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Chapter Text

District 2

“I volunteer!” – The square falls into absolute silence. Jungkook bumps into several boys before reaching the platform, where a woman in her fifties dressed like a hybrid between a unicorn and a stuffed bear quickly extends her hand to him – “Come on, young man, a round of applause for our male tribute, Nep…”

Jungkook’s hand shoots out to stop the announcement and whispers his name into the woman’s ear, who scowls deeply at the rudeness of being interrupted – “Excuse me, umm… as I was saying, a round of applause for Jeon Jungkook, our brave volunteer.”

Silence. Confusion. Disbelief. And finally, someone starts clapping, though it never swells into a full wave before dying out – “Very well, let’s head to the town hall so our brave tributes can say goodbye. Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor.”

The girl beside him smiles sweetly and shyly, just as a District One tribute is expected to. But as soon as the doors close behind them, her true face appears – hard and expressionless, typical of District Two.
“So, are you one of those suicidal types? Because if that’s the case, you’re pretty stupid. You could’ve just thrown yourself off a cliff and broken every bone in your body before bleeding out. That would’ve been a smart choice. But instead, you choose to step into Neptun’s path to glory and mess up my Games.”

Her dark eyes fix on the boy who is just a few centimeters shorter – “There’s only one winner, kid. This is my year, and Neptun knew that. You’d better keep that in mind, because that’s the last surprise I intend to tolerate.” Four Peacekeepers escort her through the first door on the right. Two remain to stand guard while the others take Jungkook to a room at the end of the hall.

Finally alone, he replays the recent events: the announcement at the tribute academy, Neptun crying in panic, the silent moment before he raised his own voice.

As every year, once the Victor’s Tour ended, the tributes for the next Hunger Games were announced. The two top 18-year-olds, Neptun and Ceres, would be privately trained by the district’s previous victors – an unmatched honor.

Jungkook had known Neptun since he was ten, when he entered the academy and the older boy took him under his wing like a little brother. By the time Jungkook turned fifteen, he had caught up to – and sometimes surpassed – his “older brother” in all disciplines, from survival to combat. Just in time for Neptun to be pulled from the group and named the next male volunteer.

Jungkook hadn’t seen him even once from that announcement until the night before the reaping, during his patrol rounds through the younger boys’ dorms –
“Kookie?” – the older boy was sitting in a corner, hugging his knees –
“I’m not coming back. They… Enobaria is sure. District One won twice in a row… we’re allied with Four, but Odair changed everything…”
Jungkook approached the bundle of limbs that was now his big brother –
“I’m not following, Nep. What is Enobaria sure about?”

Suddenly, Neptun threw out his arms and legs from his corner seat and shouted –
“District Two will have a victor this year!” –
But Neptun’s voice didn’t sound joyful. On the contrary, he broke into tears, and a tremor shook his body –
“A girl… The Capitol wants a girl from Two to win.”

His last words were barely audible between sobs and hiccups. Unexpectedly, Neptun pulled Jungkook into his arms –
“I don’t want to die, Kookie. I thought the odds were truly in my favor. I could’ve been a great victor and brought glory to my district. I could have… But I won’t. I won’t volunteer. If the Games are rigged, let them send someone else to the slaughterhouse. Ceres can…” –
His soliloquy was cut short by violent retching. Vomit was everywhere, and Neptun didn’t respond when Jungkook called his name.

Jungkook stood two rows in front of his brother during the reaping – a real holiday in District Two. Ceres greeted the crowd as she walked from the girls’ rows to the stage. Then time seemed to slow down – a few seconds felt like hours – because, after the escort called the name of the male tribute, no one stepped forward.

Silence. The woman scanned the crowd, eyes locked on the line of 18-year-olds –
“Do we have a volunteer?” – silence. The crowd grew uneasy, and Jungkook turned to see Neptun frozen, eyes vacant –
“I won’t do it. I won’t volunteer,” Jungkook could almost read on his lips, though no one else seemed to notice.

