Greetings!

If this your first time reading one of my stories, allow me to introduce myself. I'm theotherpianist and I thank you for your interest in this FanFiction. I'm not new to the FanFiction realm, but this is my first time attempting to write for the Hunger Games fandom. I don't claim to be extremely talented, but I enjoy putting words to paper enough to want to share this work with the public.

The foreword, originally posted in the beginning of this chapter, has been moved to my profile. I do hope you take a moment to read it. I do not require it, but I think it might help set the context for why I've chosen to undertake this particular project.

As a disclaimer, the Hunger Games Trilogy is not my own work nor do I ever claim that it would ever be within my capabilities to write anything as good.

I'm going to put in my plug for audience reviews right now. I'm still learning to write as I go and because this story is different enough from my other project, I would appreciate any feedback you as an audience might have. I like to interact with my audience and have conversations that extend beyond the story itself.

Without further ado:

Unlikeliest of Victors: A Fox's Tale

"Sometimes standing against evil is more important than defeating it. The greatest heroes stand because it is right to do so, not because they believe they will walk away with their lives. Such selfless courage is a victory in itself." -N.D. Wilson

Part One: "The Messenger"

1

*Let's see, Journal entry number 34, time of day? Who knows. It's all up to the Gamemakers anyways. I'm recording this is at base camp again so no fears at the moment of any interruptions. Finding food was again no good. I'll have to try again tomorrow. My food situation is getting desperate.

My name is Katherine Finchley Emerson, it's been two weeks, perhaps longer that I've been here in this arena.

I guess I should mention I am about to die.

Or, at least I think I am.

Someone, somewhere, wants me dead, that's the reason why I was put into this arena in the first place. Why else did my reaping go the way it did?

I've got long odds ahead of me. Two brutes and a pair of star-crossed lovers who have the heart of the Capitol in their grasp. No, the odds are not in my favor. Winning isn't exactly something in my favor either.

Four weeks ago, if I had been told I would have been stuck in this mess, would I have believed it? Would I have believed that everything I knew could have been turned upside down so terribly?

I have a plan though. So far it's gone off without a hitch. It's not safe to explain with all the cameras around.

So, because I don't have a lot available for me to do right now, just in case it doesn't work, I feel like I'm obligated to tell this story. It might even ease some of the fears I have.*

Four weeks ago:

I was in the middle of a dark, shadow-lit forest. Everything looked the same I turned this way and that trying to get my bearings. Fear coursed through me as raw and painful as each breath I took.

I suddenly caught eyes on a wolf that was hurdling towards me, foaming at the mouth, raging, spitting, its eyes blazing as it pursued me with unearthly speed and endurance.

I had been running as hard as I could for a while now. I chanced a look over my back to see it was gone. I turned around scanning for it. That was when I felt its sharp claws pierce my back.

I screamed and collapsed on the ground. I rolled over to see it raise its head, I saw its face morph into something far more sinister as it cried out again and howled in triumph before suddenly tensing and pouncing towards me. Its jaw closed around my neck-

-and the bed I was on suddenly exploded in a pile of sheets, blankets, and the like as reality flooded back into existence at speeds too great for my mind to comprehend. My spasm quickly stopped as I sat down my heart racing and thumping loudly I slowly eased myself back into bed and lay still. Each moment in the fear that the animal from my dreams would appear in a moment. When it did not come I wiped the tears out of my eyes carefully and allowed myself to relax a little bit. There was no wolf. There was nothing chasing me.

I allowed a sigh to fill me and more tears filled my eyes in relief. It's just a dream, nothing more. The sun will rise on District 5, its power industry and the Nation of Panem.

Everything will be just fine.

This thought enters my head when another one follows on its heels and I stop myself. It's useless to think that way, that everything is all fine and good in the world.

I heard the door open to my room and I saw in the figure of my mother step through the door frame carefully.

I pulled the blankets around me not wanting her to see the evidence of my tears.

"Katherine?" I heard her ask softly. "Katie, are you okay?" She moved her to the side of my bed and set herself down by my still quivering body. Part of me wanted to play the stone-cold adolescent, the other wanted comfort.

