helen actually asking for something.

“I don’t,” Alf said.

“Like a team?” Kim asked.

“Yes, a team, a para-swimming team. You know what that is?”

“Swimming for people with disabilities?” They had taken the kids to watch para-soccer, but none of them had voiced any interest - or perhaps hadn’t wanted to voice it. Diana still kept on forgetting that their children were still not used to asking for help.

“Exactly. You’re so fast, the lifeguards think you could win races if you practiced a lot!”

Kim grinned widely.

“Can I not join?” Alf grumbled.

Diana chuckled.

Chapter Text

Six years later

“What’s wrong?” Francine whispered in a sleepy voice.

Diana gritted her teeth and tried to stop crying. It happened sometimes that she became obsessed with unlikely scenarios and couldn’t stop. “I remembered the start of my Games.” The memory of hopping off the pedestal, her boot connecting with the dry ground, was as clear as if it had happened yesterday. “I keep on thinking I’ll wake up, and it’ll be my Games, and this time, I won’t be able to do it.” The irrational despair made more tears flow out of her eyes, and she wiped them with her blanket.

Francine glanced at the clock - 5:46. “What is the chance of that happening?”

“Zero.”

“So what worries you so much about the scenario?” Francine scooted over to hug Diana. Diana sat up and leaned into the hug.

“It just- it makes me think about how lucky it was. That I shouldn’t be here at all. Especially since it’s Reaping day, and it makes me think about how they never come back. I shouldn’t have come back. And I keep on thinking about how easily I could have died. And then I remember everything I have, and how easily I could have never had it, and I can’t handle it.” Diana hugged Vicky the pill millipede tightly. They usually resided on the nightstand with Shawn the spider, a decent approximation of a mutt from last year that literally nobody in the country except Helen (okay, and Diana) had found cute.

Francine rubbed Diana’s arms with her hands. “Anyone can say that. When I was little, I was nearly run over by a car. In grade eleven, I only passed a math test because it got pushed back as the result of hooligans smashing up the principal’s office and the school closing for a few days that I used to study, and had I not passed that test, I wouldn’t have passed the class. We are where we are, the past has passed, and there’s nothing that can change it.”

That did not banish the fear that Diana would somehow wake up eighteen again, but no fear could exist for long when Diana was with Francine. It crept up on her when she was awake at night, as she sometimes was, or got lost in her thoughts. “I know. It just seems so wrong that I’ll board the train today and come back alone, but when I got on it for the first time, I came back.”

“Your great-grandfather’s commander sent hundreds to their deaths, but he happened to return.”

“Ten percent of the company survived. But yeah, it’s basically the same. Except that I’m the commander now.” Diana sighed and patted Vicky on the head. “Oh, well. It is what it is. I’m really not that upset - I’m glad it’s almost vacation.” As Adam had promised, the Games did not control Diana’s life. Sometimes the memories were too much, but there were countless people who could say the same, and many of them lived happy lives. Like Diana.

“You sure? You know you’re not coming back until-”

“Yeah. But I think I understand my great-grandfather’s commanding officers now. You can’t get attached. You just do your duty and keep on going. And then you get home and kiss your spouse and hug your kids and forget it all.”

Francine tilted her head. “You’re not worried about the kids? Most people with anxiety I know fly into a panic on Reaping Day.”

“No. One thing I’m spared.” Diana reluctantly got out of bed. Might as well do something productive with the morning.

“I’m very glad. Alf has been tense lately.”

The kids, of all people, had the least reason to worry. Formally registered as having disabilities (even Helen, who lived as normal and merely came across as weird), their names would not be in the Reaping bowl at all - a few of her fellow Victors had shared that tidbit. And, of course, Victors’ children had gone in a grand total of three times, and all out of Snow’s desire to punish that person specifically for something or other. Diana didn’t even remember the last time she had seen Snow close up.

“You think he has anxiety?” Alf was the most open about his emotions of all the kids.

“No.”

“Then why would he worry about the Games?”

Francine shrugged. “Lots of people have phobias.”

Right. A few months ago, Francine’s father had fainted after stepping into Helen’s room and beholding Shelob the spider, a true-to-the-book version a metre and a half in diameter they had gotten custom-made for her twelfth birthday, and Aunt Raisa refused to step into the room. Helen had become rather obsessed with spiders lately, her walls were covered with posters and photographs and she was building up quite a collection of books on the topic.

In Diana’s opinion, arachnology was an excellent hobby for a twelve-year-old (especially compared to what she herself had gotten up to at that age), but Francine was probably correct when she pointed out that it made Helen only come across as weirder.

Helen’s friends liked her for her weirdness, so it’s not like that was a bad thing in any case.

“Well, then.” Diana tossed on her bathrobe. “I have to go deal with Blake and Maria - I’ll take a quick shower and eat and then I’ll go.”

“Sounds good.”

Once Diana was clean and dressed in an orange T-shirt and cargo shorts, she headed downstairs, where Aunt Nelly was already frying eggs and ersatz sausages - the best ersatz was cheaper and healthier than the best real sausages, unlike with the cheap stuff, where anyone who could afford it bought actual meat.

“Good morning, Alf,” Diana signed to her son, who had noticed her come in. He had gotten up voluntarily - a bad sign. Usually, he had to be dragged out of bed in the mornings and didn’t get up until noon on weekends. Kim, conversely, jumped out of bed early in the morning, eager for their morning swim, and Helen was an early riser by nature.

“Good morning.” Alf had his sketchbook with him, as always. He loved to draw and was quite good at it.

“Nervous?”

Alf shrugged. “I guess. Can’t sleep.”

Aunt Nelly walked around the room until she was in his line of sight and waved slightly. “How much do you want?” she signed.

“Two eggs and two sausages,” Alf signed back.

“Do you want some bread?”

“Sure.”

Diana took the remaining egg and half a sausage. “Is anyone else up?” she asked verbally and signed at the same time.

“Grandpa and Aunt Raisa are watching television.” Aunt Nelly put a stack of bread on the table.

That was practically a holy tradition with them - watching television first thing in the morning in bed. Diana didn’t have one in her room to give herself more motivation to spend time with other people instead of oysterizing in her bedroom.

Diana took a piece of bread and wrapped the sausage in it. “Alf, are you excited for your first Reaping?”

“Not really.”

“Well, it’s mostly boring. Try to stay on the edge of the crowd close to our meeting-place so you can get back faster.”

“What if I get picked?”

“You’re not getting picked. Deaf kids never get picked, and even if they do, the escort will wait for a volunteer for the rest of the day if they have to.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. I’ve seen what happens.”

Alf smiled weakly and ate several forkfuls. He had a blue streak in his reddish-brown hair - a birthday present - and there were a few spots on his face. It was strange to think of the children growing up. In Diana’s mind, they would always be tiny and emaciated.

“Will you be back in time to watch my soccer match?” Alf asked.

“Hopefully.” Kim hated it when anyone attended their swim meets, but Alf got upset when nobody showed up.