Jungkook knew: if his brother didn’t volunteer, they’d call him a coward. He’d be conscripted as a Peacekeeper and sent to District Twelve, or worse – labeled a rebel and turned into an avox. His tongue moved faster than his brain, and suddenly he was walking through a silent crowd, heading straight toward certain death.

The wooden door thuds a couple of times, and Neptun enters, that blank stare not directed at anyone –
“I’m so sorry, little brother. I couldn’t die with honor… and now my punishment is watching you die like a rebel.”

Chapter Text

—I know people in the Capitol see us as inhuman savages, but I never thought I’d live to see the day proud District Two sent a fifteen-year-old as a volunteer— 
The only mentor with the guts to say it out loud, Kim Taehyung, victor of the 67th Hunger Games from District One, shouts it in front of tributes and mentors alike.

Enobaria could be on fire by now. Her eyes are deadly and she literally bares her teeth at anyone who dares look at her tribute.
—Did you pick your pawns wisely, kid? I thought One would send Augustus to at least pretend they wanted to win, but clearly, they didn’t even bother.—

But Kim loves getting the last word —Well, why drag Augustus in when we’ve got… Ceres, right?— says the victor of the 67th Games.
—You’re a pretty girl, sure, but no matter what those two told you, my tributes will only honor the alliance up to a point this year. We’ve got our own conditions, and my lovely Amathis already outshines you in charm and grace. Plans can change last minute, just like Odair showed us.—
Then, locking eyes with Jungkook, he adds —Allies are an advantage… but never a guarantee.— as he dodges a well-aimed bite from Enobaria and walks off laughing at the top of his lungs.

—As you can see, One knows the plan. Don’t let Taehyung intimidate you, he’s just pissed because he wasn’t supposed to mentor again until District One was favored. He wanted another Victory Tour to show off.— Enobaria says it loud enough for the District One tributes waiting at the elevator to hear.
—What about Onyx? —Jungkook asks, watching how the male tribute from One sticks close to his partner and mentor. Brutus pulls all of them into the tiny glass lift.
—He knows his place and respects it. Dying in the Games is still an honor, if you volunteered. You’re not of age, but you know that much, right?—

Ceres looks pleased with her mentors stepping in after the nerve Taehyung had to speak up, but Jungkook still feels uneasy.
A change in the plan, Taehyung said…
Call it madness or survival instinct, but those words gave him more hope than anything else he'd heard.

—What about District Four? They didn’t show up at the Career meeting. Are they out of the alliance?— Brutus, in a slightly gentler tone, replies. —You’re a sharp kid, but I doubt you know the ocean. Those kids are in the group for a reason. Even though they don’t always volunteer, and most aren’t even 18, they’re deadly. They’re born in the water, and when you’re that connected to something so wild and massive… well, part of it stays with you. I’ll try to talk to Mags later—she’s probably why they didn’t come.—

Turns out it was an oversight by the victor from Four that kept the tributes from attending. But they sent their apologies along with a box of fish-shaped bread.
“Bungeo-ppang,” the card says.
—If they eat this in Four, I get why they wanna go back home.— Jungkook mutters.
Ceres doesn’t even look at him, she’s already devouring half a roll from the basket.

The parade goes by without much to say. Jungkook watches the District Twelve tributes dressed in nothing but coal dust and oversized helmets and silently thanks the stars he’s not in their place.
District One, however, might not be as lucky. Their “allies” are on the complete opposite end of the spectrum, covered head to toe in tiny sapphires that barely count as clothing.
The rest? More of the same.
Jungkook wears a silver armor set. His stylist went for a Spartan vibe, which he’s fine with as long as his private parts stay covered.

As they pass District Ten’s chariot, he feels a strange stare but doesn’t react.
One of the academy rules is never rise to provocations, so he looks ahead as if the elevator lights were the most fascinating thing in the world and moves along with his team.

An avox hurries over and hands him a small white note.
Ceres immediately glares at him —Let me read that, little corpse.— It’s like getting punched in the gut. Jungkook feels the bread rising in his throat, swallows the bile, and rubs his palms on his pants —I don’t even know what the hell this is.

