The District Eight boy's labored, irregular breathing was audible even amidst the general noise of the station. Slumped against the wall, his long black braid fell over his shoulder, loose strands escaping their bind. He looked both defeated and exhausted. Hazel observed him and wondered if his actions were driven by bravery or idiocy. She hadn't considered the idea of smuggling a weapon to the Capitol; the thought of single-handedly challenging the system seemed absurd, if not outright suicidal.
Beside him, his district's female tribute attempted to offer some consolation. The girl's gestures were gentle, but her eyes betrayed her concern. Hazel couldn't help but think of the recklessness of the boy's actions. His defiance, while brave, could have dire consequences not just for him but for both of them and even for their families back in District Eight.
Silus's gentle nudge broke her observation.
Peacekeepers organized the tributes into a neat line, arranging them in order of their districts. The line began with the tributes from District One and culminated with District Twelve.
Meanwhile, the boy from District Eight was now in the firm grip of two peacekeepers. They escorted him with a firmness that left little room for resistance. His toes grazed the ground as they maneuvered him into place. His head hung low, his previous fire of defiance reduced to a flicker.
In the center of the line, Hazel and Silus stood shoulder to shoulder. Silus' grip was gentle on her hand, and his injured palm was hidden in hers.
The head peacekeeper addressed the tributes in a no-nonsense tone. "Alright, everyone," he began, his voice echoing with authority. "You will stay on the marked path at all times. If you even breathe too close to the barriers, you will be shot on sight." She glanced at the marked path ahead, a clear boundary set to contain them.
"I suggest you all stay in line," the peacekeeper continued, his gaze sweeping over the group. "Don't even give me a reason to think about you. I am not in the mood, and I'm sure Dr. Gaul would like all twenty-four of you to make it to the games intact."
His eyes then fixed on the boy from District Eight. "As intact as possible, at least."
Hazel exchanged a quick, uneasy glance with Silus.
With a loud whistle from him, they embarked on the parade through the Capitol, leaving the train station behind.
As Hazel and Silus stepped out of the train station, the transition from the subdued atmosphere within to the overwhelming scene outside was immediate and jarring. The air buzzed with the clamor of countless voices, a sound that seemed to vibrate through the ground and into Hazel's bones.
The sheer magnitude of the city struck Hazel with full force. Towering skyscrapers, gleaming with glass and steel, soared into the sky, their surfaces reflecting the brilliant sun. The architecture was mesmerizing, with buildings twisting into spirals and curves in ways that defied Hazel's understanding of physics.
As they walked, the crowd seemed to swell, with more and more people lining the streets to glimpse the tributes. The Capitol citizens clamored to see them. They were like animals on display, her every move watched by hundreds of eyes.
The pathway marked for the parade was lined with vibrant, flamboyant crowds. Capitol citizens, dressed in the most extravagant and colorful attire Hazel had ever seen, pressed against the barriers, their eyes wide. Their clothes were not just garments but statements of art – flowing robes with shimmering fabrics, suits adorned with sparkling jewels, and hairstyles that defied gravity, dyed in every color of the rainbow.
The air was thick with the scent of exotic perfumes and the sounds of laughter and chatter. Music played from unseen speakers. She saw faces lit up with excitement and morbid fascination.
Hazel's eyes met Silus's, and his expression reflected her feelings.
Everywhere they turned, cameras loomed like omnipresent watchers, capturing their every move. Their unblinking, excited stares reminded her of swarming bees. Several cameras zoomed in on her and Silus.
Overhearing snippets of conversation from the onlookers only heightened Hazel's sense of alienation. "Poor things have to kill each other or watch the other die," one voice said, a tone of pity lacing their words. "I can't believe their bad luck," another chimed in, while a third added, "That is so sweet they are holding hands, their poor parents."
Another spectator, focusing on Silus, remarked, "Look at those muscles; lumberjacks are strong. He could definitely break two's winning streak."
"And you know what they say about redheads."
Hazel could sense that Silus heard these comments, too. Hazel glanced down at their interlocked hands; her fingers shielded Silus's wounded palm. She was cautious, avoiding any pressure that might cause him discomfort. Yet, it was Silus who tightened his hold.
"Careful," she whispered, "Don't hurt yourself."
His response came in a low, strained tone. "My hand is the least of my pain right now."
She nodded and looked ahead toward the front of the line. Leading the procession, Dr. Gaul and Senator Snow embodied the grandeur of the Capitol. Dr. Gaul's hair, a mane of untamed curls, bounced with each step she took. Beside her, Snow's hair, a lustrous golden hue, shimmered in the sunlight, enhancing his already imposing presence. Their strides were assured, exuding the confidence of those who wielded power effortlessly. They were like Panem's unofficial king and queen, presiding over a kingdom built on spectacle and death.