Aunt Nelly turned on the radio at a low volume. The newscaster wished everyone a happy Hunger Games. Alf, of course, didn’t notice. Last week, he had told Aunt Nelly that he was glad he was deaf because it meant he didn’t have to listen to the radio plays she liked, offending her quite a bit.

“Alright,” Diana said. “I need to wrangle Uncle Blake and Aunt Maria.” Alf giggled. “Don’t forget to bring your phone or you’ll be bored out of your mind. Stick close to Kim.” Had Kim not been quietly ineligible, their slips would have been split between the bowls, and Kim would alternate which section they stood in each year.

“Got it.” They had gotten the kids phones as a gift for finishing grade six. On the plus side, it meant they could allow the kids to stay out for long periods of time and go anywhere they wanted, on the minus side, the kids stayed up late playing on their phones.

Diana went back up to her room, where Francine was sleeping, and got ready. She brushed her hair, which was so short it didn’t need it, and did her makeup. A thin layer of foundation to at least somewhat diminish her scars. Pale blue eyeshadow, white eyeliner, and lipstick in the same light blue as the eyeshadow. She liked to use light, bright colours in her clothing and makeup because they went well with her skin. Or at least she thought they did.

Diana looked over her nails, which she had gotten professionally done yesterday. They looked like little rainbows. She put on her kerchief, looked in the mirror one last time and headed downstairs. Diana pulled on her shoes and cap, made sure she had everything in the correct pockets of her shorts, accepted a container of food, and stepped into the still-cool morning.

Who was waking up today unaware the next time they woke up would be on the train? Hopefully a better pair than last year’s disaster. They had been frozen with terror the entire time until their deaths at the Cornucopia. Though nobody would ever be worse than the boy from three years ago, who had first terrified Diana with his seditious talk and then gone on to eat the hearts of the Tributes he had killed. Thankfully, in the usual Panem way, everyone including Snow had chosen to politely pretend that nothing happened. The same had happened a few weeks ago when Helen had sung ‘John Brown’s Body’ in music class. The teacher had warned Diana and Francine about the potential for dangerous ideas there, Diana had replied with a straight face that she couldn’t see what was so dangerous about celebrating a person who died fighting slavery hundreds of years ago, and Miss Jones, with the same facial expression, agreed that it was a very nice historical song but let’s not sing it anymore, please.

When Diana thought about it, it was crazy how history teachers somehow managed to teach about slavery in a way that did not invite dangerous thoughts.

In Blake’s house, Maria was already there. The two of them were painting and were obviously high, but not completely gone.

“Breakfast?” Diana offered.

“I suppose we should.”

Diana put the container on the couch. She always kept her shoes on when visiting the other Victors for fear of stepping on a needle. “Eat. Taxi’s coming soon.”

Maria got up and looked inside the container. “Looks good.” She took a bun. “Blake, you want one?”

“Sure.”

Diana was glad to leave the house. She walked to the bus stop on foot, taking advantage of the fine weather, and crammed herself into the vehicle already crowded with children. She was pointed out on the street sometimes, or asked for an autograph, but they looked at her differently today.

When the bus arrived at the field, the sun was already up. Diana took her sunglasses out of her pocket, put them on, and headed for the stage. Several functionaries asked to be photographed with her. Diana obliged. She then took out her cross-stitch from one of her voluminous short pockets and went to work on Sooty’s portrait.

Hours later, the Reaping finally began. This year’s Tributes were Dylan Forester and Charlotte Joyce, both eighteen, both rural. Dylan seemed lost and Charlotte was angry. Blake and Maria didn’t even glance at them on the train before heading to their rooms.

“Don’t worry, they did that to me,” Diana said. “I don’t know what they’re looking for every year, but you can do just fine without it.”

“No thanks,” Charlotte said coldly. “I’d rather die than live like you.”

“You’d rather die than be happily married with three children?” Diana deliberately acted obtuse. Acceptance of death was good, not caring about survival at all - a dangerous sign.

“Stop rubbing in our faces how good you have it.”

What? “Charlotte, not too long ago, I was in the same place as you.”

“No you weren’t. You’re Jewish. You’ve got connections.”

“I was able to confirm five Jewish Tributes before me. These are the ones who tried to mention it publicly. It was not shown on national television, those segments were cut. I was lucky enough to pick a more subtle approach.”

“I hate Jews,” Charlotte said. “The manager and the cattle-dealer are both Jews.”

“Are they any more dishonest than their Christian counterparts?”

“Everyone says they are.”

This conversation wasn’t going anywhere productive. Poor Dylan was half-heartedly chewing on a piece of bread. “Let’s talk about what’s going to happen tomorrow.”

“You look like a clown,” Charlotte said.

“What?”

“You’re covered in makeup. It’s disgusting and fake.”

“I advise spending less time listening to grandparents on the porch.”

“They know what they’re talking about. Unlike you. You’ve got no culture and no land. You’re just a Capitol puppet.”

“Charlotte, when my name was drawn from that ball, I was nothing but an apprentice boilermaker.”

“Had you been normal, you’d have never survived. Nobody normal can survive.”

“Is this how you are resigning yourself to death? Telling yourself there’s no hope?” Charlotte’s eyes widened. “For as long as in the heart, a soul yearns, hope is not yet lost. If you give your all, seize on every chance, you might make it out. If you sit down and give up, you definitely won’t. Now, how about we watch the recaps?”

Once Charlotte had some fire put back into her, she did quite well - a six in training and an interesting interview. Dylan got a four and was unremarkable.

A few hours before the Games, Diana sat in the Mentor’s room and went through the catalogue, noting down useful things. The Arena would be cold, but if Crane had any brains in his head, a doubtful proposition given what happened two years ago, there would be a generous amount of supplies.

Not all the Mentors had trickled in yet. It was the ones working alone and those not good at fundraising. Over at Four’s station, Annie had her head buried in her hands. Her survival had been a miracle of corruption. The Career had had a mental breakdown after seeing her District partner get beheaded, and her precarious mental state would have spelled doom if not for a catastrophic Arena collapse, a dam breaking and flooding everything. The Head Engineer had elegantly pushed the blame onto subordinates and Annie had managed to grab on to a large branch and take advantage of the fact that she had grown up in a coastal village.

Fortunately for Crane, the following year had been more straightforward. There had been the added intrigue of Johanna managing to recover from a state of total mental collapse just in time (some said it had been a pretense, but nobody who wanted to live was dumb enough to behave in a way that pushed away potential sponsors or cunning enough to pretend in such a moment), but the Arena itself had held together, at least. Next to Diana, Johanna sat at her station with Blight, still wearing the shaved head and black clothes of mourning. She had tried to disobey Snow and her family and boyfriend had been killed. Next on the chopping block were her friends, if she put a toe out of line.

Diana didn’t understand why some of the others were so upset about being sold. Compared to the Arena, it was absolutely nothing. Maybe it was just a normal person thing?