"Katie, you're alright. Nothing's going to hurt you."

The inner child in me won.

"It...it was so real!" I cried finally breaking down into fresh tears as I recalled every memory of the nightmare.

"Shh..." she whispered as I put her arms around me and held me in a warm embrace, the kind that only a mother can provide. I rested my arms on her shoulders for a moment while I draped my head over her shoulder. Part of me felt slightly pathetic for acting like a child but I'm too involved in our embrace to care.

We sat there for a few minutes like this before an alarm rang on my nightstand.

My mother ignored it for a minute before the beeping grew louder and louder.

"Katherine, it's time to get ready for work." she said with a sense of finality.

I mumbled a complaint as she left my side; silenced the alarm the alarm as she left. After a moment more of sitting to clear my head I shakily walked into my bathroom and removed my sweaty clothing before stepping into a somewhat warm shower heated by the solar panels attached to the roof overhead. The lukewarm water cleared my head slightly and I finally got my irregular breathing under control.

After washing and rinsing my fiery red hair with some shampoo imported from beyond, I scrub myself down vigorously trying to work out the extra jitters I had. Eventually there's nothing left to do but stand underneath the water and let it run into the drain. This luxury is only enjoyed for a few more minutes when the last vestiges of heat left over from yesterday leave the water. The water suddenly turned frigid and I dashed out of the shower soon after. I shivered slightly as I went through a small dresser in my room.

Drying myself with a towel I removed my uniform. It's a specially made black polo emblazoned with the symbol of District 5 on embroidered in red on the sleeves with accompanying black pants specially designed to look nice but allow the user an incredible amount of activity and motion. Underneath the polo is a white shirt that acts as a temperature control layer by wicking away moisture. When temperatures drop it can be turned inside out and worn as an additional thermal layer. However, the heat will be here in its entirety within a month or two so I'm wearing it normally.

The material and build can only come from District 8. Only they would have the skill to be able to weave fabric to create a garment with the properties previously mentioned. None of the regular tailors in town can come close in matching their skill. This kind of fabric is rare to come by in this District and highly sought after. Usually the Capitol and the other Districts like 1 and 2 get first and second pick as to the quality of the fabrics produced. When this outfit is worn out or if I outgrow it (highly unlikely) I'll sell it to one of the tailors for a good price. I hear rumors that I could make more by selling it to the black market but I don't have the guts or the need to take that option.

Turning back to the mirror I donned the shirt and polo before putting on the final item, the symbol of the messenger, a red "coat".

In reality it was more like a vest at the moment; currently missing the two sleeves that could attach to it. They were hanging up still in my closet. I wouldn't need them until winter when staying warm and dry is essential.

I spent another minute in front of a mirror making sure nothing was out of place. Today I decided I looked more like my mother than my father. I had inherited her face shape, eyes, and body shape while I had received my fiery hair and everything else from my father. Tying my long hair back in a bun I walked out of my tiny room down the short narrow hallway still concealed in shadow.

My grandfather, Mayor Emerson, is not to be seen in his equally small bedroom across from mine as usual. The only time I see him is on weekends for lunch and dinner which makes our conversations all the more special. I liked my grandfather because he always made you or anybody else feel as though you were somehow the most important thing in his life for as long as you were talking with him. He was a quiet man but when he spoke he did so with power, authority, and a small measure of persuasion as well. All of these things helped make a well-respected man that played the crucial role of arbiter between the Capitol and the District.

Yes, I did also say Mayor Emerson. Contrary to the tradition of previous mayors, he rejected the offer to move into the apartments on the fifth floor of the Justice Building and preferred to keep us in the house that the Emerson clan had lived in for more than 60 years now. He reasoned that it would give us humility to live like the majority of our populace. Instead, the apartments were kept as a place for special guests to stay. He didn't shrug off the Mayoral Manor, the beautiful retreat located outside of town in the mountains overlooking the hydroelectric dam, though.