The Capitol would never admit it, of course. They would always tout how a democracy ruled Panem. It was a veneer of democracy. Even in the districts, whispers of Snow's growing dominance over Panem's political landscape were familiar.
The current president, President Ravinstill, whose term had been marred by personal tragedy and growing unrest, was rumored to be stepping down. The death of his son several years prior had cast a long shadow over his leadership, and many in the Capitol and beyond felt that a change was imminent. In the Capitol, where appearances and perception mattered most, Senator Snow's star was on the rise. Young, charismatic, and backed by considerable financial resources, he was seen by many as the inevitable successor.
Hazel's body was a tangle of nerves and exhaustion as the sun began to dip, casting a golden glow over the Capitol. The march through the city was draining. They were approaching a grand stage, surrounded by an even larger crowd than before. Several prominent figures, including several other senators and President Ravinstill, were waiting for them on the stage.
However, the four young individuals standing beside these political leaders captured Hazel's attention—they were the last four victors of the Hunger Games.
A young woman with long, wavy, golden brown hair stood straight, muscles tense. Mags Flannaghan, the winner of the 11th Hunger Games from District Four. Mags had been a master of improvisation, even in an environment far from the aquatic comfort of her district. Hazel shuddered, looking at the girl’s attractive yet deceptively intelligent features.
Despite the odds, Mags had used her knowledge of fish hooks in a unique way. She had crafted multiple small but lethal hooks from scraps of metal and wire found in the arena. While typically used for fishing, these hooks were repurposed by Mags as traps for other tributes.
Mags integrated hooks into the arena's concrete landscape. She set traps near crucial areas for survival, such as paths leading to essential supplies. These hooks were camouflaged within the cracks and crevices of the concrete. Creativity could be just as lethal as brute force.
Beside Mags stood the last three victors from District Two. First was Caius Bane, the towering champion of the 12th Hunger Games. His deep, unwavering gaze accentuated his muscular frame and imposing stature. His win had been marked by brute strength and tactical prowess, dominating his opponents with sheer force.
Next to Caius was Titus Drake, the victor of the 13th Hunger Games. He was a head shorter than Caius, but his sharp, predatory eyes gave him an air of lethal efficiency. Titus had won his Games through stealth and sudden, deadly strikes, becoming a ghost in the arena until it was time to kill.
The last of the trio, Lysander Knox, stood with a leaner, more agile build than the other two. He was the most recent victor, having claimed victory in the 14th Hunger Games. Lysander's win had been a shocking display of cunning agility. She shuddered, thinking of Lysander. He had been the one to kill Willow Pilner, slicing her young neck with a sword. Hazel shook her head, pushing the image away.
Lucretius "Lucky" Flickerman, the iconic host of the Hunger Games, stood at the forefront of the stage. Adorned in his signature high-collared blue suit embellished with rhinestone accents, he epitomized the flamboyant charm the Capitol adored. His gelled hair complemented the theatrical flair that was his trademark.
Lucky's well-trimmed mustache twitched as he observed the procession of tributes, his eyes scanning the new batch with a practiced gaze. On one hand, he flipped his lucky coin, a gesture so characteristic of him that it seemed to mirror his on-screen persona.
Hazel's sigh of relief was almost audible as the parade ground to a halt. Her gaze shifted from the formidable stage to a vast crater that once housed the old arena just beyond it. The sight, both daunting and surreal, was something she never anticipated witnessing firsthand. The area around the crater had been transformed into a dramatic setting for their grand announcement.
The arena's remnants were now just a colossal void. The air was still tinged with the acrid smell of dust and dynamite, a lingering reminder of the explosion that had reshaped the landscape only days ago. The ground beneath her feet was still unsettled from the recent demolition.
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Peacekeepers guided them as they lined up the tributes on a shorter platform in front of the stage. The crowd's chatter and cheers echoed around them. Hazel's gaze swept over the faces in the crowd. The reality of being on display, a spectacle for the masses, made her skin crawl.
Senator Snow and Dr. Gaul took their places on the stage. Lucky Flickerman, the charismatic host of the Hunger Games, approached the microphone. He flipped his lucky coin with a flourish, a practiced smile lighting up his face.
"Welcome, everyone!" he announced, his voice chirping with an almost rehearsed enthusiasm. "It's that time of year we all look forward to! The 15th Annual Hunger Games are upon us!" His announcement was met with a thunderous roar from the crowd, a sound that resonated with excitement and anticipation.