“How can you eat?” Johanna hissed.

Diana shrugged and took another bite of her wrap. It was delicious - soft brown rice, black beans, cucumbers, eggs, salty feta cheese. “I’m hungry.”

“Don’t you care?”

“Blake and Maria still haven’t deigned to show up, so I’m holding down the fort on my own. Can’t do that if I’m hungry.” In the past few years, the two had always been deep in discussion with some of the others. Diana had no idea what they were talking about and didn’t care. She was just annoyed that they weren’t helping her.

Soon, everyone took their places and the countdown began. The Arena was cold, snowy, and mountainous, and there were no cleared paths to the Cornucopia. At least twelve identical blankets were right between each pair of Tributes, and the paths to them were clear, but the paths were raised, creating the illusion that the snow was shallow when it was actually over a metre deep. Charlotte had the boy from Five to fight for the blanket, and Dylan - the girl from Three. It would come down to who was faster.

When the gong sounded, Charlotte and Dylan both ran for the better supplies, which were deceptively close by. When they bogged down in the snow, Dylan panicked but Charlotte had the presence of mind to keep wading forward. It didn’t help her. The Careers were taller and stronger and made it to the weapons quickly, and the Tributes stuck in the snow were easy pickings. Aside from Charlotte and Dylan, twelve others died in minutes. Of the four who got away, the boy from Five had a blanket - he had had the presence of mind to grab it and get out - while the Nines, who were teaming up, and the girl from Twelve had nothing.

“Wait, I get to stay another day?” Richard Smith poured himself some cherry liqueur. “Forgot what that feels like.”

Diana also had to stay another day, but that was because Chaterhan was turning one hundred and four in a few days and her children had thought it would be nice to invite Diana, her compatriot, alongside dignitaries like Keith Yao, several top managers, and the mayor of Centre. The bodies went home without her this year.

That evening, the girl from Twelve ambushed the boy from Five and threw a rock at his head with unexpected strength from someone so skinny, but acting with almost supernatural agility, he grabbed it out of the air and threw it back at her, cracking her skull, before anyone could blink. The slow-motion replay showed how the boy had somehow managed to track the rock’s capricious trajectory, the projectile tumbling through the air chaotically, and snatched it up as if it had been an easy lob. The commentator explained that was because of him having been a baseball player.

The things that came in handy in the Games. Sometimes it was obvious skills, like swimming or foraging, but sometimes it was baseball.

“The hell was that?” Brutus asked Richard admiringly. “My sister plays baseball and she would have never made that catch, especially bare-handed.”

Richard shrugged. “He’s a catcher, that’s all he did in the evenings after work.”

“So’s my sister! Catching something so capricious, at that speed and distance, barehanded - please tell me he played semipro.”

“Oh, he did. Star player, even if his batting was a bit weak. Travelled all over the District with his team, even I saw him play a time or two.”

The night was warm, to not kill off the Nines (someone must have told Crane he would not enjoy it if there was another freeze-off). The next day, the Careers misjudged a treacherous bit of melting snow and tumbled off a mountain, bringing the Games to the final three. Acting with far more savviness and displaying a far better memory than Diana, the boy from Five raced for the Cornucopia and set up shop with a spear. When the Nines showed up, egged on by unbelievably fluffy cats Diana wanted to hug, he killed them, and that was the end of the shortest Games since artificial Arenas had been introduced, with Josh Dirik, who had gotten a mere three in training, surviving thanks to luck and having the skills to seize on it.

Alexandra Chaterhan had also survived thanks to luck - good genes, good environment, good family. In the palace aptly named the Big House, which must have been grander than even Snow’s residences, the ancient woman sat wearing an odd garment of purple silk and enough gold jewellery to buy a decent-sized village with the inhabitants as guests paid obeisance. Diana left the gift (picked out by Elly) on the table and went somewhere less crowded. The broad corridor was lined with endless portraits of ancestors. Diana stopped to look at them.

“Those are my great-grandparents.” The speaker was a young man wearing a light-blue shirt and a simple white skirt that appeared to consist of a single piece of fabric wrapped around the waist. Of course there would be no hiding from Chaterhans here. Diana sighed inwardly and turned to him.

“Those two men?”

“Yes. Ravi and Jaming.” Ravi was dark and Jaming was light and had epicanthic folds.

“Is this their wedding?”

“Yeah. Bare weeks after unification. Nilus Sorensen hadn’t been planning to allow same-sex marriage, but then Ravi wrote to him inviting him to the wedding.” The man smiled proudly.

Diana didn’t know how long ago that was, but it must have been a very long time. “That’s nice.” It was hard to imagine having that kind of power. “Are you Chaterhan’s grandson?”

“Grand-nephew - my grandmother was her sister. My name is Lucius.”

“Nice to meet you, Lucius. I’m-”

“I know who you are. Shame about the Games this year.”

“It’s how it usually goes.”

“Still unfortunate. I think we should go back - my cousin has something planned.” He reached down and tied up his skirt in a way that made it knee-length.

What his cousin had planned was a choreographed dance like something out of a musical. As Diana watched wide-eyed, assorted cousins, all dressed in brightly coloured silk, spun around at such speed, it boggled the mind. The couple at the front, Antonius and Octavia Chaterhan, were especially striking. It was a little bit incongruous how quick and elegant and precise the paunchy middle-aged man was, each little movement perfectly in time with the music. The music reminded her a little bit of club music, but Diana’s dancing had always consisted of bouncing around, not meticulously choreographed moves.

When the song ended, Antonius walked towards his grandmother as guests applauded sincerely - that had been some excellent dancing. “This is my gift to you, Grandmother,” he said as he bowed low and touched her feet. Diana didn’t understand the meaning of the gesture.

“Oh, Toni, you brought me back to my childhood!” She patted him on the cheek.

The dancers dashed away. Less than a minute later, the men returned wearing white knee-length dresses and trousers and bright vests. Another song played, a little bit slower this time but with a heavy, almost military beat. Diana should have been used to this by now, but it was hard to get used to an oligarch’s grandson tearing it up on the dancefloor like this. At important gatherings, the music was usually slow so that all the seventy-year-old functionaries could dance. The clothing the dancers were wearing made them look like something that didn’t quite belong here. Was it something from a different country? Had Antonius transported his grandmother not only to her childhood, but to one of her ancestral homes? Diana wondered if Emmanuel knew any Romanian dances. His granddaughter had made the trip across the strait last year, but the only letter he had gotten from her stated that she was planning to go to Romania. Since then, silence.

Diana yawned and shuffled around, wishing she was at home.

The moment Diana stepped foot into her house, she realized something was wrong. Not because of the end-of-year sleepover the kids had thrown for their friends - they had cleaned up after themselves well - but because a large grey cat, which Diana had seen Aunt Nelly feeding a few times, was giving birth on the couch in the corner.

“At this rate, we’ll have more cats than humans in this house,” Diana grumbled. The poor couch would never recover from this.

