Chapter One

The first few days were a blur, all hazy and full of pain. The bits he could recollect weren't pleasant. Darkness, blood, agony. A tunnel of some kind. He knew he had to keep moving or he would die. That was his blood surrounding him. A missing hand, he discovered, an immobile leg. He noted these things in a detached sort of way, his mind not quite there.

Then he was on the ground. There was rubble all around him. He drug himself as far as he could before he gave up. It was too much to bear anymore. A face invaded his mind, but it was blurry. Brown hair, softly waving around her face...then blackness.

The next memory was bright white. Nothing but a mechanical whirring in the background, and the padding of shoes on the ground. Surprisingly all the pain was gone.

"Awake, are you?" asked a woman to his right. She had a shock of pink hair, little jewels embedded around her eyes. He thought it was the weirdest thing he had ever seen. Or maybe it wasn't, he couldn't remember. The woman checked some bags near his bed, and he noted that little tubes ran down to his arm. With a slight shock he noticed that there were no hand where one ought to be.

The nurse, noticing the sudden increase in heart rate, supplied, "You've lost your right hand and leg below the knee. We've repaired you the best we can, but..." she trailed off. "Well, anyway, we're going to be getting you some prosthetics soon. You just focus on getting better."

He stared at where his hand should be, feeling the loss keenly. He closed his eyes again, and the vision re-entered his mind. The woman's face, soft waves of chestnut hair...not in focus enough for anything else, but he felt his heart tighten. Sighing, he closed his eyes and willed himself back to sleep.

"Doing well today," the woman said as she watched him hobble along on his new leg.

He smiled at her. "Yes, Trinia," he said. "Getting used to these things is taking a while though."

"Just keep at it. And everything else?" Trinity asked him. "Have you remembered anything?"

"No," he lied. The only thing he remembered he didn't want to share.

"Well, we can't just keep calling you 'Patient 2756'," Trinia told him. "You need a real name." Name. He couldn't remember his name. "Any ideas?" she prompted.

He thought about it for a moment. "No."

"Well what do you like? Let's pick you a name."

"I like..." He paused to think for a moment. "I like...water. The ocean."

"I can see that," Trinia said. "Your eyes remind me of the ocean. Let's see...ocean, beach, waves, sea-foam, fishing, current...none of these huh?" He shook his head. "How about some gods then? Aegaeon, Pontus, Triton, Fontus, Neptune, Poseidon."

He made a face. "Ugh."

Trinia laughed. "You're so hard to please. What about the name of some seas. Carribean, Baltic, Aegean - we already said that name - Scotia...um, Coral Sea, Red Sea, Dead Sea, Black Sea, Caspian Sea..."

"I like Caspian," he said.

Trinia raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. "Okay...Caspian," she said, testing it out. "Well, are you ready for a big surprise?" Trinia went to a room in the back and returned with a box. With a great flourish she opened the box to reveal a bionic hand. "Now, I know it's not very pretty, and it's still a bit experimental, but I fought so hard for you to be the one to try it out..."

Trinia trailed off, anxiously peering into his-Caspian's-face. Tentatively he touched it, feeling its shiny, cold exterior. "Yeah." He looked into Trinia's eyes and he didn't notice the way her breath caught. "Thank you, Trinia."

"You're welcome Caspian," Trinia responded, a light flush on her cheeks. "Let's go get this on."

"How long can I stay?"

"Well, you've been here for a six months already...I suppose you're about ready to be discharged," Trinia told him, applying thick cream to his face while he stared out the window. It was easier to get around now, though he was still clumsy on his new leg, and hadn't quite gotten used to his new hand either.

"I hate this stuff," he told her.

"I know, Caspian, but it's good for your scars."

He sighed minutely. The first time he'd seen himself since waking up had been traumatizing. His face was scabbed and wretched, the new flesh they had melded on to his face to make up for the parts missing an angry red. He was unrecognizable. Despite assurances from Trinia that he was looking better day by day he refused to see himself again.

"Who is paying for all of this?" he asked her.

