Rated Adult for Language, Violence, Character Death, Physical/Emotional Abuse, Forced Sexual Slavery, References to Prostitution, Slavery and Sexual Situations. Be a Responsible Reader.

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Legacy

001.

The stale air stood stagnic, filling his lungs with a burning sensation. As the wind stung the olive skin of his sharp features, both bruising and drying out the skin on his cheeks. His legs felt heavy as lead, as he was pushed to move forward by the burly guard behind him. Every step up the brick stairs felt like a death march. Unsure of what was waiting behind the fence and steel bars, made his stomach twist, with anxiety and curiosity.

It was true that he was used to the unknown, never being able to stay in one place for too long was a constant for him, but this was different, there was a feeling of finality to this, and that alone made him want to fight back. He turned his head to each side, surveying the area around him, how he was taught, and the bangs of his dark hair spreading the rain that had collected there, as they whipped against the edges of his eyes.

From what he could collect there was nothing but barren land, which didn't supply any kind of cover, and a fog of grey sky that would make it impossible to see through.

It was time that he came to the conclusion that for all intent and purposes he was beyond a doubt, screwed. The thought of never seeing his mother again made his breath catch in the chilling air, all because of a careless mistake and dreams that felt like memories. The trek up the steps was beginning to become difficult with his shaky balance and the gash on his temple that began to seep thought the makeshift bandage.

It was true that he was worse for wear than before, but he still was able to deal out his own violence, before he had been knocked unconscious. His broad shoulders were jolted forward by the barrel of the gun, which was lying against his shoulder blade. The boy slowly swung his head around coming into full eye contact with the heavy set man behind him.

His eye had completely closed by now, and it was a certainty that he would be nursing his busted lip later on, when he had the privacy to do so, not wanting anyone to see the effect that a teenage boy had on his crumbling sense of manhood. The young man was sure that there had only been few that were able to take the man off balance, and make him look foolish which was yet another strike that the boy would have against him.

"You don't have to be rough. All you have to do is ask, but I have to warn you. You're not really my type."

The round face man cracked a crooked smile, his green eyes flickering with something unseemly ,"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. You'll soon find out what they like to do to smart mouths like yours."

The boy took in a breath of heavy air, "You don't take rejection well."

The uniformed man expanded his grimace, revealing his yellowed teeth behind his thin lips, while bringing the side of the fire arm against the dark haired boys face. Causing him to face forward again, a whisper of a groan escaping his mouth. He knew it was against his better judgment to antagonize this beast of a man at all, but the fear and panic that was bubbling up through his body was beginning to form into utter defiance.

He averted his eyes down to his mud covered boots; the rain water had mingled with the dirt that had caught there, making it harder for him to walk, weighing his legs down. He was sure if it wasn't the concussion to slow him down, the paste formed on his shoes, threatening to worm up his legs, would.

And the last thing he needed was another beating, although he was sure the way he had been smarting off to any one of authority would easily receive him another black eye. The scratching of the wind off of the barbed wire fencing sent cold chills through his body, meeting the rain that had settled at the small of his back. His broad shoulders slump, as the man behind him kicks into the back of one of knees, sending him face first into the fence. His blistered fingers from the icy rain wraps in the chain link fencing, as he tries to gain any kind of balance, hunching his sturdy frame even more so.

A shout from above him draws his attention, directing his bruised face upward, "That's enough Cray. We won't have any use for him, if he's beaten to death."

The guard named Cray creases his brows together, "Master Heavensbee, it's just this one gets a little out of line. We had to knock him to the ground to even get a grip on him. Most of the codes don't even fight back."

The boy's soaked dark hair has fallen into his line of sight, becoming a curtain of tangled strains. He watches the voice from before become caporal, as the view of a lean man dressed in purple fabric walks down the spiraling grey stones. The velvet fabric sets off against the murky sky, causing the young man's eyes the need to adjust. The man walks to the fence, which is still closed to stand directly in front of the boy, surveying the damage. He clenches his thin cheeks, darting his attention to both Cray and the broad shoulder boy leaning for dear life, as the rain starts to pound down onto his already soaked clothing.

"We should all be thankful he wasn't an impressionable female in desperate need of something. Aren't we Guard Cray?"