“Is that bad?” Yeon-Joo asked jokingly. The two of them were keeping a distance from the cat. “I think it’s nice that Hematite feels safe on our couch.”

“Oh, so she has a name now?”

“Of course.”

Orange peeked out of the kitchen and looked at Diana like a boyfriend insisting ‘Can’t be mine, I’m sterilized’.

“I need a nap.”

Hematite ended up with six tiny grey kittens nobody could tell apart. Diana loved the floofballs, they were so small and cute.

Humans: Grandpa, Aunt Raisa, Aunt Nelly, Aunt Sarah, Mom, Dad, Diana, Francine, Michael, Janet, Helen, Alf, Kim, Yeon-Joo, Owen. Total: 15.

Cats: Sooty, Orange, Hematite, Alef, Beis, Veis, Gimel, Dalet, Hay. Total: 9.

Humans still held the lead, though they wouldn’t for long if Aunt Raisa kept on feeding strays.

“We all thank our hardworking farmers,” Snow said, holding the papers in front of him. “We-” He held the papers closer to his face, clearly lost.

“Mr. President, try these ones,” an aide said, handing him a new pair of glasses.

“Oh, thank you.”

Next to Diana, Grandpa shook his head. “This is just like McCollum.” The knitting needles clacked in his hands too fast for the eye to follow.

Snow was eighty-one. McCollum had entered the struggling-to-read-prepared-speeches stage in his early sixties and stayed there until dying at eighty-nine. Grandpa was seventy-nine and swung like a very fast metronome between proclaiming himself to be on his deathbed and energetically involving himself in everyone’s lives.

“So there’s eight years left?” Mom asked.

Nobody said anything.

On the screen, Snow said something about the milk yields and steel production, or maybe it was steel yields and milk production.

“Kim!” Diana called out one day in autumn. “Can you help me with washing the floor?” Not too far from her, Alef sat in the corner quietly. Her siblings were always playing with each other and their humans, but Alef was shy. She was Mom’s favourite because she reminded her of sitting in the corner of Aunt Venta’s apartment while her parents were at work, watching the other kids play and waiting to be picked up.

And Mom still insisted she was normal.

“No, I’m busy petting a cat,” Kim protested.

Diana sighed. Alf would have gone out of his way to ignore her and Helen would have started doing something else, but Kim was sassy. ”Are you finished with your homework?”

“No.”

“Then either do your homework or help me with the floors!” Diana had just gotten back from work half an hour ago and was in no mood for this.

“But I’m petting a cat!”

“You can pet it later. Do you talk back to Coach like that?”

That would not have worked on anyone else, but to Kim, their coach was a semi-divine figure whose authority was absolute. Helen, who went to the same swimming pool - she wanted to become a lifeguard - was always teasing her sibling for being the coach’s favourite. “Fine!” Kim went into the kitchen and began to push around a rag with their foot.

“Kim, have you grown again?” Diana asked as she wiped down the counter. Kim was the tallest of the cousins.

“Yep,” they said smugly, looking down at Diana. They had begun to show signs of facial hair, of which they were inordinately proud of, and needed to wear a real bra, which they also held over Helen’s head. At the start of the season, their coach had looked them over, scratched his head, and assigned them to swim with the girls pretty much at random. “It’s your fault for feeding me so much.”

“You need to eat more, you’re too skinny.” In that department, Helen was the real nightmare, as her early experiences had somehow caused her to lack an appetite completely. She felt hunger, and knew logically that eating made her feel better, but when food was put on her plate, she had no desire to eat no matter how hungry she was. Diana didn’t need to be told this was potentially very dangerous. Everyone else ate whenever they got back, but Helen and Aunt Nelly always ate at the exact same time together with Aunt Nelly keeping an eye on how much Helen was eating.

Kim rolled their eyes. “By the way, I was gonna say that I like Mx. Rogers. I want them to stay.”

Once Kim got bigger, they had begun to dislike being washed by family, so an aide had been hired, but she was going to quit soon because she needed to move back to her home village to look after her ill uncle. “Do you feel comfortable with them?”

“Yeah. They’re not really like me, but they understand me.” Kim scrubbed at a spot on the floor.

“That’s great.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna go do my homework now.” They ran down the stairs, Beis trailing after them.

“Diana, do you mind helping me out?” Grandpa asked as she carried the groceries in. “An acquaintance of mine just got drafted for construction.”

Technically speaking, every able adult in Six was in a draft lottery, where every few months, a new portion of workers were taken to build the Arenas - many decades ago, Chaterhan had offered Snow her compatriots as a token of her loyalty. Anyone with even a little money to spare bribed their way out, though professionals like engineers were taken directly through their firms and were threatened with firing if they didn’t comply. They didn’t have anything to worry about in any case. The only thing the desk workers had to do was work on a different project. It was the draftees who spent several months working like convicts and needed months to recover after their return.

When Diana had been a teen, her ex’s aunt had been drafted, but when she had been about to enter the collection point, a well-dressed man carrying an expensive leather briefcase had pushed her aside and said he was going in her place - nobody really cared about names, only that the quota was met, so if anyone simply didn’t show up, random people were snatched from nearby streets instead. Diana wished she knew his name. He reminded her a little of the middle-class girl who had volunteered in place of a pregnant girl, replacing someone who was needed at home.

“You sure they’re not lying?” Diana put down the bags in the kitchen and went to get the last remaining bags from the car.

“He showed me the notice,” Grandpa said when she got back. “Looked real to me.”

“How much did he ask for?”

“Enough to buy a crate of vodka for the local Peacekeeper when she comes around on the day of.”

Diana pushed a sack of potatoes deeper into the pantry, trying not to overturn the other bags in there at the same time. “That’s all he needs?”

“Yes. Said the local Peacekeeper visits all the addresses in the area and you need to give her something to make her go away. Not sex. Food and drink only.”

There was a joke about a prostitute who carried around a stick of smoked sausage in case the Peacekeeper turned out to be asexual.

“So what do you think we should do?”

Grandpa inspected the cheese and put it in the fridge. “I say we give him the vodka directly. We’re not an ATM, we can’t just hand out money to people we don’t know that well.”

Technically speaking, their charitable donations were exactly that, but Diana understood the principle. “And if someone asks for more?”

“Let them stay in Maria’s house for a few days while the hunt is on. She practically lives with Blake in any case.”

As the years went by, Diana thought she was doing pretty well, as things went. She liked her job, her kids were a handful but she loved them and they loved her, and the family was doing fine. It was strange to consider that this was all because Elly had plucked her name out of that ball thirteen years ago. She really could say she was grateful for the Games for having given her all this. The Tributes she mentored could not. In the Seventy-Fourth, both from Six died in the Bloodbath and Diana could go home early.

The Games ended up unprecedented with the double victory. Helen hated it, because it was a change that made no sense, and Diana felt something similar. This was something she could not understand, and if she did not understand it, there could be danger lurking there for all she knew. When the first days after the Games passed without anything too crazy happening, she assumed it had just been a weird quirk, the last mistake Crane would ever make.