Their escort stops Ceres from grabbing the note and hands it to Jungkook instead.

To: Jeon Jungkook

A special gift, for a potential ally.

D-10

—What the hell?— Ceres, outraged, runs to call their mentors, leaving Jungkook alone with the note… and a rabbit’s foot attached to a keyring.

Enobaria shows up half an hour later, wearing her signature wicked grin and dragging along a very flushed Ceres. —That’s a good luck charm from District Ten. That’s why the signature’s there. Looks like Suga wants a professional alliance this year.— Min Yoongi, known as Suga, victor of the 61st Hunger Games.

Jungkook grips the foot tightly, trying to recall anything he knows about past winners from District Ten.
There was a girl in the 58th Games, he remembers her face, not her name.
And a boy in the 61st who looked as harmless as a flower… until he gutted both District Two tributes: Yoonji and Agust.
A pair of idiotic siblings, but still academy companions.

—I don’t want an alliance with some loser from Ten!— Ceres nearly shouts in Enobaria’s ear, but the mentor just keeps smiling.
—That’s fine. They don’t want you, they want him.

Jungkook imagines Suga over Agust, reaching deep into his side and pulling out his heart… while Yoonji’s head, still blinking in disbelief, lay in the dirt—severed from her body. Then the cannon shot. Undeniable victory.

—I don’t get it…— Jungkook isn’t sure how to respond to the offer— District Ten doesn’t make alliances. They always work alone, or with their district partner. It’s almost like a rule.”

Brutus, who just joined the others in the second-floor suite of the tribute center, snatches the rabbit’s foot from his hand. —Almost a rule, but not an actual one. Kinda like volunteering without being academy-selected. Maybe you should take that alliance. That way, Ceres won’t have to bother looking after you in the arena, and with luck, you’ll take Ten out too. At least that would bring some honor to your district.

Training should be easy as part of the Careers, but with Ceres ignoring him and the others going along with it, Jungkook knows he’s walking a fine line.
Most tributes head to the weapons stations, just like the Career pack. Jungkook hesitates, should he train swords with Onyx?
He decides instead to try the knife-throwing station. No Careers are in line there.

—So… we’re allies now? Or did Suga finally lose that screw that kept him sane?— The female tribute from Ten stands behind him in line. —You know, we don’t win as often as you do, but we almost always make it to the finals.

Jungkook doesn’t know what to say. Brutus hinted that he should accept the offer, but Suga scares him…
Almost as much as those microwave machines back in the suite.
He looks at Ceres climbing a rope wall like she’s strolling through the park and extends his hand. —Allies, Ten. And this better be one hell of a finale.

Chapter Text

Where the hell is that idiot? In twenty minutes those poor kids are supposed to be on stage. My district is five spots ahead of his and I still showed up on time.—
Min Yoongi paces like a caged lion backstage at the interview hall. His tributes are already lined up and ready to go the boy in a brown formal suit, the girl in a dress with a cow print.
That might not matter in another year, but this girl is dead set on surviving the arena, and her outfit is just ridiculous.

Most of his tributes were already defeated before even stepping in, just hoping for a quick and painless death. But this girl?
She walked in planning the deaths of her opponents like pigs at a slaughterhouse.
At first, Yoongi thought she might be crazy, but when he saw her convincing the boy to try and win too, he realized she might actually be the only sane one here.
Clinging to life requires a little madness, and if he wanted to give this girl a real shot, he had to act fast.

—Namjoon, who are they putting out there this year? I need allies, not necessarily strong ones, we've already got someone from Two, but if they're from Three, they better be brilliant, right? — Kim Namjoon, winner of the 64th Hunger Games, planned his entire strategy from the start; rigging interviews to present himself as a shy kid obsessed with electromagnetics so no one would see him coming.
He later shocked everyone with his knowledge of botany, chemistry, and supply manufacturing, eventually building a spore-proof mask and unleashing toxic pollen across the arena the day after the bloodbath, still holding the record for most kills.