Cray swallows hard, trying to tame his vicious tongue as he responds through clenched teeth, "Yes, sir. "

The thin man leans closer to the staggering young male, whose only sound is his heavy breathing from the long trek up the stones. He slowly moves his eyes to the set that is now studying him. He notices the find coifed black hair that resonates a purple sheen, close to his elaborate suit. His eyes are inset enough to reveal light green with flecks of gold. It's unnerving for the boy how the sleek man is studying him. With nimble fingers, Master Heavensbee, reaches through the small openings of the link fence to turn over the boy's face to each side.

"What did his laser contain?"

"We weren't able to contain that information, sir?"

"Why, not? I thought you were well enough aware of how to operate the scanners."

Cray clears his throat, "It's not that, sir."

Heavensbee rolls his eyes at his subordinates ignorance, "What then?"

For the first time, Cray seems nervous, shifting slightly, the hold on his firearm faltering enough that it rubs the boys shoulder.

"He's not lazered , Master Heavensbee."

The tall man's face springs up, his eyes astronomically wider than from before, "What?"

Cray chokes on a thick layer of saliva, "He's not lasered."

Heavensbee gives a wave of hand, signaling for the opening of the gate to an unseen individual. The gate creaks open slowly, obviously too slow for Heavensbee, as he squeezes through the tiny opening that has presented. The young man nearly lands face first into the soiled, murky earth, his balance easily faltering without the previous support.

His arm is twisted upward and his sleeve pushed up, by Heavensbee, his nails dragging against the boys olive skin, to reveal the naked skin on the inside of his forearm. The boy can hear the intake of breath from the older man, even through the sheets of rain that slide down the sides of his face.

Heavensbee steps closer to the boy, the proximity making him uncomfortable, with a swift hand the man reaches for the boys face, his manicured fingers digging into the sides of his face, jerking the dark haired boys face up to meet his. The boy is met by the green eyes of the man observing him, his own bright blue, never faltering.

Heavensbee's face becomes hard and stoic for a minute before a sense of terror resides there, if only for a few seconds. Ever the gentleman, and Master, he squares his shoulders and signals for an unseen guard to lead the boy into the compound. The sturdy man dressed in the same muted color as Cray rounds the corner, his red hair burning the rain. The downcast seems to have no effect on him as he takes the unmarked arm of the boy, being sure to steer him away from Heavensbee, not to disturb the footing that he now had.

Master Heavensbee swooshed his hand in the air, signaling the gate's closure, leaving Cray on the other side. The boy allowed himself to be lead by the guard, his presence not as dominate as Cray, and grateful to be free of the gun. With still slumped shoulders, he dares a look back at the burly man, while still being dragged; a small smirk shows on his face through his hair that has now been curled at the ends by the rain. The fence now separates him from Cray, but he soon thinks that provoking the twisted man with a gun, may not be in his best interest.

The sense of relief from being free of Cray, is soon gone when he takes in his surroundings of solid towering stone buildings. Their very presence seems to squash any kind of joy out of the environment. He notices that each building has a guard positioned at the rooftop, their fire arms stiffly pressed into the chests of their pristine uniforms. The boy notices that the downfall of rain has no effect on their stances, or their ability to survey the area.

The feeling of helplessness creeps even more so into his body, as looks forward at the back of Heavensbee. When they come to the entrance of a building which has the roof of sheet metal, the boy steps onto the landing, grateful to be free of the chilling rain. The rhythmic sound of the water hitting the metal, almost lulls him into a state of calm, his tired body starting to lessen the adrenaline that had been present.

Heavensbee, turns to the boy his hand extending out to reveal a thin piece of plastic, which he swipes. The square of lights and dials lets out a beeping sound that echoes through the landing. The signal makes the young boy jump, as the wall separates itself to reveal a door. The suited man nods to the slender guard to hand over the boy, as Heavensbee's nimble fingers are replace those of the guard. The boy doesn't attempt to look back as the doors slide back together, once again forming an impenetrable wall.

The lean man's grip lessens a bit on the boy's arm, as they walk through the bright corridor. His eyes need time to adjust to his new surroundings, which are in complete contrast to the dank muted world outside the walls. Heavnesbee clears his throat which earns a sideway glance from the soaked boy.

"Forgive my horrid manners. I am Master Plutarch Heavensbee, the moderator of this facility, when Elective Snow, isn't called to do so. Think of me as a counselor of sorts, a confidant."

This earns a confused look to cross the boy's face; his brows knitted together, "I'm not sure how much guidance I need if I'm dead by morning."

Heavensbee lets out a spurt of air that was intended to be a laugh, "My poor child, you're not here to die. You're here to be a contributing member of society."