That's not to say our house in town wasn't nice however. In contrast with the rest of the District our house was more luxurious than most, a perk for having several generations make additions on to the house. With two important figureheads living in the same house though, both my grandfather and father were unable to talk the Capitol out of the Peacekeeper guard that was stationed around our house as an added measure of "security."

Continuing down the hall I hear my brothers, Thomas and Hugo snoring in their room. Luckily, they don't have to work because they're not 12, the age where most adolescents seek out employment. Thomas has three years to go while Hugo has several months. I listen to them snore for a second until a whimper yanks my attention back to the last sibling I have.

I passed by my sister Persephone's door and peeked in. My twelve-year old sister evidently was sleeping fitfully like myself. I entered cautiously and moved the blankets closer to her stepping away as she relaxed slightly. I closed the door to keep her in the quiet darkness for a few minutes longer before the sun woke her siblings enough to wake her and everyone else in the house as well.

I look back at her one more time and as always I feel an enormous wave of sadness and pity.

What does she see in her dreams?

It's a question that I've puzzled about in the rare moments when I have few responsibilities and I'm allowed to simply think. I don't suppose I'll ever know what she sees behind those intense electric blue eyes of hers. She won't ever see mine own blue-green eyes.

After all, Persephone was born blind.

This alone would have garnered pity because she lived in a District where your eyes are always vital. Being blind means she will never be able to hold a decent job (working in the plants is out of the question), navigate the sometimes treacherous roads and traffic, and see the beautiful sunrises and sunsets every day. She'll never be able to finish school as well. The District can only teach her so much before a visual component to her education becomes so much more important. Heck, she'd be lucky to find someone who would take care of her well and marry her. That job for the time being fell to my mother who spent her days making sure Persephone enjoyed life just as much as the rest of us.

The worst part of her story was that at one point the Capitol had teams of doctors here that could restore sight. Sometime later our District had a plague sweep through killing many and leaving the survivors blind. The Capitol, in order to satiate its appetite for consuming massive amounts of power sent more teams here to restore sight and get people back to work. That was before our population rebounded to the point in the years before her birth that there was too much of a demand on the already taxed physicians.

Then, one day, they were all gone. None of them showed up for work at their office. The Capitol didn't have very much in the way of answers but promised that they would send replacement teams. We got some medical specialists back that can correct sight but those gifted enough to restore have failed to show up for eleven years.

I pushed the bitter feelings I had to the back of my head and tried to be somewhat silent as I stepped down the wooden steps into my kitchen. A light was on but most of it was concealed by the figure of my father who was hunched over reading a report. He sipped a glass of milk and only noticed my entrance when one of the steps creaked too loudly.

"Hey Kate." he said in his soft tenor voice.

"Hey yourself." I replied.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked after a period of silence looking over his shoulder.

"Sort of." I admitted. I guess I must have been loud enough to be heard.

"Julia?"

He was referring to my other sister, the one I no longer had.

She had been reaped in The Hunger Games five years ago when she was twelve and had placed 10th. But the games don't award you for being tenth, or eighth, or fifth, anything less than first place guarantees you come back in a coffin.

The Hunger Games are perhaps the most evil and twisted sporting competition mankind, in all of its many ideas, has ever thought up. What began as a form of war reparations for the Districts rebelling against the Capitol has evolved over the years to become an annual pageant of festivities in the Capitol while summer brings with it a shadow of gloom over the others. Every year one boy and one girl between the ages of 12 and 18 are "reaped" from each of the twelve districts as tributes. They train for a week, and then they're sent into an outdoor arena to fight to the death, all televised on TV as mandated viewing for all to see. As a final insult to injury, we're all forced to watch as the Tributes abandon all morality and ethics to kill each other.

That was the world that my sister had been forced into and she had died from a tree collapsing on her. It was already horrifying to watch your own family be crushed under a tree sitting hundreds of miles away unable to help, but the real hurt came as I watched her lay pinned until she was picked off by a sadistic boy from District Six who had found her broken and struggling for life. He gloated about how her family would never see her again before finally having her throat slit slowly. I had been ten myself at the time and as I watched her die she turned to face the camera one final time. The boy from Six had received justice when he was back-stabbed by another tribute later on.