It was as the fall months wore on that she, and everyone in the know, realized that the Games themselves were not what they should have been looking at. Diana had always dismissed her suspicion that troubles had been escalating over the past few years by assuming it had always been this way and she had simply not noticed, but any child could notice what was happening now. It was like every single governmental system had reached its logical point of collapse, with predictable consequences. Strike over low pay here, riot over cost of food there, bombing there. Diana mostly concerned herself with her family, but even she had to pay attention to the announcement of the Quarter Quell.

Chapter Text

Maria laughed as soon as she heard Snow’s words. Her fellow Victor by now struggled with basic functioning, though she could still reason.

“What’s so funny?” Diana demanded. “This isn’t funny!”

“Why do you care?” Maria flapped her hand. “It’s not you Snow wants. It’s me. The embarrassment.”

Diana would have never admitted the relief she felt at that moment. Of course the selections would be deliberate, but she had for a second thought Snow would want someone who could actually carry on a conversation.

Blake chuckled and went to the bathroom to inject. It was hard to believe that this husk of a man had once been the terror of an entire community, a dangerous predator hundreds had voted to put down.

“You sure?” Diana asked.

“Of course. I’ll volunteer for you if you’re called. Not like I have anything left anyway. Might as well protect the kids from Twelve, if Snow is so obsessed with killing them.”

“You sure Haymitch won’t go in to protect Katniss?”

Maria shrugged and stared off into space. She was right, though. All of Rabbi Miller’s sources claimed one thing - Snow didn’t have the faintest idea how the country worked after so many years in total power and blamed the unrest on Katniss and Peeta personally. Diana turned to the rest of her family, who were sitting silently. Alf and Kim suddenly hugged her.

“What?” she grumbled, still in an uneven mood. “I’m not going anywhere. You heard Maria, Snow wants to get rid of annoying Victors.” The two children of hers who liked hugs clung to her even tighter, Helen perched on the arm of a couch and rocking back and forth.

Diana sometimes loved the way her brain worked. Sure, she now once again suffered from nightmares about her Games, but they weren’t the kind that woke you up screaming - they just made her feel sad and worn out for the entire day, and it’s not like she didn’t have any other reasons to feel that way.

She went to work, spent time with her family, went jogging. A distant cousin of Francine needed a lung transplant, so Diana had to leverage her connections to get Dr. Trisha Brown, the country’s only surgeon who did lung transplants, to do the operation. When suitable lungs were finally available locally, she arrived to the hospital, and you’d have thought that an angel of the Lord was there, not a transplantologist. At least there was someone she could save.

People complained about how some had advantages others did not, but Diana could not fault someone for using every opportunity they had. Especially when lives were on the line.

At work, people looked oddly at her. “My condolences,” the boss’ secretary said one day.

“For what?”

Bill shrugged. He was overweight and in his late fifties - the handsy boss kept him around because he was an excellent typist and organizer. “You know.”

“Thank you.” It was weird to receive condolences before anyone was dead.

“I really hope you don’t have to go.”

“Oh, no, Maria wants to volunteer.”

Bill sighed in relief. “That’s good. I’m so glad. None of us can imagine losing you. I mean, if it has to happen we’ll meet it with our heads held high, but you’re more important than some junkie. You’ve got kids for God’s sake.”

“Thank you.”

“By the way, boss wants to talk to you about the project.”

“Got it.” Diana got up from her computer, stretched, and went to the boss’ office.

One day, as Diana wondered how many more years she would have to spend mentoring, the thought suddenly hit her that the answer could easily be zero.

“Rabbi Miller? Is there any way you can get me and my family out?”

Reaping Day was strange this year. Diana had to stand with Blake and Maria at the very foot of the stage and was not particularly surprised when Maria’s name was called, though the kids all ran up to her.

She wasn’t going to the Capitol this year, fortunately. Blake and Maria had said that they’d manage, and Snow agreed that she deserved a break - presumably before sixty more years of mentoring on her own. With a heavy heart, Diana sat down to see who of her acquaintances would die soon.

Were the other Victors friends? Not really. Diana’s real friends were from work and the gym. They went to each other’s homes, talked about everything from the weather to shortages, their children grew up together. But the Victors were the only people who understood exactly what she had gone through. Diana at least knew of them, even if she had never talked to something like twenty of them.

It was fairly easy to predict most of the selections - it would be those who could put up a fight, those who were well-known, and those Snow didn’t like, and preferably, those who were all three at once. From One, it was the Delacruzes, even though there were other young-ish women.

“But they’re siblings!” Alf, shocked, spoke in broad, shaky gestures. “That’s not fair!”

“It is what it is,” Diana replied.

As for Two, there was nothing Snow could do. The names called were Jing Yi Lyme and Alexander Il-nam, whom Diana knew to have inconvenient attitudes, but Enobaria Seemu and Brutus Donaldson volunteered for them.

From Three, it was obviously Beetee Latier, the only functional one, and Wiress Ling, who unlike the other woman had gone to the Capitol regularly in the past few years. From Four, Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta, the only ones below the age of sixty, but Mags Flanagan volunteered, presumably because she might as well go out with style.

“I thought it’d be that Romanian,” Dad said.

“Father, nobody knows him,” Francine pointed out.

“We know him.”

“Grandpa, she means people in general,” Kim explained.

“Oh, right.”

From Five, there was only Annaliese Gupta for the women, and the loudmouth alcoholic Richard Smith was chosen over the meek Josh Dirik. From Six it was, of course, the inconvenient Maria who presumably just needed to be finished off already and stop disgracing the institution of the Games. From Seven, Johanna Mason, of course, and Blight, who had always been in the public eye, instead of Martin Chen who had last given an interview a quarter of a century ago. From Eight, Cecelia Winters was the only woman even halfway able-bodied, with obvious results.

“She has kids,” Alf said.

“Reyanna can’t walk more than two steps and Eve had a heart attack last month,” Diana reminded him. Privately, she wondered if the plan had initially been to take Eve, but the sixty-one-year-old was still practically bedbound.

For the men, Woof Kuznetsov had recently suffered from a stroke, but unlike Rajesh Kelly, could walk. From Nine, Junie Tract was forty years younger than Yvonne Glossop, and Alexander Red was chosen despite needing braces to walk - the other men were far less able-bodied than him.

From Ten, Shelley Weldrick was so inconvenient with her bad English, she went all the way around to not being Reaped - Giselle Hopkins, the younger of the other two, was chosen. From Eleven, Seeder James was far more recognizable than her younger counterpart, and Chaff Kielce was far and away more inconvenient and visible than the demure John Brown who hadn’t left Eleven in five years. From Twelve, Snow had clearly wanted to be rid of Haymitch Abernathy like Blake and Maria, but Peeta Mellark clearly wanted to die with Katniss Everdeen.