—I… didn’t choose,— Namjoon mutters —They… they decided to kill themselves. They’re gonna run when the gong sounds and eat poison berries. I gave them a list of the fastest-acting ones.

Yoongi grabs the taller victor by the lapels and barely lifts him off the ground —Not this year. With my girl, at least one of them could make it to the finals. And they’ve got the boy from Two, he…

But Namjoon pushes him back —No, Yoongi. I care about you, but… this year a girl is going to win. The girl from Two. Your kid is sweet, but she’s not what the Capitol wants.
It’s Two’s turn to win among the Careers, and everyone knows it. I’m not giving those kids false hope. You and I were… exceptions, anomalies. A non-Career district could win, sure, but not this year. It’s either Two or nothing. Hope knows it. That’s why he’s not showing up for the interviews, the less he sees them, the fewer nightmares he’ll have later.

Namjoon pats Yoongi’s head in that annoying way he always does, then takes his seat with the audience. Yoongi is desperate.
The girl is quick, and she’s good with a machete. But if the boy from Two wants to play dirty, they’ll need a third wheel to make things harder for the traitor.
If not a smart tribute who can think fast, then someone strong enough to start a fight; maybe the girl from Six, or the boy from Seven.

Since R.M. doesn’t seem interested, let me offer the second-best option. —Kim Taehyung, stumbling out from behind a few long curtains, approaches. —Ha! I was going for a mysterious Suga-style entrance, but I guess I just made a fool of myself. Anyway, my girl Amathist wants to ally with your kid. Well, not really. She’s more interested in the boy from Two, but you snagged him first, so… what do you think?

Yoongi stares at him in silence. He’d never considered allying his tributes with District One or Two—even in his craziest moments.
The boy from Two seemed like a good option because, hell, he’s a rebel. He took the place of the 18-year-old tribute.
Of course, unfortunately, he had no clue the Games were already rigged…
But still, it was a direct slap to the system.

The girl from One, though, she followed the plan. She knows she’s not expected to make it out alive, and yet… —First, free advice: don’t call him R.M. unless you want poison in your tea. And yeah, I’ll take your offer. It’ll be the three of them against the Careers, my girl’s got specific instructions I’m not about to reveal. The boy’s clearly well-trained for his age, but I need a third wheel, and a pretty Career girl from One will bring in sponsors, maybe enough for all of them. So… I want to know: why?

Taehyung flashes that cheeky grin from his Cesar Flickerman interviews, the one he never used in the arena. Not when he gouged out the eyes of the girls from Three and Five during the bloodbath, not when he stabbed the boy from Four ten times. Not even at the end, when he hung his own district partner upside down and calmly watched the spider mutts tear her apart.

At seventeen, the boy had been lethal and utterly sure of himself. At nineteen, he hadn’t lost the touch.—Well, I chose Amathist because I heard the rumor that District Two would have a new female victor. Onyx is in on it, he’s related to her or something, so he’ll handle the ones from Four if he can. I’ve got info… something I haven’t told the other Careers.— Taehyung hugs Min like it’s the most natural thing in the world, then whispers in his ear— Park Jimin isn’t supporting Two.

They pull apart, shake hands, and with more relaxed shoulders, take their seats as the show is about to begin.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

—Tell me right fucking now that you actually plan to make it out of here alive or you’re on your own, Two —Mari from District Ten doesn’t mess around when it comes to intentions —They say you’re a rebel, that you want to sabotage the favorite system, that you’ve got more balls than any of their bulls, but when Amathist smashed the Six boy’s head in with that hammer, you just stood there watching.

Jungkook shoves her with one arm, making her fall on her butt. —I had no idea she was on our side, and I was a second away from slitting her throat when she got close enough.— Amathist rubs her neck where there’s a faint red mark, while Jungkook helps Mari back up.— I… I’m sorry again. Also, for the record, I’m not a fucking rebel, and I don’t know what you mean by favorites. But if we’re talking bulls and chickens, what the hell were you thinking letting your district partner go?