The images of her face, confusion, sorrow, anger, anguish, and terror before she had died have stayed with me ever since. It was her face that had shown up in my nightmare. Her face, pale, gaunt, savagely twisted and snarling was still fresh in my memory.

In the end it didn't matter how she had died or even that her assassin got "justice". She like so many others I've watched have been slaughtered with such callousness that I couldn't help but grit my teeth and silence my angers every year since. It's a death sentence to speak otherwise against a device the Capitol favors to keep the Districts in line. I knew from an early age that this simply couldn't be right. We had laws against killing, so why was killing celebrated?

I nodded once as I realized my father was still looking for an answer. He got the message to stop.

"You look nice today." he said with a smile.

"Whatever, you always say that!" I said eager for a subject change.

"Doesn't mean it's not true Kate."

"Cute doesn't keep you out of the games." I lamented.

He said nothing finding his report suddenly much more interesting. Mentally, I kicked myself as I realized that I had stepped too far and sighed after a moment before noticing there was food for me on our small table.

"I guess I should be going then. Thanks for breakfast Dad."

"Love you Kate."

"Love you too."

Grabbing a piece of toast, I was slightly delighted to taste a thin layer of butter on it.

Swallowing the rest of the toast, I gave him a hug before turning and heading outside into the still darkened world lit every few meters by solar-powered lamps. Even in the dark there were the tell-tale signs of dawn. I looked over to the east where in the shadow of an enormous mountain sat my workplace, two of my districts enormous power-plants were lit up with blinking red lights illuminating the outside.

The town of Edison all around me was coming to life and I saw more lights flick on in houses. More doors opening discharging a growing crowd of workers. I'd have to move faster because, if my internal clock was correct, I had about a half hour before work began.

I feel it's appropriate here to tell about the rest of District 5. There are 15 power plants that are scattered throughout the District's 72,485.3437 square miles. These plants provide power to the rest of the Nation of Panem and its districts and run twenty-four/seven. Our relatively large District encompassed an enormous amount of territory stretching from coast to mountains which allowed for some variation in infrastructure development and I think, with the right work we could technically make all of it self-sufficient, much more so than our neighboring Districts.

The Capitol though would never approve of such a…rebellious action though. Their power exists on maintaining control over us through fear and a constant debt to them. We've been lucky to get away with some of the things that go on in the District through the diplomatic maneuvering of my Grandfather but I doubt any other District receives the same generosity.

Our main industry may be power production, but the Capitol four decades ago has started outsourcing some of their scientific research out here in labs on the outskirts of tiny towns or in the middle of nowhere at all, of course there are other such places in the other Districts but we have the highest concentration of scientific facilities behind the Capitol. Ironically our three nuclear plant are more devoted to the study of the atom than actual production of electricity. The details of what goes on in these facilities aren't widely known, but it is rumored that some of the genetic research that goes into the creation of mutations for the Capitol goes on here. There are other labs that are dedicated to other things like medicine or more efficient ways of producing power. I personally wouldn't mind working in a lab that develops new ways of treating illnesses, injuries, and infections. I could at least feel like I was doing something good for the world.

The people of District 5 all vary in size and color but, as a whole, you can break down the populace into three groups, the Officials and Merchants, who on the whole are generally paler and softer-spoken, those who spend their time in the labs, and the general working class who make up the vast majority of the populace. Their hands are more calloused, and their skin and mannerisms are more rough and tanned from years of work underneath the hot sun. There are of course exceptions to every rule but as a whole it's easy to distinguish those who are heavily involved in manual labor. Some people refer to the officials and merchants as "Townies", those who spend their days in labs studying the secrets of the atoms or doing who knows what are called "Eggheads", while everyone else is a "Boonie."

My grandfather has done much during his tenure to break down self-imposed segregation and foster a sense of unity. Most of the adults from 30 on up have never needed much work. Working day in and day out in facilities where teamwork and cooperation are key, they can mostly put such differences past them. There are of course those who won't hesitate to rub their status in the faces of others which gives my Grandfather a constant headache.

