Chapter Text
The crowd is quiet, a shuffling mass of bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, pushing and stumbling in the slow march toward the square. The sound of boots scuffing against the cobblestones mingles with hushed whispers, half-swallowed words carried away by the wind. Faces are pale, eyes fixed anywhere but ahead, each step heavy with the weight of what the morning will bring. No one walks with conviction.
Oscar remembered the agitation that always followed the draw—whether it was the tremor of relief as families clung to their spared children, or the hollow grief of those walking home with one less. The draw itself was something he never dwelled on. Not really. He would think about it in the moment, of course, when the air felt too thick to breathe and the seconds dragged like hours—but once his loved ones were confirmed safe, the memory would sink into the darker corners of his mind. He never wanted to confront it, never wanted to acknowledge the growing pit in his stomach whenever someone so much as mentioned the day.
But the day had come again, as it always did—bringing waves of fear that rippled through the lower-class districts and, in sharp contrast, a feverish anticipation in the richer ones. Somewhere, beyond the worn streets and weathered buildings, children were being dressed in their finest, hair polished to a sheen, parents whispering how proud they would be if their names were called.
Here, in Oscar’s part of the district, the air felt heavier.
He never seemed to get used to it. Each year the dread found him, curling into his gut, written plain as day across his face. He kept his eyes forward, following the slow pull of the crowd as the mob turned down a narrower street. That was when he felt the familiar presence slip into step beside him.
Lando was walking at the same pace, head high, breath steady. There was no stiffness in him, no show of fear, just a quiet steadiness that somehow made Oscar’s chest loosen, if only a little.
Lando glanced over, a small, reassuring smile forming.
"Hey. Thought you might want company. Don’t see any of your sisters around, where are they?" he asked, eyes already drifting back ahead.
"Um, somewhere in front," Oscar replied. "Lost them a while ago."
They let the silence settle again, not uncomfortable but heavy, like words might break the thin thread of composure holding them together.
Oscar can't help but wonder what the next few hours will bring. The last reaping days he remembers, he spent with Lando, their hearts lightened of a burden that would not return until the following year. After the draw, they would simply make their way through the square, stumbling across loved ones, making their way to them to express their relief, and disappearing together. The both of them would be mindlessly coming back to their respective home only after an afternoon spent next to each other, talking about this and that, as if the morning never happened.
He hoped today was one of these days, quiet, soothing, comforting.
The street widened, spilling them into the edge of the square. There, an army of uniformed men stood in perfect formation, faces hidden under visors, rifles gripped tight against their chests. The sight was a wall, cold, unyielding, a silent reminder of what would happen to anyone who broke the order of the day.
The crowd began to disperse into their assigned slots, sorted neatly by age. Boots scraped on the wooden platforms dividing the sections. Oscar’s gaze swept the sea of faces until he found her, Hattie, standing ahead with his other sisters. She caught his eye, her mouth curving into a warm, fleeting smile before she turned back toward the looming stage.
Slowly, the movements stop and a burst of trumpets rattles through tiny and cheap speakers and onto the stage sweeps Miss Calvera, heels clicking like applause on the wooden boards. Oscar steadies himself to have a better look.
She’s dressed in a dizzying swirl of pastel blues and yellows, every curl in her hair pinned with surgical precision, her smile so wide it looks painted on.
“Good morning, District Twelve!” she sings, voice spilling across the square with syrupy sweetness. "Oh, what a beautiful day for such an important occasion. I can see so many shining faces out there — my, my, don’t you all look simply marvelous!"
She clasps her hands at her waist, swaying ever so slightly. "Now, we all know why we’re here, don’t we? Reaping Day! A day to remember our history, to honor our sacrifices, and to show the rest of Panem that our district still has the strongest hearts, the bravest spirits, and the brightest smiles!" She beams out at the crowd, ignoring the stillness, the white-knuckled hands, the unblinking stares.
"It is a day of unity," she goes on, voice lifting like the crest of a wave, "a day when we stand together, old and young, hand in hand, as we look toward a future built on courage… and on hope."
She lifts one gloved hand toward the massive screen behind her. "And what better way to begin than with a reminder of the great story that brings us here each year?"
With a crisp nod, the lights on the stage dim. The speakers crackle to life as the anthem swells again, and grainy, color-saturated images begin to play — battles, banners, the triumphant faces of past victors, some highlights of last year’s game…
It sends shivers down Oscar’s spine. Lando seems to notice and places a hand on his back, a warm anchor to reality, grounding him.