"Hmm. Well, President Paylor mandated that any injured person brought to us following the war was to be treated as best as possible, no matter what. So, the Capitol I guess," Trinia said, massaging the cream onto his arm next.

"Where will I go when I leave?" he asked her next. It had been weighing heavily on his mind. He didn't know who he was, where he was from. The only thing in his mind was the blurry face of the woman with the dark hair.

Trinia paused in her ministrations. "Well, I don't know I guess. Usually amnesiacs will regain their memories quickly, or else it is recommended they go back to their home. But we don't know where that is with you." Trinia thoughtfully resumed smearing the cream on his body scars. "You could go to one of the Districts, I suppose. They're all rebuilding, and it would be easier to make a life there than here, I suppose," she said. "I know District Twelve is in complete shambles. They are starting from the ground up."

"What do they do there?" he asked her. Trinia had briefly explained about each District but he was on heavy pain killers then and couldn't recall.

"Coal. I hear there are plans to put in a medicine factory once it gets up and running again. They're going to need workers, and it might be a good place for you to be, what with your special attachments," she mused. She gave his cheek a pat. "There, all done. My, you are handsome, in spite of it all. Won't you look?"

He shook his head. "When can I check out?"

Trinia frowned. "You're so anxious to leave me." Truth be told, he'd been starting to feel restless. There was something he needed to do, someone he needed to find. "You can check out as early as next week."

He nodded, flexing his bionic hand. It still took some getting used to, but slowly he was adjusting. Each step on his new leg, each time he managed to grip something with his fake hand. He was determined.

He stood at the front desk, waiting for the receptionist to stop tapping her fingers against the keys. He was finally leaving, though he didn't know to where, really.

"Okay, you're free to go," said the receptionist, a fake smile on his face. The receptionist had puke green hair plastered to his head, and strange make up all over his face in swirling patterns.

"Thanks," Caspian muttered, taking the paper handed to him. He turned to talk outside, the first time he'd be in the sunshine since he woke up in the hospital.

As he headed toward the door, someone yelled his name. "Wait! Wait!" Trinia was running toward him as fast as she could in her oddly shaped heels. She panted for a few moments before she righted herself, fixing her nurse's outfit. "I wanted to give you this."

Trinia held out a metal tin to him. Curious he opened it to find some of the same scar cream she insisted on rubbing on him since his skin was healed enough to warrant it. "Thanks," he said.

"Now, I know you don't remember anything," she said lowly, pulling something from her coat pocket, "and that you don't know where you are going, so I took the liberty of getting you started." She held out a wallet to him. Inside was an ID with the name "Caspian Sea" and his picture on it, several hundred dollars and a train ticket.

His mouth opened in surprise. "Trinia-" he started.

She waved him off. "Call me. If you ever, ever need anything. I've written my number and it's in the wallet." She cleared her throat and stood taller. "Good luck."

Her eyes seemed a little wet, and he swore her bottom lip quivered. A slow smile spread upon his lips and he moved forward to embrace the woman who had nursed him back from the brink of death. "Thank you, Trinia," he whispered. "I'll keep in touch. I promise."

She squeezed him back then pushed him away, dabbing her eyes. "Now go on. That train is leaving in an hour."

Something that felt like his old self slipped out, and with a grin he gave her hand a kiss. "Farewell, Trinia."

With that he walked out of the hospital and into the hustle and bustle of the rebuilding Capitol.

The train zoomed along and looking out of the window made him feel sick. He closed his eyes against the strain, feeling nauseous. He'd been on a train like this many times before, he knew. Fragmented memories filtered through, and he grasped onto them, trying to remember more. Bubbly drinks and people with strange hair clothes, similar to the fashion of Trinia. He didn't like these people. Most of them flirted with him, all smiles and suggestions, some even touched him on the arm, the chest. He would smile back, but inside he was disgusted.

That was it. He thought about it more, trying to glean further memories to no avail. Sighing he stretched himself out on the couch he was on. The train was odd, he decided. It looked more like a living room than public transportation. There were a few other passengers, a father and his two daughters, who looked normal, seeing as their hair looked natural and their clothes not outlandishly uncomfortable. There was also a woman with purple hair and a tight, voluminous dress, an elderly man reading a paper, and a young couple, again of the "normal" variety.

