Hello! I just had a few quick notes on this story before we begin:

1. This is not a Hetalia AU. It is a future-fic, assuming that the future of the world is the dystopian society presented in the Hunger Games. It is also assuming that there are few (if any) other countries left in the world besides Panem.

2. Most of the Hunger Games characters will not appear in this story (Katniss, Peeta, Gale, etc.)

I believe that is all. If you have any questions feel free to ask =) Now on to the story!

The Capitol-

Panem sat in the comfortable white armchair in his living room, sipping from a cup of tea as he gazed out the window. He could see clearly across the Capitol from his suite on the 52nd floor, although he'd grown tired of the view some 80 years ago. Honestly, he'd grown tired of most of the things in his country.

Unlike the people he lived around, Panem felt no need to alter his appearance with dyes or talons or whatever the heck else was in style nowadays. He kept his pale skin color, light brown hair and blue eyes the same as they'd always been. His Boss got after him all the time to "keep up with fashion" so he could "connect with his people better," so Panem dressed up and put on ridiculous make-up whenever he went out, but changed the second he got back home. He didn't understand why, because he used to love this stuff when he was younger, but lately he found most of the fashion trends to be absurd and downright scary. Seriously, what sane person wanted whiskers surgically implanted in their face? In any case, he did as he was told, decking himself out anytime he needed to go be the face of the nation.

He wasn't allowed to leave the Capitol, hadn't been for the past 50 or 60 years, and no one except Boss, high-ranking government officials and some of the government staff were allowed to talk to him. If he needed anything, he had to send a servant to get it for him, since the store clerks could not speak to him. He didn't understand his complete isolation, because he appeared on TV quite a bit and most of the country was well aware of who (or what, technically) he was, but he, again, did as he was told.

Boss said that it was safer for Panem to be kept by himself due to his "unpredictable mood swings." Panem didn't consider them all that unpredictable though, seeing as they always came at the same time of year; the Hunger Games. Boss had assured him that the whole nation was fine with the somewhat twisted reality show that occurred annually, so Panem wasn't sure why he became so mood-swingy at that time of year, as if half of him was insanely overjoyed and half was being slowly ripped apart in agony. During that time, he was not a very stable person to be around, which meant Boss only allowed him to appear at the Opening Ceremonies. After that, he was locked in his apartment for the duration of the Games, like a child being grounded for breaking his sibling's toy.

Come to think of it, Panem mused, the Reaping Day would be coming up soon, within the next week or so.

He didn't pay much attention to time anymore, seeing as his schedule was pre-planned and recited to him each morning by a guard named Feroe. He supposed he should attempt to convince Feroe to weasel more gym-time into his agenda for the next few days, since he would soon be cut off from it.

Panem stood up, set his teacup down on the windowsill, and walked over to the desk on the other side of the room. He pulled a pen from the top drawer and an index card from the second one.

'Ask Feroe to'he began to write, when suddenly someone knocked on the door to his suite.

"Panem?" A familiar voice called. Panem straightened up.

"Yes, come in," he called back. He heard the deadbolt slide to the unlocked position, the door open and close, and the lock slide back into place. A few seconds later a tall, muscular man with orange skin and flaming red hair walked into the living room.

"Good afternoon, Panem," he said, looking down at the nation, who was only maybe an inch or two shorter than him.

"Afternoon, Feroe," Panem replied with a sigh, glancing toward the front hallway. "I haven't done anything wrong today, have I? Because you keep locking my door."

"No, you haven't." Feroe walked over to the armchair and sat down. He pulled a small stack of papers from his flame-decorated suit jacket, pushed the teacup out of the way, and placed them on the windowsill. "I have one of those important matters to discuss with you, and I wanted to ensure you would be in your room when I had the time to speak with you."

"Oh, that. There's another one?" Panem strode quickly over, grabbing the papers and sitting on the floor to leaf through them. "Where this time?"

"A girl, near District 4. Some fishermen found her two days ago."

"Does Boss know?"

"He was informed immediately after they found her."

"Of course."

"My payment," Feroe held out his hand. Panem looked up.

"Of course," he repeated wearily.

The nation climbed slowly to his feet, leaving the papers on the floor, and turned towards his bedroom. In there, on the luxuriously made bed, a cat was stretched over the bright blue comforter. The cat's fur was brown, the same light shade as her owner's hair, and she wore a swirled red-and-yellow ribbon around her neck. She began to purr when Panem pet her head. When he curled his hands around her midsection and lifted her, however, she hissed.

"Shh, Paneko." He shifted her so he was holding her properly, and continued to pet her head until she calmed down. It took a few minutes before she settled comfortably into his arms.

"Panem!" Feroe barked from the living room. The nation winced.

"One minute!"

He hugged Paneko close to his chest as she started purring again. "I'll miss you," he said. "I'm so sorry." The cat looked up at him curiously, as if confused by what he'd just said. Sometimes, he almost believed that she understood him.

"Panem," Feroe said again, sounding very irritated this time.

The nation stood and hurried into the other room where Feroe stood waiting, upsetting the cat in doing so. The guard grabbed Paneko by the back of her neck and yanked her from Panem's arms.

"President Snow has arranged a conference with you today. You will meet him in the garden at 4 o' clock. You are free to do as you please until then." He walked briskly to the front door, holding the thrashing cat at arm's length. When he left, the door was once again locked, bolt sliding home with a resounding clank.