Some of these people, Diana knew very well, especially since the better-known had been targeted. Others, she had talked to maybe once or twice. The only thing Diana felt at the selections was relief that Maria hadn’t died at some point in the last twenty-three years. But she was used by now to being aware of how instrumental luck was to her survival, so she did not dwell on it and come up with scenarios in which Maria had died and Diana was now to die, too. Instead, she got up and asked the kids if they wanted to play soccer in the backyard.

The next few days, Diana took off work, because camera crews kept on trying to get at her. She gave a few interviews before saying that Blake and Maria had wanted her to take this year off, so take it off she would.

Diana watched the parade out of morbid curiosity. It was strange to be watching the Games with her family like a normal person. She had last seen a parade from home when she was seventeen. So much had changed since then.

Orange sat in Kim’s lap, the teenager petting him with their knee. Alf was drawing Hematite. Helen was crocheting, as was Owen, and Yeon-Joo was playing with Veis. Sooty sat on top of the windowsill.

Seeing Blake and Maria in the chariot felt strange. Her former mentors were dressed in grey jumpsuits not that different from what Mina wore at work, except that where the company logo usually was, they had yellow diodes in the shape of a glowing ‘6’. Not the most striking, and the lighting of the boulevard made them look even more jaundiced than usual, but whatever. Finnick was dressed the exact same way as last time - at least now, he was an adult, and him being mostly naked wasn’t disturbing, unless you were Leonella and hated seeing sexy naked people.

Probably the most effective outfit was that of Katniss and Peeta, who resembled embers in a fire. The sight moved Templesmith to quoting poetry.

Bring me my bow of burning gold

Bring me my arrows of desire

Bring me my spear: O clouds unfold!

Bring me my chariot of fire!

“What’s that from?” Aunt Nelly asked.

“I know!” Helen said. “English poetry. But I don’t remember who wrote it.”

Helen effortlessly memorized songs and poems, but was scatterbrained and struggled to remember even their authors.

“Chariot of fire?” Owen asked.

“My chair’s on fire!” Yeon-Joo shouted, throwing a cushion into the air. Diana laughed.

“What are you reading now?” she asked Helen, who had a book in her hands. The family had heard Snow’s speech so many times, they could probably give it themselves far better than the confused-looking president.

“It’s that German poet I mentioned. You want to hear something funny?”

Diana knew exactly who her daughter was talking about. A few days ago, Helen had recited one of his poems for her history class at synagogue.

This Divinity called Jesus
Is a God unknown to me;
And the Virgin, too, I never
Have been privileged to see.

For the hardships that twelve hundred
Years ago he may have met
In Jerusalem, I give you
My assurance of regret.

Whether Hebrews caused his murder
It is difficult to say,
Since the chief corpus delicti
Three days later flew away.

Just as doubtful is the story
That he was our Lord’s relation,
Since the latter had no children,
Judging by our information.

Grandpa had thought that the most hilarious thing he had ever heard, but Diana had only been further convinced of the futility of arguing about religion.

Though the poem was, in fact, hilarious.

“Sure,” Diana said. At least it would probably be funny.

“Alright, so this is a verse from a poem.”

Holy cholent, dish celestial,
Daughter of Elysium!
Had he ever tasted cholent,
Schiller would have changed his hymn.

God devised and God delivered
Unto Moses from on high
And commanded us to savour
Cholent for eternity.

There was silence for a few seconds, only Snow speaking from the television.

“Yes,” Yeon-Joo said.

“I agree,” Mom concurred. Diana did, too. Aunt Raisa’s cholent was the best thing in the world. They had had leftovers for dinner just hours ago.

“Meow!” Orange rubbed his head against Kim’s chin.

“Give me that, I want to read the entire thing,” Grandpa said, stretching out his hand. Helen passed along the book. “Oh, for- Where are my glasses?”

“I can read it out loud,” Helen offered.

“No, it’s fine, the program’s almost over in any case.”

Snow finished speaking and the newscasters appeared on the screen instead. Dad turned off the television and everyone went back to what they usually did at twenty-thirty. Diana felt an odd sadness at the thought that the family would never do this again in this way.

Blake died on the very first day. He got to the Cornucopia and simply stood there, looking around. The television didn’t show the conversation he had with Enobaria, but Diana could easily imagine him explaining that this was better than a drawn-out death from a fall or a mutt. It did show her spearing him right in the heart.

The following day, Diana was forced to re-evaluate all of her opinions about Maria. The older woman had seemed in the past few years to be incapable of making plans or taking initiative, but here, she sought out the people she wanted and saved Peeta Mellark from a mutt, dying in the process. And that was the end of the people who had brushed Diana aside as someone who could never survive. Who had left her to watch Six’s Tributes die year after year all alone. Who had never been happy a day in their lives since the moment their names had been called.

It was easy to blame people, to say that everything Blake had suffered was hardly something to pity him for given the crimes of his youth, that most people who did things like that and were as insignificant as him were shot and he was lucky to have had these fifty years. Fifty years on opioids, and the last fourteen as a heavy user to boot. His path to addiction had been understandable and deserving of sympathy, so it was easy to hate him for the day he told Maria the syringe would make her feel better and her family for abandoning her to him. But at the end of the day, Blake’s crimes were something that he should have stood trial for and been legally executed, not given the arbitrary chance to continue living by showing even more brutality than ever before. Maria’s family simply hadn’t been able to cope with the fact that she had been willing to survive no matter what, and Diana’s simply had. That was symptoms. The real root cause of the problem was - the realization hit Diana like a brick to the head - the Hunger Games themselves.

“It’s strange,” Francine said. “I often thought it’d be better if they overdosed already and died.”

“Well, if we hadn’t saved Blake that one time, these Games wouldn’t have gone ahead,” Diana replied, feeling suddenly much lighter now that the burden of pretending to herself that everything was fine was lifted from her mind. “Or maybe his death would have resulted in things changing in a way that made one of the boys win, and he’d have gone in. There’s no point to thinking that way.” Diana told that to herself mostly, so that she didn’t dwell on what could have been.

“I suppose.”

Diana had informed the family of her plans, of course. They were all sitting in the living room when the truck arrived.

“Can’t I go, too?” Yeon-Joo asked.

Diana sighed. “I’m sorry. They can’t move so many people at once. You’ll be safe with Uncle David, I promise.” That was in Diana’s hometown. David was her second cousin, they sent each other postcards for New Year’s and birthdays. The family (cats included, of course) would split up and go to various relatives before leaving the country.

“Fine.” She still looked anxious. “My friends would say - Don’t break rule number 1.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t die.”

Diana laughed.

The trip was an odd one. Diana, Francine, the kids, and Aleph in her carrier packed a few bags and hopped into a truck ostensibly delivering something. Then, they were off over the bad roads, the kids busy playing on their phones, Diana fretting, Francine napping, Aleph very unhappy with everything and everyone. They stopped every few hours when the driver needed a break, which they used to use the bathroom and have the driver buy them food and water with their money.

