The journey to the square in front of my birthplace’s Justice Building is an uneventful one. Outside of my home, I am greeted by a squad of peacekeepers who have come to grab me and place me in a place of honor due to my performance in my school and my brother’s position as a victor.
They quickly usher me into a thick vehicle, an old-school automobile though one built for power and durability. The vehicle thrums to life around me and almost immediately begins to transport me to the city’s square. My enhanced senses allow me to hear over the roar of the mechanical monster I am in and as soon as we are a bit away from the mansion I was raised in another vehicle is driven to the manor for the rest of my family.
We are taken down cobblestone streets for a few minutes before eventually arriving at the heart of the capital of District 1. We are among the first to arrive, and I have the honor of being the very first male of age to step onto the square.
I am greeted by a peacekeeper who talks me through the process of the reaping. As he does I diligently continue my tradition of hitting him and everything around me with “Observe”. As I did I heard a sound I had gotten used to hearing weeks ago; the soft beeping sound of a new notification appearing in a corner of my mind’s eye.
The notification in question was an alert that a skill had just leveled up. That sound was one I heard regularly, to the point that I had almost begun automatically blocking it out. In the time between my fight against the three teenagers in the heart of my school and now I have regularly trained my body and honed myself to the point that I was earning level-ups several times every hour.
Beyond that, I had also awakened a few other perks within me. Some of them merely bordered on supernatural, such as perks that granted me beyond-peak-human levels of awareness and perceptiveness as far as spotting what a person had on their person. Others were clearly and fully supernatural, and they were powers I was excited to unleash on my fellow tributes in the days to come.
As the peacekeeper asks me if I understood everything I offer the man a friendly, yet nervous, smile and nod at him. He smiles back at me and bids me adieu before returning to where he is stationed to work. As he walks away I momentarily consider nabbing some of his equipment, but I resist the urge to do so.
Many of the perks I have awoken within myself are stealth and rogue-centric perks. They grant me greatly enhanced abilities to do things like sneak around and even snatch things from those who possess them with far greater skill and efficiency. With these powers, I knew I’d be a true terror to face in the arena.
I silently stand at the head of a line of which I am the sole member for many minutes. It takes about a quarter of an hour before someone else, a man a few days older than me, arrives. It takes longer still for the first girl to get here.
During the reaping, the children and teenagers of a district are marshaled into the square of wherever their district’s capital happens to be. We are ordered to split into lines based on our age and gender.
Boys are sent to the front of these lines and girls are sent to the back. The lines are put closer to the spot where our district’s “Escort” will appear and place our names into a bowl they will then draw one random name of each gender in an effort to determine which boy and girl will go to the capital as our district’s pair of tributes.
It takes well over an hour before even a quarter of the district’s youth appear. After an hour passes the other young people of the district begin to arrive more quickly, and by early afternoon, around 12:30 the entire district is either in the square or in the area immediately surrounding it.
As our district finishes gathering I hear something that catches me off guard; the distinctive voice of my “Sponsor” Ghriza.
“Hey there Cossus. Keep an eye on your escort. They are the very first of a special group of people you’re going to be meeting; a ‘companion’.” Ghriza explained, cryptically. I knew what the word meant thanks to a handy mental dictionary I possessed that exclusively talked about things like this, “Jumper” terms. Which was why as soon as she said that I began to smile and focused my gaze on the stage from which the actual reaping would occur.
At the moment a handful of individuals were seated atop the stage. One of them was my escort, a woman dressed in the eye-catching and obnoxious garb of the Capitol, who was casually conversing with my brother, who sat next to her, and would occasionally turn to look at me and smile. Another figure who sat atop the stage was the city’s mayor, a man who was something akin to a governor for the district.
Most of the figures who sat on the stage were men and women dressed in the garb of the peacekeepers. I could tell by subtle differences between them as far as height, apparent weight, and musculature, even in their uniforms, that some of them were tall or short men and others were firmly built women.
I am standing almost close to the stage and if I wanted to with my speed I could easily reach it in the blink of an eye. The stage is a pristine thing made of some sort of dark wood and it serves as a platform to make it easier for everyone to see the small parade that has arrived and arrives every year at this time of year.
I can see distinct cameras in the distance, both floating above the square and in various buildings which surround us, and I know that at the moment we are providing quality television to the people of the Capitol. I wonder how many people have already seen my face. As I am silently taking a moment for myself, the mayor of the city stands up and marches to a well-placed microphone at the head of the stage.
He is a short man, though not an ugly one. He is well-built by years working in factories before he made the switch to politics. He wears a dapper suit and is dressed in the more conventional, though sometimes only slightly so, fashions of the 1st District rather than the attention-grabbing styles of the Capitol.
He begins to speak about the history of Panem including the dark days of the Great Rebellion. He talks about this for nearly fifteen minutes before he reaches the next part of his scheduled remarks; the naming of our district’s victors.
We have several victors, many of whom are still living. They rise as they are mentioned by name, and I smile and nod at my brother who smirks at me and nods back. When he is done with the semi-self-congratulatory nature of the reading of past victors he motions for them all to sit down, and when they do he bids the district’s youth “Good luck and good hunting” and goes to sit down. As he sits the woman from the Capitol rises and almost bounces to the microphone.
“Good afternoon good young people of the district. I am Dewda Accessory, and I am the successor of your past escort, Collar Singlerose.” She tells us, with an eager smile on her face. She has flaming red hair, an unnaturally white face, and bright pink lips. Her hair is dressed up in a style that splits it into two buns which sit on each side of her head.