When the final notes fade, the screen blinks to black. Miss Calvera sweeps back into the center of the stage, the pastel folds of her dress bouncing with each step. She claps twice, sharply.
"Wasn’t that just thrilling?" she exclaims. "Now — the moment we’ve all been waiting for!" Her hand hovers dramatically over the glass bowl. "Oh no need to remind you all that once a name is picked, there is no turning back ! It is up to fate and no bargaining will intervene.” she adds, with more seriousness than her other statements. “Well that being said ! Let’s meet the lucky stars who will represent District Twelve this year… Starting with..."
She dips her hand into the bowl, fingers fluttering as if she’s rifling through jewels. When she pulls out the slip of paper, she holds it aloft, eyes sparkling.
"…Oscar Piastri !"
Oscar feels the weight of every eye on him. His stomach flips, a cold, heavy pit forming as he swallows hard, his hands trembling at his sides. The crowd doesn’t move, doesn’t cheer, doesn’t gasp—just stares, a living sea of dread.
Then, from the side, a voice cuts through the frozen air, steady and unyielding.
"I volunteer."
Heads turn. Whispers ripple like wildfire. Miss Calvera’s smile falters for a fraction of a second, but she recovers immediately, raising an eyebrow theatrically.
Lando steps forward, chest high, every motion deliberate. His gaze locks on Oscar, and for a heartbeat, the world narrows to just the two of them. "I volunteer," he repeats firmly. "Take me with him."
Oscar keeps his gaze focused on his friend, ignoring the crowd, the feeling of his heart being dragged out of his ribcage, ‘what is happening ? what is this ?’
—o—
"…Oscar Piastri !"
No. No.
He feels Oscar stiffen beside him, letting out a itched breath.
Images keep flickering in his head, each one scarier than the one before. Oscar in an arena, Oscar running for his life, Oscar surrounded, Oscar with a redded blade, Oscar bleeding, Oscar abandoned, Oscar dying. No.
Lando will never let that happen. In a split second he decides that he will not let him leave without protection, without insurance of seeing him again.
In a split second, he decides that he will volunteer. He barely thought about it before the words left his mouth. But he didn’t need to. Because it meant that he will be there for Oscar, protecting him, guarding him with his life. He knows only one of them will survive the game. He knew who the moment he talked. He is going to defend his friend until his own breath stops, until his own heart pounds out of his thorax, until his own brain gives up on him.
"I volunteer."
He hears motion, heads turning, muffled gasps, whispers.
He keeps his head high, looking straight into the eyes of the presenter, surprised by the turns of events. She never witnessed such a scene. What kind of madness would it take to purposefully fight in those conditions ? Keeping her composure, she scans the crowd in order to find the madman.
Lando takes a step, but in doing so, he feels his hand fall off Oscar's back, no longer soothing him. They started to shake slightly. Turning his head to meet Oscar’s eyes, he repeats, making his statement even clearer.
“I volunteer. Take me with him.”
So they did. Shuffles behind him indicated that guards started walking towards them, and in no time they were placing hard hands under his upper arms, gesticulating him toward the stage where Miss Calvera resumed.
“Well ! Oh I’ve never seen that before, how exciting right ?” The audience she observed was either sighing with relief, or looking around in confusion. “Right. So, please give a warm welcome to our two brave young souls, who will be representing District Twelve for this year's Hunger Games ! Oscar Piastri and… Oh sorry love, I don’t think you told us your name yet…”
He was now on wooden stairs, Oscar right behind him in the same position as him, too dumbfolded to process anything occurring around them.
“Lando Norris.” he said, approaching the young lady, beaming at him.
“And Lando Norris !” she exclaimed, turning firmly, speaking into the tiny microphone.
—o—
Oscar did not understand what was happening. He understood he was on the stage, Lando beside him, his sisters looking at him with wide eyes, he couldn’t see his parents but he knew her mother was sobbing somewhere… ‘This can not be happening…’
He could feel minutes ticking by without registering any of them. It wasn’t until he was left alone with Lando still by his side, in the entrance hall of the most distinguished building in the district, that his brain focussed back on reality, wrapping his head around the fact that he was going to participate in the Hunger Games, alongside Lando Norris.