He tapped his fingers absentmindedly against his leg but stopped when he hit the metal tin. Taking it out he opened the top, sniffing the contents. It was pleasant smelling, though he couldn't pinpoint the essence. Delicately he dipped his finger into the cream, massaging it into his face. He grimaced, but Trinia would be proud. He'd glanced his reflection in the mirror and he wasn't as displeased as he thought he might be. There was extensive scarring on his face, but his skin was all the same color now, which was a vast improvement, and the new flesh had seamlessly integrated itself into his face, small lines the only hint that it wasn't his real skin. Still, he looked different. He wasn't sure what he looked like before, but this was much different.

His hair was cropped short, slightly above buzzed. He seemed to remember being more tan, and his skin now was pale and still sickly looking. His hand and leg replacements were obviously new, and while he didn't care so much what others thought, it was still hard for him to get used to.

He had decided to go to District 12. The idea of rebuilding, starting over appealed to him. If he had to begin anew, he'd prefer to do it with others.

It was another day before he stepped off the train in District 12. He nearly regretted it. The whole district was in shambles still, buildings mostly in ruins and roads that were far from paved. He shifted nervously, checking his pocket for his wallet. Unsure what to do, he followed the small crowd into the town center.

It was there that he wandered around for a while until he found someone what looked like they might be in charge. She seemed friendly, if a bit worn around the edges, with brown hair streaked with gray, and smiling eyes.

"Yes?" she answered when he called to her.

"Um..." And he wasn't sure what to say. "I'm new here. They said that District 12 was rebuilding..."

She smiled kindly at him. "Well, we're always looking for new hands to help rebuild. What's you name?"

It took him a moment, but finally he said, "Caspian."

"Very nice to meet you dear," she said. "Where are you from?"

"I...I don't know. I just got released from the hospital, and..." he trailed off.

The smile slipped for a moment as the woman looked over his him again. "Well, why don't we head over to the Justice Building and we'll get you set up, hmm?" He followed her to the building on the far side that he had walked by several times. It was still on some disrepair but it seemed to have been worked on more than the others.

She walked straight behind the front counter and motioned for him to follow. "Well, we don't have many houses," she mused to herself. "This one is in pretty decent shape, I suppose...better than some others, at least. You'll have to fix it up some," she said, turning to him. "Some others will be by later to help you." After signing some papers she turned to him and motioned him to follow.

He followed her down the road until they came upon a row of small houses, the closer of which were in better shape than the ones further down. "We're still fixing things up here," she explained. "We've go the Victor Village all filled up already-mostly families though we have the exception, of course." He shot her a quizzical look. "Oh, well," she said, suddenly a bit flustered, "Katniss is in her old house again. It's just her, but Sae goes up every day with her granddaughter to check on her. Poor dear hasn't been the same since..." She trailed off.

Katniss. The name tugged on his memories. He knew that name. He remembered brown hair and rope and knots...Was it her? The woman from his memories?

"Here we are," she said, stopping in front of a house in mild disrepair. It would need some work on the roof, and a new door. The windows ought to be replaced. "It's not much," she admitted, "but please feel free to ask anyone for help. All of us are starting anew, and we've always been a community. I'll let you get settled in."

"Thank you," he told her. She had already turned to leave when he called out, "Wait! I- I don't know your name."

She smiled at him. "I'm Hazelle Hawthorne. I live in the house with the flowers in the front, next street over. Come see me anytime."

"Thank you," he said again. He turned to his new house. Tentatively he walked inside. It looked like there had already been some work done, but there was much left to do. The kitchen was small, having an oven-stove combination, a refrigerator that wasn't working, and a small table with mismatched chairs. There was a small living room that had a love seat and a fireplace. The hallway led to the bathroom on the left and his bedroom on the right. It was a comfortable size, but it had no bed.

Walking back to the kitchen he noticed a broom and dustpan in the corner. The house was all dusty, and that was a good a place as any to start.