Plutarch's answer doesn't seem to help the boy's confusion, as he once again sweeps the thin plastic over a box of lights. The sleek wall in front of them opens up revealing an even brighter room full of machines, with both male and females dressed in all white, making it difficult to differentiate the sexes without further observation. Plutarch's grip once again tightens as he walks the boy into the sterile room, the door closing behind them, as if on cue. A few of the workers turn in their direction, but it's soon until most of them go back to their former duties.

The boy is taken from Plutarch's grasp and ushered into a steel chair, a wake of muddy puddles forming behind him marring the once pristine floor. His head is pushed back into a headrest, causing him to jerk from the action. His defense skills are threatening to come out, but he decides against it, knowing that there was a less likability of escaping if he were trapped inside this building. The boy's arms are twisted upward, by the man in all white, who the boy suspects is male by his frame, to finally be clenched by metal cuffs that threaten to bruise his already battered body.

Soon his head is pressed into the headrest, as it too has cuffs that pinch the skin at the boys' forehead. He's unable to move, his heartbeat drumming, feeling the pulse point at his neck threatening to burst. The man threatens to blend into the room, as he runs his gloved fingers over the boys arm, puzzled by how bare it is.

He turns to Plutarch, his voice strained," How is this even possible? Most codes are filed and placed by their second day of life."

"We simply want to find out his DNA sheet."

The lab worker shrugs, reaching over for a dial pad, which is connected to a set of needles. Placing a steady finger to push them towards the boy, he addresses him for the first time.

"Be prepared for much pain. Seeing that your kind is DNA processed after you vacate the uterus, we're not sure if the crying is from pain or you're inferior breeding."

Without further warning the man jabs the needle into the pulse point, at the base of the boys jaw. Earning a low groan, and the boys jaw to set, making it impossible for him to block out the pain. The machine sped up its beeps and buzzing, as the level of pain increased. It was difficult for the boy's body to cease shaking; it was although he had lost all control. A low groan escaped his tight drawn lips, earning a look from the attendants.

The boy could see Plutarch's face, from the corner of his eye, and to the boy's amazement the man looked rather troubled. The lab worker typed in numbers, gently humming to himself, as he would doing something trivial and beneath him. When the buzzing stopped and the pain started to ebb, the man in white turned toward the screen that was turned away from the boy.

"Let's see here-", the man's eyes went wide, with a swift almost frantic motion he dung his nails into the sides of the boys face. He forces the boys profile side to side against the pressure of the cuffs. The needle still lodged in the boys' skin twists, causing the pain to escalate. The troubled man forces the boys face forward looking into his eyes. The same look of horror that Plutarch had from before is visible in the man's face. The creases around his eyes deepen, causing his eyes to become more apparent. He finally lets go of the boys face, turning to Heavensbee.

"Master Heavensbee, you must see this now."

Heavensbee makes his way over to the man in the white protective suit, his own purple one sending streaks of color through the air. Master Heavensbee finally makes his way to the slightly younger man, as he moves the screen up towards them further. They both stare at the boy with looks of confusion, soon turning their backs to the boy, deep in conversation. The young man isn't able to observe their faces but he can hear the strain in their voices, which is heavy in the large lab. However with their voices so low and only the visibility of their backs, he can hear parts of their conversation.

"He's his son."

"What are we supposed do?"

"Snow will have our heads if we don't come to him with this revelation."

"He may still collect them even if we do."

The man in the white turns rapidly towards the young boy, his voice tight, "Snow has just been given a gift of great advantage."

Plutarch turns more slowly, inching his body around, his voice careful, "Indeed he has."

The man pushes a button which releases the boy from his shackles, his body still tense from the pain. With little to no finesse the man yanks out the needle from the boy's neck, earning a groan of disgust. Plutarch goes to the screen, pushing buttons mindlessly, when finally a thin layer of plastic emerges. The clear piece of plastic has moving images on it, which fly across it with purpose.

The boy is violently pulled from the metal chair by the man in white, while Plutarch sweeps his thin piece of plastic from before, across another box of beeping lights. Another door appears from the opposite side from where they originally came, revealing yet another guard brandishing a weapon. The crude man in white pushes the injured boy to the guard, wiping his hands of any responsibility. Plutarch looks at him with a puzzled look, as he motions the man forward.

"Aren't you coming Letus?"

The man known as Letus plants his feet, "I certainly am not".