“I shall endeavor to be a good escort and to begin doing that I shall first select the female tribute from this great district!” She proclaims with a bubbly smile on her face. As she speaks a pair of peacekeepers bring the pairs of small tables that hold the thick glass bowls from which names are drawn.
The woman bends over and rifles around in the bowl for several seconds. When she feels satisfied I can see her smile slightly as she grabs a single piece of paper and pulls it out. She unfurls the thing and positions herself back in front of the microphone.
“The female tribute from District 1 is… Glimmer Amulius!” She proclaims brightly, and behind me, I hear a soft sound of people moving out of the way as the girl is ushered forward.
Glimmer is a beautiful girl with long blonde hair and unusual stature who stands close to 5’8” in height. She smiles as she begins to walk toward the stage. She reminds me of Cashmere, one of the other District 1 victors, who is in fact one of the first people to stand up and applaud the girl as she reaches the steps leading up to the stage. Gloss, her brother, also stands up and applauds her as she reaches the final step.
As I look at Glimmer I can see a soft aura of gentle light surrounding her. It is unlike anything I have ever seen, and as I study it the shortcut image in my mind’s eye of the dictionary begins to hop around ever so slightly. I pause for a moment before mentally tapping it. It opens to a single entry; “Plot Armor”.
“Plot Armor: a powerful but, usually, subtle protection against death and other negative things wielded by important characters. It is possible to identify this if someone either is an ‘Out-Of-Context-Entity’ or empowered by an ‘Out-Of-Context-Force’. Jumpers are both of those things, and one of the first supernatural abilities a jumper will gain is the power to see a visual manifestation of ‘Plot Armor’.”
That causes me to chuckle, as I learn that Glimmer possesses a minor version of the very same power that Katniss possesses. She does not hear me but more than once her eyes flicker to me and she looks at me curiously.
Dewda pauses for a moment as everyone around me begins to applaud and I silently smirk at Glimmer. She chuckles at all of this, though the sound cannot be heard over the applause, even as she sees me and nods in my direction.
It takes a full minute before Dewda is able to speak again. She has cleverly decided to wait for the moment the crowd dies down before speaking once more. She asks for volunteers, and to my slight surprise, no one dares select themselves for likely self-sacrifice. This is a mild break in a “Proud” tradition for District 1, but it works out well for my purposes. Glimmer smiles all the while, her lips curled upwards in a half-sneer of self-satisfaction and excitement at the opportunity to inflict violence.
“And now the time has come for District 1’s male tribute to be picked!” Dewda proclaims before her eyes dart to mine and she winks. I smile at the figure as she begins to bend over again and her hand searches the second glass bowl. I quietly wonder if I’ll have to volunteer or if I’ll be like Glimmer and get elevated to my proper place right away.
Dewda eventually stops rifling around the bowl and pulls her hand out of the thing. I lock eyes with her and smirk openly as a hush falls over the square.
“The male tribute from District 1 is…” The woman proclaims as she smiles at the crowd and at the paper in her hands.
“Cossus Braun!” She almost yells, and I begin to smile dazzlingly as I see the almost imperceptible cameras which surround the gathered children turn their focus to me. I step out to the space between the rows of children and the stage and begin to make my way towards the stage.
As I do I feel a wave of fear rush over the men and boys who had come here to potentially be reaped themselves. Over the last few weeks I have proven myself to be a merciless and brutal foe to anyone who gets in my way. By the time I am atop the stage, I feel the fear my peers feel turning into unhappy acceptance of my position as this year’s tribute, out of self-preservation mostly. At the same time I can see hundreds of girls all looking at me excitedly. I can sense the attention that is focused on me, and when I reach Dewda she smiles at me happily.
The next few minutes are a blur. I am swiftly introduced to the “Good people of the Capitol”, Dewda asks for volunteers, and when no one, even Marvel, attempts to volunteer, I am named the official male tribute for the district. Glimmer and I are quickly hurried away from the crowd and onto the luxurious train situated behind the vast Justice Building which had loomed over us all for several hours at this point.
Unusually, we are not even given time to say goodbye to our families. That is one thing about today that actually almost annoys me. In all likelihood, this is the last time I shall see any of them so I kind of did want to say farewell to them… Regardless of my wishes I soon find myself on a train headed for the Capitol.
Glimmer and I are separated almost as quickly as we were grouped together and we are each ushered into separate rooms inside of the train which we both know is headed towards the Capitol. My room is a large white one with a small window peering outside, just in case I want to see the countryside. I sit on one pair of the seats in the room and as soon as I do I relax and allow my senses to flood me with information.
My hearing is ultra-sensitive, even more so now than it was when I first underwent my limited ascension. As I begin to listen to the activity in the other chambers of the train I can distantly hear voices both familiar and new having conversations. Two of the voices I recognize are the voice of the sibling-victors, Cashmere and Gloss. I effortlessly intuit that they must be the “Mentors”, former victors tasked with tutoring and preparing tributes, selected for Glimmer and I.
They converse for a few moments before going their separate ways. When they do I am surprised to hear the softer, lighter footsteps of Cashmere approaching me and the heavier, more forceful footfalls of Gloss going in the direction of Glimmer. It seems that my mentor may well be Cashmere, the stealthy, tricky victor of the 64th Hunger Games!