It's the children and young adults that my Grandfather actually struggles with. To the manual laborers in that age group, pale skin is an easy thing to resent and it's not hard to understand why. They've never had fully air-conditioned houses all the time, their work is more prone to accident and disability which could shatter homes and families, they have to worry more about when the next meal is coming from, really, I could go on.

With my incredibly pale skin and fiery red hair, almost unheard of in my district, I'm automatically disliked by my peers who are mostly "boonies." who've already spent most of their lives outdoors. My situation isn't helped by my parentage. I'm the daughter of the Director of Power Plant Operations for District 5 and the granddaughter of the Mayor.

It doesn't help that the young adults and children who live in the families of the officials and merchants often help perpetuate the animosity that the Mayor works so hard to dissolve. A hard task in such an wide area.

I mentioned before that District 5 was also a relatively large territory, but with much of it covered by desert and empty expanses, the towns are the only sources of life that dot our District. Outside it is harsh wilderness that is suicide to venture into alone and unprepared. Not even the Peacekeepers, the local security force that keeps us in line, will stray too far away from the city or their main base of operations which is ten miles south of the de-facto seat of regional government.

I live in that seat of government, a town called Edison. Edison is like most of the towns in my district. They're each centered around a power plant or some infrastructure related to our industry and house a population of about four thousand. The only town north of Edison is Faraday which is home to a massive power transformation plant and distribution hub that sends power to all the District's north of us. Another town south houses a similar complex that sends it eastwards.

Edison just so happened to be in the coldest and wettest part of the District where trees managed to grow in abundance just north of the town limits. The thick forest that grew on the north side of our District expanded all the way up to the town limits and beyond to the other districts. From school I knew that Northeast, and shadowed by mountains on every side was the Capitol. District 1 supposedly lay directly north, where it was colder and District 4 lay to the northwest. Directly east of District 5, District 2 bordered us dotted sparsely by many villages each centered around a mine.

Technically, some of this knowledge I mentioned wasn't meant to be shared or held by the common worker, but having a father as Director of Operations and a grandfather as Mayor inadvertently gave me a bigger perspective on the world around me than most.

I waved goodbye one final time and he exited onto the sidewalk running up and down our street and turned left due north on Voltage Street to begin heading into the hub of our District. I waved to the Peacekeeper guard who stood guard at our house who nodded at me. As I walked the sun gradually showed itself more and more giving the sky a faint blue glow which in turn lit up the rest of the valley to some degree. Far off to my left the faint purple silhouettes of mountains poked their snow-capped heads into the sky. To my right the Mountains running north and south forever were still cloaked in darkness, the sun still yet had to illuminate them.

I stifled a chill. It was mid-June, and the Reaping Day in in three weeks had yet to bring about my district's trademark increase in daytime temperature and an increased difference in the polar opposites of cold nights and hot days. July was the beginning of a perpetual heat wave that settled on our District until late October occasionally broken by intense thunderstorms. The sun at this point had decided to break over the horizon as I turned east with a growing body of people towards the power-plants and began some warm-up exercises to loosen my body up for today's work while I walked.

I have to stop and wrinkle my nose suddenly as I smell 'The Shadow' for a brief second before continuing.

The Shadow is our slang term for the plants stink south of us. The Capitol hasn't invested in their maintenance and safety for decades and it makes the most dangerous place that I know of to live. They call it The Shadow because most of the time, the mixture of smoke, fumes, and smog is so bad that it blocks out the sun forcing workers to operate intense yellow floodlights that make everything a perpetual night. The plants there are aged and decrepit, burning oil pumped from the ground day and night to supplement our supply of energy which is mostly shipped to be refined. To live in the shadows of those is an inevitable early death sentence as the shear amount of pollution there poisons you slowly.

Disease is common and early onset disability like blindness is common. (I personally swear that somehow Persephone got her blindness from there.) Mental disorders are also prevalent as heavy concentrations of raw metals in the soil and water destroy neural functions. Sterility is also a problem as the sheer toxicity of the place destroys hopes for families and places a burden on the few aged workers who can work still. The problem of sterility got so bad in the last thirty years that the Capitol began implementing mandatory fertility drug usage in our District to try and keep the population producing future workers. They would have implemented it all over the District had it not be for my Grandfather again interceding on the behalf of his citizenry to not have such an invasive procedure implemented among the rest of us. The Capitol was more than annoyed but accepted his request on condition that he redistribute the population around every two years. Because of this, sometimes the Shadow gains new residents.