Silus' hand grew tighter around her own; she could feel his heartbeat increasing through his palm.
"But hold onto your seats, folks," Lucky Flickerman continued, his voice rising in excitement. "This year's Hunger Games will be unlike any we've seen! We're entering a new era for Panem, one brimming with surprises and, as always, plenty of drama!"
He paused, a practiced smile still on his face. "And to add to this momentous occasion, our esteemed President Ravinstill is here with us to inaugurate the start of the games."
As President Ravinstill stepped forward to the microphone, Hazel glanced over her shoulder at him. The president tried to mask his fatigue with enthusiasm, but his eyes betrayed a deep weariness, a man whose spirit seemed hanging by a thread. His speech was brief, expressing his excitement for the games with words that felt empty and rehearsed. Yet, the crowd seemed oblivious to his lack of genuine enthusiasm, cheering him on with undiminished zeal.
Lucky Flickerman's voice carried across the stage, "Alright, folks, how about we meet our tributes? You've seen them during the reaping broadcasts, but now, here they are in the flesh, the brave souls of this year's Hunger Games!" His smile stretched even wider, his eyes scanning the audience with a showman's flair. "Let's hear it for our tributes! Who do you think will take the crown this year?"
The crowd cheered; everyone appeared eager to voice their predictions and favorites.
As Lucky introduced each tribute, starting from District One, he sprinkled his introductions with intriguing tidbits and speculations. When he reached District Two, he highlighted their recent string of victories, stirring up the question of whether they would maintain their winning streak. His words were not just introductions; they fueled the crowd's hunger, turning the tributes into characters in the Capitol's grand narrative.
Lucky Flickerman's enthusiasm seemed to grow as he continued. "And now, let's talk about District Four! With Mags as their mentor, those tributes are in capable hands." He beamed, waving towards Mags, who stood with a sense of calm assurance. "This seasoned veteran knows a thing or two about survival. I wouldn't be surprised if District Four breaks District Two's winning streak this year!" His words stirred a wave of excited murmurs and speculative glances among the audience, their attention shifting to the District Four tributes and the esteemed Mags.
When it came time to announce District Seven, he paused for dramatic effect. The crowd's response was enthusiastic. The concept of siblings fighting together in the Games was a new and captivating narrative for the Capitol audience.
"And now, for something quite unprecedented in the history of the Hunger Games. We have siblings chosen in the same year for the first time ever." He let the words hang in the air, allowing the crowd to absorb the impact. "Ladies and gentlemen, I present the tributes from District Seven – Hazel Marlowe and Silus Starling! It is shaping up to be a year full of firsts."
As the crowd responded, Hazel glanced at Silus. His posture was firm, his gaze fixed ahead. She knew his strengths well – his daily labor at the lumberyard, resilience, and fighting spirit. In the brutal Hunger Games arena, if anyone from District Seven stood a chance, it was Silus.
As Lucky Flickerman progressed with his introductions, he arrived at the District Eight tributes, Ian Threader and Ava Valoum. Ian had a bruise forming on his right cheek, his long black hair disheveled, and his body still showing slight tremors from the taser's effects. Standing beside him, Ava maintained a semblance of composure, though her posture betrayed her underlying tension.
"Seems like Ian here couldn't wait to start the Games early!" his comment drew a mix of chuckles and gasps from the audience. Ian's expression darkened, his eyes aflame with defiance and anger. Taking a small step forward, he yelled, "You all can go to hell, you monsters!"
Unruffled by the outburst, Lucky continued with an amused grin, "Such fiery spirit! Channel that energy and you might surprise us all with a win."
A peacekeeper stepped forward, whispering something in Ian's ear that made him tense. With a clenched jaw, he stepped back into line.
Lucky moved down the line, announcing nine and then the District Ten tributes. "Now, let's welcome Mia Pastoor and Aaron Shepherd from District Ten!" Hazel's ears perked up at the surname. Shepherd. The name rang a distant bell.
Aaron Shepherd stood with his broad shoulders squared, his light brown hair catching the last rays of the sun. Street lamps all around the Capital began to flicker on.
Lucky's cheery voice broke through her thoughts. "Folks, Aaron here is the son of Mayor Garth Shepherd! Talk about a celebrity amongst us!"
The crowd erupted into excited chatter. It should have been loud, but it almost seemed like she was hearing it underwater.
Her stomach knotted. The notion of prominent district members, like a Mayor's son, being selected was unheard of, almost unthinkable. And yet, here was Mayor Garth's son. The coincidence struck her as too peculiar.
