A/N Just to warn you now there won't be a regular update schedule for this. It will be about six chapters and I aim to get the next of those up in the next week but since I'm a year 11 with far too much work, no promises. Enjoy and remember to review!

Prologue

She's used to this. Every year the entire district's teenage population comes out of their ramshackle houses and stands, dolled up, in this courtyard. They call it 'the Reaping'. This is her sixth year, though probably not her last, and she stands there with her usually free-flowing hair cruelly imprisoned in a tight plait down her back.

Honestly, Santana often wonders if her name is even in those reaping balls. She has no family; almost her entire life has been lived alone. She knows no one except those she trades with to stay alive. There are no friends, no special someone. No one even glances her way among the waiting masses, let alone watch her worriedly.

That Capitol idiot, Effie Trinket, makes her way to the stage with her hair striped oddly red and white. Santana is reminded of the ancient children's book 'Where's Wally' that her history teacher once showed her.

Effie reels off the whole spiel about the rebels and the reaping; it isn't anything that a soul there hasn't heard a million times before and then she plunges her hand into the bowl for female tributes with a cheery, 'May the odds be ever in your favour.'

Yet when Effie reads out the two words that no girl wants to hear: their own name, Santana seems unaffected. The chances were always there after all, it is no shock, and she thinks it's actually better this way. She has the best prospects of all the potential tributes in the district due to her hunting skills and it isn't like she has anyone to miss her.

A collective sigh envelopes the courtyard as she plods confidently up to the stage, confirming her thoughts. It is only once she reaches the stage that she allows herself to survey her potential opponents. Many of them are halfway between relief that their girlfriends are safe and agonising fears for themselves.

Santana can pick out hulk-like Finn Hudson who looks close to tears and his girlfriend Rachel Berry on the other side, already bawling. Then there's elegant Mike Chang, balling his fists with tension and little Artie Abrams, who Santana prays will not be picked, not because she has a liking for him but because he won't last three seconds in the Games in that wheelchair.

Finally, Effie dispels the suspense by plucking out a name and reading it aloud.

Kurt Hummel is eighteen years old and the only way he can really be described is delicate. What little colour he has drains from his face. Finn and Rachel are sobbing now; they may be free but Kurt is Finn's brother. Santana can see his father shouting angrily and cursing the Capitol. They have a close bond, Burt and Kurt, ever since the death of Mrs Hummel.

The greatest tragedy to the scene, however, is the expression on Blaine Anderson's face. It is pure anguish. No one else looks at Kurt's 'best friend' except Santana and suddenly she can see what no one else does.

Blaine screams Kurt's name over and over and Kurt locks gazes with his boyfriend. At first, Santana wonders why Blaine doesn't come crashing forwards to volunteer, after all, he seems like that type. Then she notices that Blaine stands behind the line separating adults and teens. He is nineteen years old and therefore too old to compete in the Hunger Games.

It is obvious from the uproar that Kurt will be sorely missed. There is no way he will be able to win, with his slender frame and evident diffidence. There is nothing that Blaine or Burt can do to save him. But Santana can. From the second his feet hit the platform, Santana Lopez resolves to do everything within her power to ensure that Kurt Hummel wins the 71st Hunger Games.