Chapter One: The 75th Hunger Games!

Katniss Everdeen, stared at the tv. President Snow was in it, a small condescending smile on his face, his eyes as cold as his name. Her mind was tumbling over and over, just at the mere mention of the 'Games' starting again. She saw the dead eyes of Rue, the blown up face of Glimmer and countless others. It wasn't enough for them to haunt her dreams, no, she had to think about them in real life. And now there was talk of rebellions and uprisings. It was enough to set her blood pumping, but for what reason she couldn't quite identify. President Snow opened his mouth, and the Capital Crowd on tv fell to a hush. For some unknown reason, a sinking feeling began in the pit of her stomach. She hated the way he talked, silky and saccharine with venom lurking beneath each syllable.

"This year, as you may not know, is the 75th Hunger Games. Thus, making it the Second Quarter Quell of our fine country, Panem." He paused, letting that sink in. A gasp came from Katniss's mother, and she turned quizzically to her, but the tv called her attention back. A box had been placed on the table in front of which the President was speaking. Taking one of his hands, he slowly lifted the box's lid and pulled a slip of paper out. Facing the camera once more, his mouth opened.

"As always, the Quarter Quell features a twist to the usual style of our Hunger Games. And this year is no different." He held the slip up to his face, as if to see it better. "Adding on to last Quarter Quell's rule, there will be double the amount of tributes going in. But the age restraint is no longer from 12-18, instead everyone is eligible to become a tribute, no matter the age." Katniss couldn't fully comprehend what he had just said when he spoke again, this time, seeming to look straight at her, as if he knew she was watching. "No matter if they already participated in a Hunger Games already."

His words faded out, as she stared puzzled at the tv screen. Everyone around her seemed to be already getting what Snow had meant, but for several minutes she could just stare. And then it hit her. She was to face the Reaping bowl. Again.

The Reaping Day

Alfred stood in the 'boys' line. Though that term need no longer be used as there were not just boys in it, but full-grown men. He himself, thought he was safe this year. It had been several years since he had passed 18, the last year to fear the Reaping. Now, once again, he felt his palms get sweaty. Last year, Katniss and Peeta, had won together for District Twelve. They were like celebrities now. Scanning the crowd, he could see Peeta somewhere in the middle. His face would never be forgotten by Alfred. It was the face of a boy who had managed to outsmart the Hunger Games. Looking around quickly, he told himself he had to keep such dangerous thoughts to himself. The Capitol had sent more Peacekeepers in the last few months, and these were much more menacing then the old ones District Twelve always had. Alfred hoped his name wouldn't be called, not just for the obvious reasons. He had a secret, a secret he knew would endanger him.

Alfred couldn't grow old. He'd been alive since the beginning of the Hunger Games. And ever since he passed his birthday 'thirty' and still hadn't grown any older, he knew that something was wrong. Somehow, he had managed all these years. Faking his death, or simply disappearing, only to pass himself back into society. He had to switch his hair and his personalities each time. One day, Alfred knew that he would be found out. This could only last so long.

The terrible thing about never growing old, and as a side effect, never dying (Alfred wasn't stupid enough to endanger his life) was that he couldn't keep relationships. Couldn't get close to anyone. And he was forced to watch all seventy-four of the sickening Hunger Games. Each year, he cried. Even after decades, his heart was not hardened, his eyes not dried. In fact, it was almost like it got worse each year. Sometimes a fire would boil in his stomach and he had to resist himself from doing something out of the ordinary. Such as punching the nearest Peacekeeper or speaking of his hatred toward the Capitol. Toward Panem. Toward the horrible Games. But he was just one man, a man that didn't even know the reason as to why he was still living. There was nothing he could do.

But whispers of a rebellion were reaching District Twelve's ears. And Alfred's. If he could make it past this Reaping, maybe he could meet with some of these insurgents and finally, after years of wait, do something he could be proud of. Unbidden, his earliest memory came to him, right after the wreckage of the first rebellion.

There was something wrong with his foot. And his arms, and his eyes. Why was everything so dark? He coughed, and his chest ached. There were distant noises. Other people maybe? Light began to slowly flicker in his vision, and then it came at once, blindingly. He shut his eyes from the agony, it was too bright, too bright.

"Son, how are you faring? You seem to have knocked up your leg pretty bad." A warm voice spoke to him, and he cracked an eye open. There was a figure, shrouded in dust and the dying light of the sun, standing in front of him. An arm reached down and picked the young man up. "Another survivor of the rebellion eh? You're a lucky one. Most of the people around this town are dead. Surprising, how you've managed to survive."

He blinked again, a sense of something important weighing on his mind. A rebellion? What was the man talking about.

"What's wrong boy? It seems you have a broken leg, and your arms are hanging all funny. It would seem you didn't survive without a few injuries." The world started to tip, and he vaguely recognized that they must be moving. "I can't just call you boy, I'll need to know your name to tell the Peacekeeper."

"P-peacekeeper?" He finally talked, his voice crackling to life.

"Yeah, Peacekeeper." The man's voice sounded slightly intrigued and confused. He had closed his eyes again, the light too overwhelmingly bright. And he was too tired to try and look get a look at the man's face.

"Cat got your tongue boy? What's your name?"

He searched the confines of his mind, but a name wasn't appearing. He was too tired to panic, he just wanted to sleep and not wake up for a long time.

There was a pause, then the man spoke again. "Well, I'll just have to give you one, if you won't reply. The Peacekeeper's will get suspicious." The man sucked in a breath and then let it out. "How about Arin Klems?" There was no response. The boy in his arms had already passed out.

From there, Alfred had been taken care of. He never did find out who had saved him. Never was able to thank the man for the name, and for the second chance at life. Alfred remembered nothing from before the rebellion, only an aching in his heart, like he had lost something great. From then on, throughout the years he had taken on different aliases to suit the times. The current one, Alfred F. Jones, was one he rather liked, though he couldn't exactly tell why.

Escaping from his mind, he realized that Effie Trinket was announcing that she was going to pick the names. He must have missed her whole spiel, so wrapped in his thoughts. Of that he was perfectly fine with. Several minutes passed and then she was back at the microphone, a precious slip in her hand. The name she called out was one he didn't recognize. But it was a woman about thirty years old, her face pale and drawn. No one volunteered for her.

"Peeta Mellark." There was general cry of surprise throughout all the crowd. Alfred turned to look at the boy. What rotten luck it seemed, getting pulled for the Games twice. In a row, no less. This time, Peeta walked up to the stage, no expression on his face. He didn't even turn to look at Katniss, his fiancee waiting in the girl's line.

When the girl's name was called, before Effie could even look to find her, there was a loud cry.

"I volunteer as tribute."

Alfred whipped his head around, shock that Katniss Everdeen was volunteering again. What could be her motivation? Perhaps she wanted to protect her lover. Still, it seemed crazy to think that one would go so far as to put their life on the line once again.

When the other male tribute's name was called, Alfred had been too busy staring at the couple on stage to hear. It was only when a couple of Peacekeeper's started roaming through the male crowd when he started to listen to what Effie was saying.

"Alfred F. Jones, please come to the stage."