They switched trucks several times, sometimes the only ones in the vehicle, sometimes packed with others. Then, they boarded a cargo train, then another truck, and then had to walk for several hours until they reached a small cove where a middle-aged man was inflating a rubber boat.

“Just you five- um, six?” he asked.

“Yes,” Francine said.

He huffed. “For that kind of money, the land route would have been easier.”

They were trying to go from near Eight to the Eight Nations. “This is faster.”

The smuggler looked them up and down. They were wearing life jackets and had only their small backpacks with them. Diana was carrying Sooty. “Can the armless one swim?”

“Better than you,” Kim said.

“Suit yourselves. Help me drag this thing into the water.” That done, he had them get in one by one and got in last. “Usually I just let defectors go, but I was paid a ton to take you myself.”

The trip itself was fairly boring. Diana anxiously scanned the waves for signs of danger and Helen and Alf played on their phones, Kim watching them. Two hours at most later, they were in a place that wasn’t Panem.

It turned out that locals hated defectors and were very happy to put them on a hovercraft bound for Israel with a few others in their situation. The entire way there, Diana could only gape at everything. Even the little things felt wrong.

Israel felt like a different world, not a different country. This was the first time in Diana’s life that she was surrounded by people like her, and it was an amazing feeling to be normal. She started sometimes when someone addressed her in Hebrew, unused to hearing it spoken in the middle of the street, and winced to hear the strangeness of her accent. Poor Francine could barely tie a sentence together, but even she was happy. What the government thought was cheap cramped hotel rooms for them to live in felt more like a palace to them.

Reading the news was a shock. A breakout attempt? Successful mass uprisings? Diana paced back and forth, terrified for the family, until news finally came - they didn’t want to travel through war-torn territory and were staying there. With disrupted communications, they were in no danger from the government. Diana glued herself to the computer, watching the daily updates two defectors, one now a military analyst and one a political scientist, put out. Fighting here, unrest here, differently coloured lines going across territory that was someone’s home.

It was so strange to live in a country where newspapers openly criticized the government. Where workers didn’t spend fourteen hours a day in factories and offices. Where the border was a painted line on a pavement anyone could step over, not a heavily guarded fence you’d be shot for trying to cross. Where different people lived side by side without hiding their differences or worrying about being seen as too different.

Diana, who had always thought that she had no power over anything and that the people up there knew better, was now a firm believer in the democratic process. You can watch the news - real news. You can write to politicians. You can even take part in protests! You can help make your beloved country a better place to live! Diana swore to herself that when Panem had free media, she wouldn’t listen to it with half an ear like before and act like it didn’t matter. It mattered.

It was difficult to follow the news from home. Every time a place Diana knew was mentioned, she winced, afraid for her friends and relatives. She felt it was wrong that she was safe while others weren’t, but she was also glad her children were safe. And while they missed their home, they liked their ancestral home. Helen especially never tired of pointing out things that were different here, but Alf and Kim weren’t far behind their sister.

Everything was so surreal. Tel Aviv was so much richer than the Capitol, it boggled the mind to imagine. And the way that everything was in Hebrew! Despite conversing in it once in a while, on some level, Diana had gotten used to thinking of it as it had been for two thousand years - a language of prayer that lay slumbering like Sleeping Beauty, waiting for its prince to awaken it. But without any princes, it had been transformed into a living language you could use to buy a cup of coffee or sue for alimony or argue about politics.

History classes came back to Diana as she took in her surroundings. “I wonder what Herzl would have thought of Tel Aviv.”

“He dreamed of a city that would be like his beloved Vienna, but without antisemitism,” Helen said in her usual maudlin-poetic tone. “I don’t know what Vienna looks like, but I think it’s nice.” She glanced at a sign that said ‘50% Sale’. The volume of goods inside made Diana’s head spin. “Did you know that Tel Aviv is named after one of his books? The book is called ‘Old New Land’, but the person translating into Hebrew decided to get poetic. He rendered ‘old’ as in the mounds over ancient cities, and ‘new’ as in spring, and got ‘Tel Aviv’. A decade later, a group of Zionists founded a town and called it that. And then less than fifty years and one genocide later, it was the capital of a country! It’s cool but also depressing.”

“That’s Jewish history for you,” Kim quipped.

The sun beat down brutally, and Diana was glad for her kerchief. The combination of head covering and a T-shirt and cargo shorts that exposed her elbows and knees was a bit odd, but whatever.

“Hey, look,” Alf said. “That man has a rainbow kippah. It’s pretty.” Alf’s own kippah was plain black. Here, he wore it every day, not just to synagogue. “I didn’t know you can have pretty kippahs.”

“It’s just a piece of your clothing here,” Diana replied. “So people wear all sorts of different ones.”

“Cool!” Helen said. “It makes sense. We’re the majority here. So what we do is normal.”

“Can I have a rainbow kippah?” Alf asked.

“Of course.”

Today’s video was entitled Day 52 - General Lux Arrested? - Hospital Bombing in Eight. Diana clicked on it, hearing the little melody that she was probably going to associate with the war for the rest of her life. She and Helen watched Nathaniel Cody and Robert Fernandez every day; Francine found it too nerve-wracking, as did Kim and Alf. Kim preferred to be in the swimming pool. Their coach had nearly fainted when seeing them swim for the first time and declared that in a year or two, Kim would be competing internationally, though they would have to compete against men. Diana just hoped the war would be over by then. She felt horribly guilty that she was safe in Israel, but her relief at having the kids be safe outweighed it. She did regret that she couldn’t go fight. She could have pretended to be eligible, but there were good reasons why people with autism were not allowed to serve. Unable to handle loud sounds? Unable to fit in with a group? She’d have been a liability, not a soldier. It still hurt that she couldn’t.

Day fifty-two of the civil war in Panem, this is a new report with Robert Fernandez. Today we will discuss the advances on the fronts, the horrific bombing of a hospital in Charlotte, the appearance of Katniss Everdeen, and the rumours surrounding the commander-in-chief of Panem. You are watching Nate Cody’s channel, don’t forget to like and subscribe. And now, the report.

The first thing that happened, as always, was Robert going over the shifting front lines, pointing to various locations on a map. The region where her family was had thankfully been liberated early and they were able to call each other regularly. Robert then discussed the bombing of Eight’s Centre.

As I’m sure many of you have already seen, a hospital in Charlotte was deliberately bombed from a very low altitude. This happened when Katniss Everdeen appeared in the area, though I suspect that this is a coincidence.

Nate cut in, his face appearing in the right half of the frame. For those of you who don’t know, Katniss Everdeen is a seventeen-year-old girl who is a mascot of sorts for the rebel forces.

Well, she did survive the ‘Hunger Games.’ That counts for a lot.

I wouldn’t know, my family defected when I was two. Nathan was from a small Capitol town and Robert was from a city in Seven. I leave that to the experts.

