You never thought you’d miss District 12 until you were Reaped, ripped straight from your home and placed into the calloused hands of your mentor, Coriolanus Snow.

The Gamemakers were testing something new this year, not unlike the quirks added to Games past. You had heard whisperings of biomes changing daily, four or more tributes, and even an entire Arena that was underwater. You, however, didn’t expect this year’s change.

Betting. Except not only does the winning party make some money, they also win the tribute, free to do whatever they want with them afterwards. Maybe you shouldn’t be scared of losing after all.

You were paraded around the party, being poked and prodded at like cattle, forced to walk a runway in the ugliest outfit you’ve ever seen. Then each tribute from each district was put up on stage, sometimes restrained, next to their mentor while the Capitol citizens placed their bets.

You were the last one up, your face being muzzled halfway through due to your incessant swearing and well deserved degrading towards the twisted people watching. The bets for you, even after everything, were considerably high. After all, Coriolanus was still riding the high of Lucy Gray’s win last year, and everyone in the Capitol knew he could make another star. Plus, you were the only tribute from District 12 this year, your counterpart having rebelled on the train ride to the Capitol. You heard the gunshot, saw their body get tossed from the train, and then you knew that you were your District’s only hope.

$600,000. That’s all you’re worth now.

The Peacemaker on stage pushes you down the steps as the curtains close and the lights shut off, the party resuming. You hear the crowd scatter, all going back to their groups to gossip and eat incredibly small sandwiches. You stumble, arms tied behind your back and face muzzled as you look around for Coriolanus.

You see him moving through the crowd, eyebrows furrowed as he makes his way towards you. He sighs, grabbing your arm and tugging you closer as he unclips the muzzle, tossing it aside. “I told you not to say anything,” Coriolanus’ hands move to untie the rope holding your arms behind your back. “You’re lucky they enjoy a show.”