Disclaimer: The Hunger Games and all of its characters do not belong to me. However much I may cry, beg, and gnash my teeth, they will never come into my possession.

Prologue

Dead.

Everybody is dead. Mom, Haymitch, Finnick, Johanna, Prim... My eyes start burning furiously but my tear ducts are empty. Gale and...

I look down at the body of my only lifeline. Of the man who stood strong next to me through the depths of hell with his head held high and shoulders thrown back.

I'm aware that this is a horrible nightmare, but all that occupies my mind is the empty cadaver I see before me; his warm blue eyes now slowly losing the life out of them like a punctured balloon, his ash blond hair matted down with blood and singed at the tips, his slightly tanned skin now blistered and charred.

I sink down on the cement, rocking back and forth with his callused hand in between my trembling ones. I block out the screams of the parents whose children just got bombarded and mourn over his body with a pain unlike any other.

"Katniss." It is soft, almost close to silence, but I hear it nonetheless. I quickly fumble my way over his hot body and put my ear next to his mouth. "Stay with me." Memories of the day when he sat by me on my bed and when he was about to succumb to the tracker venom come into focus. Before I can say the word he needs to hear, I'm shaken awake urgently.

Right. The Resistance was "successful." Coin is a crowned hero. Everybody hates the symbol of the rebellion. Katniss Everdeen is detained for treason, and her judgment is T.B.D.

I suppress my initial instinct to spring out of my hard bed and vacantly stare up at the only other tribute alive, Beetee. My body in turmoil from the recurring nightmare, his anxious expression dominates my sight with his top lip covered in a sheen of sweat. He taps his glasses subtly, pulling it off as a nervous twitch and motions up to the ceiling. I give him an infinitesimal nod to signal that I understand that we're being watched and I come to the conclusion that Coin has finally mandated for my execution. A sense of relief washes over my wrung out soul.

Finally.

I tell Beetee with my eyes to make it quick, but he dismisses it with a jerk of his head. I crinkle my eyebrows in confusion.

"President Coin has requested for your appearance." He says, the undertone of his voice trembling slightly.

A voice in the back of my head wonders why Beetee cares about being watched if I'm going to be finished off, but I get up anyway. Life isn't worth living anymore.

I rip out my morphling drip before treading down the stark white hallway barefoot. I don't attempt to keep up with Beetee's fast walk until I realize that we're heading in the opposite direction of Coin's office. Picking up my pace robotically, we silently make our way down Headquarters to Beetee's personal lab. The moment we enter, Beetee breaks into a frantic explanation.

"In the next five minutes, President Coin is going to officially tell the entire Capitol that you're a traitor and an enemy to the Resistance. She's going to order for your execution."

I take it in silently, anticipating this inevitable announcement since the day I shot an arrow at her and missed her heart by half a centimeter. I'm surprised it took her a month.

She wanted you to feel the agony of losing your loved ones. She wanted to break you slowly, piece by piece, until you were broken beyond repair.

Beetee, with his glasses glinting slightly in the fluorescent lighting, appears to be on the verge of having a seizure from his incessant fidgeting. "But that's not going to happen."

I almost moan from despair. What more could they take from me?

"The Resistance failed and it's all our fault." His words begin to sound like a clock ticking away. "Katniss, you're going back." Beetee's eyes dart around the door as if he can sense something coming. With trembling fingers he presses something cold and round into my hand before backing me up onto a strange platform, which is reminiscent of the one that sent me into the Hunger Games.

"What-?" My question cuts off when a barrier forms around me. My pupils dilate with fear, my mind reeling from the flashes of the Games. A short beat later, the doors smash open and the room is quickly flooded with familiar white uniforms. With one last glance at Beetee, who gives me a pleading look, he pushes an ominous black button. A hole appears in his temple as a gush of thick blood covers the side of his face, the light vanishing from behind his glasses.

Shaky palms to the glass, I shout his name once and my vision is quickly shrouded in darkness.


Deafening silence is all that meets my ears. An explosion of white light substitutes the darkness. The feel of the dress I wore on the day I was picked for the Games reassuringly meets the tips of my fingers. The nostalgic scent of District Twelve fills my nose. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, but relax, for this must be the moment before I die. When the abhorrent light leaves, I'm met with a crowd of people. My people. The people of my home. My stance stiffens while my mouth dries out at the faces of Greasy Sae, Mother, and... a breath hitches in my throat when I see a little girl flailing in the arms of a dark-haired teen, and I'm certain that this is the Moment. However, something's off. The humidity of the air and tension is far too realistic to be fake. I look down at my shaking fist, slowly unfurling it to see the pearl Peeta gave me, and I realize that this isn't a dream. My attention is swiftly averted at the sound of Effie Trinket's voice, who died saving another woman and her child from the Peacekeepers, before comprehending the name she just yelled.

As if in slow motion, the recognizable stocky figure of the same man who died a month before walks onto the stage with a nervous expression.

Peeta.


A/N: Yes, Coin is still alive, along with the Capitol and the Peacekeepers. It's all for the plot, my friends. This idea came to mind a long, long time ago but I didn't know what story I should write it to. It was further instilled into my mind by Harry Potter and the Nightmares of Futures Past. I apologize for any grammatical errors.

Review with complements as great as Buttercup, or complaints as bad as tracker venom. All are welcome.