He hates that assignment for good reason.

The greatest irony about living in a place where providing power is the focus of daily life, is that the biggest source of jobs in The Shadow come from operating the massive water treatment plant that spewed forth chemicals and chlorine into a black-as-night lake to try and keep the water somewhat safe from heavy metal toxins and pollution. I'm fortunate to live like most of the population where our water is taken straight from the river. I've personally only been to the Shadow once and I swore I'd never go back.

One week when I was about eight I had started developing a spoiled streak over the course of the week which my father and grandfather promptly ended when they pulled me out of school and forced me to walk in protective gear through the crowded streets past piles of filth, poison, and miserable people. They were there to oversee the plants and provide encouragement and hope to the residents with gifts of food, medicine, and pure water sent by the Capitol and delivered by the Peacekeepers.

When it was all done I was shaking and couldn't believe what I had seen. My mother was furious with them for making me witness the Shadow first hand but my Father and Grandfather won that argument saying that they'd rather scar someone then allow them to live ungrateful and selfish. I've always been thankful to live in the "clean" section of the District since.

Contrary to the apparent popular belief of others in outlying Districts that I had overheard (from conversations overheard with the Mayor), the rest of District 5 did not suffer a tremendous pollution problem. The places where they burned the coal were heavily monitored and watched as high grade scrubbers and filters took at least 97% of the pollutants out of the air. Again, the only exception to this was The Shadow.

The Capitol, here at least did something good, however small it was. We were blessed to be favored as much as we were by the Capitol (I suspect because we controlled a basic necessity and my Grandfather could be very persuasive) and our District enjoyed a high standard of life for the most part.

When the smell was gone from my nose I started again. This sidewalk street climbed a small hill and descended into the center of town. As I descended into town I made a detour to stop by the local baker who was trying to maneuver a shipment of District 11's grains into the back of his shop. I ran up to say hello.

I was about to cross the threshold when a white blur appeared out of nowhere and I shriek as I hit the Peacekeeper broadside.

I fall on the ground instantly terrified as I see that I have just smacked into one of the biggest people I've ever seen and by that I mean tall. He was almost 6 foot four at least and he looks like he was born to police people. Fear flashes in my mind because from prior experience I know that the Peacekeepers are very mercurial in my district. Angering one will get you one result one day and a drastically different one the next day. My eyes ogle at the gun held in his hands. I wait for an eternity as his face with annoyance suddenly spots me. Would I be whipped? Publicly humiliated?

I pale slightly as I imagine what's going to happen next. To my great confusion however he suddenly stoops down and offers a hand.

"Sorry madam, I didn't see you there." he says revealing himself to be an adult, a very young adult, my mind estimates 18 for a moment.

"Oh no, no, no, it was my fault sir. I'll look where I'm going next time!" I hastily apologize.

"There's no need to apologize miss...?"

"Emerson." I say still terrified.

"Well I wish you a good day, your district is remarkable. I'm glad they sent me here first."

"Thanks?" I finally get out.

But he moves on walking slowly and taking everything in, not even catching my reply.

I decided to run and find the baker before any more trouble was caused. I catch sight of him at the rear of his bakery.

"Morning Mr. Hollinger." I called out as I walked up to the back door.

An older man with salt and pepper hair shifted the barrels of flour around and turned around.

"Oh ho! It's Katherine, wonder what a wily girl like you is up to this morning?" he said with a smile.

"Do you have any extra rolls?" I said giving him my best smile.

"Hmmm...let me think about that for a moment."

He disappeared for a minute and then reemerged with a not one but two of my favorites, the baker had made cinnamon rolls. The smell was incredible as I inhaled the sweet mixture of cinnamon and sugar drizzled all over the top. They were incredibly pricey and usually reserved for the Peacekeepers and important District Officials but if there were extras or if there were any stale rolls they were anybody's game as far as he was concerned. It wasn't good to be around when he set out extras because the competition to get them could be fierce.