Plutarch sighs, "Why is that?"

"I refuse to be punished because some unwashed bastard had the misfortune to be born to an inferior inciter."

Plutarch straightens his shoulders, his voice exasperated," So be it."

The boy locks eyes with Letus, squaring his shoulders to show his full height, the first time he had been so bold to show defiance, since his standoff with Cray. He knew they would see him as less than a person, but he wouldn't make it easier for them to belittle him. Plutarch walks through the opening, signaling for the door to close and the lab along with Letus to become a memory. Letus seems unnerved, as the doors close, the boy never losing eye contact. When the wall is solid again, Plutarch speaks.

"Try not to let Letus' words rile you up. It isn't of any fault of yours, to who you were born to."

The boy sneaks a look back to Plutarch, "Isn't it though? If not then why am I here to begin with?"

Plutarch averts his eyes, as the guard pushes the boy forward with the butt of his fire arm. The hallway is long and winding, the walls not the same sterile white as the lab or entry way, but lavished in deep purple that seems to flow even with little to no air flow. Plutarch blends into the walls, his suit making him appear to be an illusion. The boy's damp clothes have now dried from the rain to now only be replaced by the sweat that is forming under his arms and the beads of sweat that lace into his long lashes.

The guard ushering the boy stops short at a door, that the boy can only assume is made up of a sturdy lumber such as oak. It reaches up towards the ceiling of the tall corridor, threatening to rise up through the roof. Plutarch gently moves the boy to the side, moving to the door with trepidation, allowing his white knuckles to knock loudly. With this motion the guard takes his place against the purple soaked walls, his fire arm held tightly to his chest. A booming voice comes from under the threshold, giving Plutarch admittance.

Plutarch motions for the boy to follow, allowing him to walk on his own accord. He stays behind the slender man, as the doors are opened with flourish and a creaking sound echoes through their bodies. The boy is hit with the sickly sweet stench of flowers, his olive skin becoming irritated by the thickness of the aroma. He wills himself not to throw up as he looks to the man sitting at a large desk, his face almost not seen by vases upon vases of white roses. Plutarch rushes to him with little grace, almost tripping over his own feet in the process. He hands the older man the plastic sheet that he had retrieved from the lab, his fingers shaking slightly.

He leans his head down to speak into the ear of the white haired man, his sunken face blending into the budded flowers. The dark haired boy's blue eyes shine, with the backdrop of bright flowers and deep colored walls. He shifts from foot to foot, becoming uneasy under the seated man's stare. The white haired man breaks his glare, as he studies the plastic report, which has now been placed in his hands. He rapidly looks to the boy and back to the clear plastic, trying to size either up. The older man turns his head to Plutarch, only showing his profile, as Plutarch nods in agreement.

Quickly, standing up right he takes his leave haphazardly, rounding the desk, and briefly making eye contact with the boy. The gust of wind, he wasn't aware was present makes the skin on his arm become cold. When the doors are closed behind Plutarch, the boy is aware of the drop of temperature, as he is left alone with the man behind the desk. The white haired man reclines back into his chair looking the boy up and down.

"I suppose that you may be wondering who I am?"

The boy tries to swallow the lump forming at the base of his throat, "I know who you are. A man of your stature isn't easily unnoticed, Elective Snow."

A small smirk mares Snow's face, "Neither is a young man of your genealogical background."

"I'm sure I'm not aware of what you mean."

Snow scoots his chair away from the desk, standing up from it making his way to the front. His hand slides through the petals, causing them to flow like falling clouds. The boy becomes uneasy with the proximity, contemplating to back up against the door, although he ultimately decides against it, resuming his footing.

"Why don't we make a promise not to lie to each other?"

"Very well. What do you want me to be honest about?"

Snow folds his arms, "Let's start with the interesting revelation that is your DNA sheet-", and Snow stops to reach for the thin piece of plastic behind him, "What is it that they call you?"

"You may want to be more specific."

The boy was aware that being so brazen with the man was severely unwise, but the defiant streak from before was bubbling up once again, giving him far more bravado than was healthy.

"The name boy that your inferior parents gave you after your birth."

The boy squares his broad shoulders, "Brenton Everdeen."

A/N: I have finished this story. I will be adding the additional chapters shortly. I listed this story as PK, because their story is extremely important to the plot and the essence of the fic, I'm just mentioning this is anyone is wondering about their absence. As always, Reviews Are Love!

-Stace