Lucky's voice continued in the background, announcing eleven, then twelve, including little Ruby Hart. He added, "Never underestimate the little ones, everyone." After District Twelve received a less than enthusiastic response from the crowd. Transitioning well, he then stated,
Hazel's eyes lingered on Ruby Hart. So small, so young. Her heart sank at the sight of the girl, barely older than Lily and Linden.
Lucky's lively voice regained her attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, now that you've met our tributes, I know you're all curious about the change to our beloved arena. I will admit it has seen better days," he announced, gesturing to the vast crater behind him. Laughter bubbled up from the crowd, and Lucky paused to let it wash over him. "And who better to enlighten us than one of the visionaries behind it all? Please put your hands together for Senator Coriolanus Snow!"
The crowd erupted into applause, the sound reverberating around the stage. Hazel watched out of the corner of her eye as Senator Snow stepped forward, his presence commanding the crowd's undivided attention. His suit shimmered in the fading light, and his blue eyes scanned the audience with a calculated charm.
"Ladies and gentlemen of Panem," Snow began, his voice clear and resonant. "Today marks a pivotal moment in the history of the Hunger Games. We stand here at the site of the old arena, a symbol of our past. But as Panem grows and evolves, so too must our traditions."
He paused, letting his words sink in. He'd like to dispose of the current president as easily as he had the old arena.
Snow continued, "The destruction of the old arena is not just an end but the beginning of a new chapter for Panem. A chapter that will be written in a brand-new, state-of-the-art arena. Larger, more advanced, and fully controllable by our esteemed Gamemakers." He gestured towards Dr. Gaul, who stood nearby with a poised, almost predatory grace. "Lucky is too kind to call me a visionary. The true genius of the games is our Dr. Volumina Gaul. This new arena will be the ultimate canvas to create a true masterpiece."
Snow waited for the noise to subside before adding, "The day after tomorrow, this year's tributes will be taken to this new arena at an undisclosed location. They will be given a tour and an opportunity to witness our Capitol's advancements firsthand. After all, it wouldn't be fair to throw them in without a fighting chance, would it?" He chuckled, and the crowd laughed along with him.
"And for the first time in Hunger Games history," Snow continued, his voice rising to capture the crowd's full attention, "a select few of our esteemed Capitol citizens will have the unique opportunity to join our tributes in seeing this architectural marvel. A limited number of VIP tickets will be available for those wishing to witness the unveiling of the new arena and get close to our fresh batch of tributes."
The announcement sent a ripple of excitement through the crowd. Hazel glanced at the faces around her, seeing a mix of thrill and anticipation in the eyes of the Capitol's elite. The idea of turning the arena viewing into an exclusive event was typical of the Capitol's flair for spectacle.
"As for the rest of Panem," Snow concluded, "you'll have to wait for the Games themselves to see what surprises we have in store. Rest assured, it will be a spectacle like no other."
As Senator Snow concluded his speech, his voice rose, infused with an enthusiasm that was contagious to the crowd. "So, let us embrace this new era with open arms and Happy Hunger Games!" The crowd erupted into a fervor of cheers and applause, the excitement in the air almost tangible.
Hazel's scrutiny drifted to Senator Snow. He stood, shoulders back and chest out, basking in the crowd's adulation. His demeanor radiated confidence and control, his eyes glinting with the satisfaction of a ruler surveying his domain. As his gaze swept across the crowd and down to the tributes, it met Hazel's.
For a fleeting moment, their eyes locked. Snow's gaze seemed to cut through the distance and the noise. The corners of his lips curled into a small, knowing smile. Accompanied by a subtle, conspiratorial wink, it was a gesture so slight that Hazel might have missed it if she hadn't been looking directly at him.
She averted her eyes, pulling her long red hair forward and letting it fall over her shoulder. The strands obscured her flushed face. A wave of boiling embarrassment and dread colored her cheeks. Her face felt as red as her hair.
The cheers of the crowd around her seemed to grow louder, yet they felt distant, as if muffled by her heart pounding in her ears.
As peacekeepers herded them towards the buses, she prayed that they would not be staying at the zoo this year.
A sudden, unnerving warmth trickled down her hand. Looking down, her heart raced at the sight of Silus's blood contrasting against her pale skin. A thick fluid, the shade of crimson, was dripping from her fingertips.
Hazel's breath hitched as she scanned her surroundings, hoping it had gone unnoticed. Yet, her stomach churned with dread when her eyes locked with the peacekeeper who had searched her and Silus earlier. His face was a mask of stoicism, but his grey eyes were fixed on her hand, stained with bright streaks of blood.