I was ten, so not much of an authority on that, either. Personally, I doubt she has any real significance, but her appearance did appear to be a morale boost. She recorded a video I cannot show you because of copyright, so here are some stills. Diana had already seen footage of the burning hospital. As you can see, the hospital was entirely destroyed, with seventy-three deaths already confirmed, but the real death toll might easily be as much as a hundred and fifty. However, six government hovercraft were shot down as the result of their extreme low flying. Obviously, this raid could do nothing to challenge rebel control of most of Eight. Robert’s cat Trooper meowed loudly. My co-host agrees with me.

Do you think the government forces knew in advance that Everdeen would be there?

I doubt it. I suspect that hospital was already a target, and like I said, it was a coincidence that Everdeen happened to be there.

Why in the world?

Terror. It is being broadcast all over the country as a warning to rebels. I do remember from when I was a child that these things are really different in Panem. Violence is normalized in a way we can’t imagine.

From there on, they discussed other battles, the (apparently baseless) rumours of Lux falling out of favour, mobilized government troops having to buy their own boots, helmets, and vests, an Eight Nations summit to provide more aid to the rebels, and what exactly was the role of Katniss Everdeen.

I have a series of videos on my channel about the ‘Hunger Games’, Nate said. Click here to watch the first one. I’m thinking I should make one about the ‘Victors’ themselves, but I’ll need to do more research.

I remember the Victory Tour when I was nine. It was the Sixty-First. Diana started at that. I was in Portland visiting my grandparents, and they got good tickets. I got to see the Victor close up. Honestly, it was just another official occasion - dull speeches, prolonged standing ovation. That year’s Victor had actually killed the girl from Seven, so there was a little bit of awkwardness, but overall, it was the usual ‘hail the glorious dead’ and then we went home.

Somehow, hearing it in this context was worse. In Panem, everyone knew what the Games were and what they meant. But here, hearing someone say that she had killed someone felt like an accusation.

Out of curiosity, who was the Victor that year?

Um, Cohen. I forgot her first name.

Diana Cohen?

Yes.

Do we know where she is now?

No.

Well, Diana Cohen, if you’re listening to this, feel free to reach out to me, my contact information is below. Anything else? Well, then we are done for the day, don’t forget to like and subscribe to my channel and Robert’s channel, the link is also below. Have a good day, goodbye.

Diana thought about it for a few seconds and composed an e-mail to Nate. As she wrote, Helen ran in. “Mom! Cody and Fernandez mentioned you in their video!”

“Hello,” Nate said.

“Hello,” Diana replied. The two of them were on a video call that would be posted on his channel.

“I must say that I did not expect to have a Victor actually watching my videos.” He smiled.

Diana shrugged. “Well, I was.”

“Where are you right now, if that is not a secret?”

“Tel-Aviv. By complete coincidence, I defected with my family shortly before Swan Lake.” When the Arena had been broken into, the televisions had shown Swan Lake on every single channel, and the radio had played the music.

“You did not know what was being planned?”

“No. We made the decision early this year. After the Quell announcement, I realized I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“How many people are aware of what happened?”

“I will not answer that question for their safety.”

“Of course. Now, let’s start from the beginning. To all listeners and viewers unfamiliar with Panem or the Hunger Games, I suggest first watching my videos on the topic. You can find them right here.” He pointed at the corner of the screen. “Or here. I don’t know. In any case, presume you are talking to people who have an idea of what Panem is like. Who were you before the Games? What did you do?”

Diana thought back to those years. “I grew up in Indianapolis. My younger sister and I were raised by our parents and grandfather. They all worked in factories, though my grandfather retired when I was three to focus on the household. I had six grades of schooling and was enrolled in a formal apprenticeship. I was training to be a boilermaker.”

“What is a formal apprenticeship?”

“It means you’re in an actual official program and get a certificate at the end. Most people just train in their cousin’s bike repair shop or something of the sort. But if you get the certificate, you are eligible for better-paying jobs.”

“You were Reaped when you were eighteen?”

“Correct.”

“How did you react?”

Diana struggled to remember the emotion. “I was definitely not happy. I had all these ideas about duty and sacrifice beaten into my head, so I was relatively reconciled to dying and all that, but I was terrified out of my wits. I was mad about being chosen, but the thought of being upset about the Games in general didn’t enter into my head. It couldn’t.”

There was a pause. “If you’ll forgive me for the question - did you think you had a chance of surviving?”

Diana was surprised he was so reluctant to ask the question all the schoolkids had always asked first. “Sort of. I knew I’d do everything I could to survive, but deep down, I thought I was a goner.”

“Awful.”

Diana shrugged, unsure what to do with that reaction.

“If you don’t mind, could you take us into the inner workings of the Hunger Games? How did the process of preparing Tributes work?”

Diana’s interview with Nate ended up being one of the most-viewed videos on his channel, though privately, she suspected that was thanks to Aleph’s appearance midway through - Hematite’s offspring were all impossibly cute. Diana was pleasantly surprised by how her words had not been twisted. Nate had simply removed the pauses and irrelevant asides, and nothing more.

His wasn’t the only channel Diana watched faithfully. There was an entire community of defectors on the Web, ranging from child defectors like Nate to a One-born economist at the University of Caracas who had defected via the extremely dangerous southern route in his mid-twenties and wrote papers on Panem’s economy in Spanish and English. They managed an aggregator of Panem news - an extremely niche topic before the war - and put out a whole bunch of news programs. Since they were scattered all over the Eight Nations and beyond, they could not have a conventional television channel, so they used the Web instead. As a computer person, Diana was in awe of the power of cutting-edge technology. People all over the world discussed recent developments in Panem and showed off their pets (from cats to lizards).

“You’re famous,” Diana cooed to Aleph. “Everyone knows you.”

Unimpressed, Aleph leapt onto the windowsill.

They ended up going back home soon after the government officially surrendered. It was a massive relief to know the family was alright. The city was absolutely destroyed, and the intact Victors’ Village was being used as emergency housing. Diana insisted on living in her own house, and it was a very tight fit. A lot of people had thought she was dead and were shocked to see her again.

When Diana found out about Coin’s offer to the handful of Victors she had been able to scrounge up, she thought it was the most idiotic thing in the history of ever and that had she been there, she’d have definitely voted no.

“What are we going to do now?” Alf asked as they stood in a rations queue, bag tucked under his arm to free up his hands for signing.

“You’re going to go to school, Mom Francine and I will go to work - same as before.”

“So it’s going to be the same?”

“In the important parts - yes.”

Kim grinned. “You have odd ideas of what’s important.”

“No, it’s everyone else who has their priorities backwards.”

The queue advanced a few steps.

“So we’ll just be a normal family now? No reporters, no anything?” Helen asked.

“We were always a normal family, but yes, I think there will be far less interest in me.”

Alf looked sad. “It sucks that all of this happened in the first place.”

“Yeah. But on the other hand, things are looking up now. So focus on that instead of how they were before.”

“I guess.”

The queue advanced a few more steps.