Amathist from One flashes a charming smile and grabs both her allies by the arms, encouraging them to keep walking through the redwoods. —Alright, kids, that’s enough. Misunderstandings are normal considering how fast everything’s happened, —She let them go once she knows they’ll keep moving with her —Jang… kung… I’ll call you JK. Next time you raise a knife, make sure it’s not pointed at me. And you, sweetheart, don’t forget where your loyalties lie. We’re doing this for honor and glory, for our districts, but let’s be honest, everyone wants to be the one bringing that glory home in person.

The 18-year-old girl slings a rock with her slingshot, knocking down a pair of squirrels —Sweet Mari, would you skin those for me? I’ll go gather wood, we’re making a big fire tonight. The others know running from the Career pack is the smart move, but if anyone’s feeling brave, JK will handle it.— The girl from Ten pulls out a short dagger and starts the work in silence.
Jungkook checks his backpack to count how many knives he has left before following and doesn’t think it’s enough —Why didn’t we stay at the Cornucopia? With Four gone and no Onyx, we could’ve claimed it.

The girl from One gets the fire going easily and throws him another full smile while tying her long blonde hair into a ponytail —That’s what Ceres expects us to do, which is exactly why we didn’t. Don’t you just love imagining the dumb look on her face right now? Back in training, she made it very clear how much she hates surprises. Which is a real shame, because I love them. I’m done with my part so, sweetie, you know how to cook squirrel? Or is JK making dinner today? — With that, Amathist lies down on the sparse grass, arms folded behind her head like she’s about to take a nap.

This year’s arena is a massive park made up of five main zones surrounding the Cornucopia:

• The Spring Zone, surrounded by tall strawberry bushes—great for hiding and gathering food, plus a source of clean water. Very attractive... until the carnivorous plants activate.

• The Camp Zone, scattered with tents across an open plain. No food, no natural cover except what’s provided, but completely mutt-free.

• The Climb Zone, with a massive rock wall leading to the arena’s highest point.
  Up top: lots of weapons, some medicine... and flying mutts with huge claws strong enough to carry a full-grown adult.

• The Grove Zone, the obvious choice: a few hectares of giant redwoods, home to edible squirrels and beaver-mutts with oversized tails and teeth, perfectly suited to climbing trees.

• The Garden Zone, the crown jewel: a large lake full of fish, with an island of edible flowers for whoever can reach it.
  There are three rowboats—but only until nightfall.
  After that, the boats disappear and the water boils, cooking everything inside.

Onyx could be doing worse, he knows that. He destroyed the main alliance, broke every pre-established deal, and left with only a sword in hand, running far from Ceres. Taehyung had given him instructions, but only up to that point. From there on, he was on his own. He’d chosen to take a different path from his cousin and take out as many tributes as possible to make things easier for her.

Since he was a child, he’d been told what his purpose in life would be get Amathist out of the arena alive. Being born with brown hair and brown eyes was a total disgrace for his family. His mother had a lot to explain. But maybe there was a way to make something useful out of such shame, If they offered the boy and his same-age cousin as tributes, they’d get a victor and be rid of a disgrace.

—Please don’t kill me! —The boy from Twelve was limping, running as best he could with an injured leg —I was walking with my partner in the trees, and this giant rat fell on us with its huge tail! If you don’t kill me, I’ll tell you where the other Careers are! —That’s when Onyx ran him through with the sword, right at the base of a tall wall made of multicolored stone.

It looked like the edge of the arena…
But he didn’t think he’d traveled that far. He looked more closely and saw weapons stacked at the top.
A better option than heading back to the Cornucopia or hunting with only a sword.

—Well... I just hope they left some water up there too.

Chapter Text

And that was Haymitch Abernathy, ladies and gentlemen. —Caesar Flickerman tried to get a decent shot of the District Twelve mentor before wrapping up.
The round of interviews with fallen tribute mentors and top contenders had kept everyone busy most of the afternoon —Now let’s hear from one of the Capitol’s favorites, our beloved Finnick Odair, give it up, everyone…

Yoongi looked bored while Namjoon explained all the things the kids could do with the flowers from the island if they mixed them with the lake water —If I’d had any clue, I would’ve convinced them to act. Two days… one of my kids could’ve made it.