"For you my clever fox. Here's something to eat it with as well." He removed from his pocket a large white napkin that smelled vaguely like flour.

I'm a little annoyed by his remark but I keep it to myself. He must have heard one of my peers using the comparison and stuck with it.

My unofficial nickname among my peers is Foxface and it's used to single me out for teasing. Foxface, for better or worse, is better than some of the other names I've been called so I'm not complaining about that.

I wrapped my treats and took a bite of warm cinnamon and sugar.

"Mmm." I say after I swallow the mouthful.

"Now, tell me what you do again?" Mr. Hollinger asks a little embarrassed. His memory as of late hasn't been what it used to be."

"I'm a Messenger sir." I reply.

"A messenger for what?"

"The power-plants. I spend my day running around the plants and running messages to where they need to go. It used to be an important job but now a lot of it's more automated."

"Oh. I remember now. Thank you Miss Emerson.

"Thank you!" I gesture with the rolls.

He gave a hearty laugh. "I'm glad it meets your seal of approval! Have a good day Miss Emerson!" he called out as I turned to leave and hastened for a train that was to take me to the two power stations situated mid mountain.

Midway up the small hill for the station I heard someone calling my name. After a moment the person moves into view, another messenger is calling my name. After a second I see it's Cassie, a girl I've known all my life from school. After an excited greeting she bounces up to me with wavy black hair floating in the breeze.

"Hey Finch!" she says calling me by my shortened middle name. Cassandra is one of the few people outside of my family who I allow to call me by my full name of Katherine (or some variation on it) but she uses both names interchangeably. Cassandra is one of the few people my age that are actually decent to me. She may come from a boonie family but that hasn't stopped her at all from trying to help me open myself up to another person. Social interaction has never been my forte but I think its safe to say that I no longer retreat when someone talks to me.

"Hi Cassie!" I say as well, excited to see her. Before she says anything else I give the other roll to her.

Her eyes widen.

"Thank you!" she says digging into the cinnamon roll.

"Ready to get back to work?" I ask.

When we're not running around the two of us are in a secondary school. Half of the kids will go one week, the other half the next. In this way you both learn and do your job. Those who can attend school until they're 18 where we are taught all of the technical skills needed to keep the power on. We can take further classes in the evenings to specialize in a field of work. I'm currently in additional schooling to become a doctor (or some sort of medical specialist). I don't need to have any advanced specialty like the doctors from the Capitol do; I just want to help people.

"Sure, I wasn't too happy about my commute this morning though." she says mysteriously.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

She pulls me aside swiftly.

"Look around, there's more Peacekeepers here today than there have been!" she whispers.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Cassandra is prone to over-exaggerating details. I'm about to tell her to stop when a group of four walk by.

Confused I look around and suddenly notice she's right. The one I ran into back at the bakery is new and not one of the three dozen normally assigned in this portion of town. A truck rumbles by farther ahead, in the back are lots of new faces. On the street corners closer to the station there are also a number of new Peacekeeper's standing around looking around unsure of what they're doing here or at least pretending to be professional. This normally wouldn't surprise me. A large garrison of Peacekeepers is maintained throughout our district but their presence is largely invisible. They mainly sit as security (and sometimes as extra manpower) at the plants.

This though?

Up farther on the hill to the train station there are eight standing as if they're looking for someone and there's a long queue just to get on the train.

This doesn't bode well at all.

First chapter completed! I think it might have been detail heavy for a first chapter, but seeing as this is a District we don't know much about, I feel it's important to build a mental picture for you. The things mentioned will gain increasing importance in the future. Don't disregard this chapter.

Less detail, more action to come soon.

Just as a final note, I'll be picking and choosing some elements from the books and movies. It's mostly confined to things like dialogue, but I don't think it will make a huge impact on the story that will unfold in later chapters. I'll give you a warning when this happens.

Your feedback is always appreciated!

Yours in writing,
theotherpianist