Taehyung took the moment to step away from the cameras and join their conversation —The one and only Rip Monster, shame they handed you two suicidals. That’s why in One, we choose ahead of time. Suga, can I borrow you for a second?

Namjoon’s hands trembled so badly that his teacup crashed to the floor, then he bolted out of the room, knocking over a chair and a few more cups on his way out.
The mentor from Ten watched the exit, then yanked Taehyung by the arm and dragged him to a far-off corner —I know your sense of patriotism, or whatever the hell it is, makes you blind to it, but some of us don’t enjoy being reminded that we had to kill defenseless kids just to save our own head. I don’t want a heartfelt apology, I want you to value your life enough to pretend you didn’t mean to offend him by calling him RM.

Taehyung stared wide-eyed at the shorter victor —I didn’t mean to offend him. He’s a legend, you all are. The Rip Line was the reason I volunteer in my year. Namjoon took out sixteen tributes in under twenty-four hours alone, you took down two gladiators in seconds, and Hoseok...

The sound of the slap echoed loud enough for everyone to hear. But with mentors regularly suffering panic attacks or drunk outbursts, no one looked to see what happened.

—Shut up! Don’t call us that! We did what we had to do to survive. You chose this. You volunteered to kill people, your people. Why? Money? Fame? Was it worth it?

The youngest mentor took a few steps back, his expression tightening —You saved yourself. I volunteered to save others. What’s more honorable, Yoongi? Don’t throw moral superiority at me, in One, we have honor. We protect our own and don’t send twelve-year-old girls to fend for themselves. I’ll apologize to Namjoon because I respect him and honestly didn’t mean to offend him. But you? I won’t apologize to you.

And with that, Taehyung stormed out of the mentor lounge, tears running down his cheeks.

—Incredible. Never thought I’d see the perfect citizen mask crack. He built that image after his Games and now you’ve broken it. You took a traumatized kid and slapped him.  —Jung Hoseok, victor of the 63rd Hunger Games, had built an alliance just as big as the Careers. He’d united Districts Five, Seven, and Nine with nothing but his optimism.
He kept everyone hopeful, even after his district partner was brutally killed right in front of him during the meetup. Instead of giving up, he used the pain to take down the Careers.
In the end, the others felt they owed him so much that they let him win by taking their own lives. He won the Games with just one kill. His own district partner.

He stepped beside Suga and kept talking —So what’s next? Break the alliance and slip a knife to the Careers sleeping next to your girl so they can finish the job? —He patted him on the back, gently pushing him toward the hallway —Go fix your mess. That kid has pull. If he came to you and chased Namjoon out like that, it’s because he had something important to say. I saw him talking with P this morning.

Yoongi didn’t move —He told the truth, we hate the Careers and push them away. We get pissed when they win. But the truth is, they understand the rules of the Game.
They were the first ones to, there’s no way to stop the Capitol from sending kids to die. The least we can do is send them in trained and well-fed. Teach them how to use every weapon. Prepare them to die under the illusion of honor and glory, that same lie… is what helps them survive the trauma afterward. But us…

Hope thought he saw tears in the older man’s eyes —It doesn’t matter if we send kids on the brink of starvation or fattened up like livestock. The Game isn’t fair, it’s designed for everyone to lose. It’s punishment, after all. Go, before they call him for his interview, Onyx just fell an hour ago. The circus isn’t over yet.

Suga’s cold, indifferent expression returned as he headed for the door.
On his way out, he said, —Can you check on Joon? He’s either poisoning this boy room’s water supply or crying in some corner.

Hoseok grinned —Maybe I’ll let him poison it just enough for a good case of diarrhea.

Chapter Text

Seokjin loved the smell of roses. But not the ones in the presidential greenhouse, those had a different scent. Clearly, the genetic modifications that made them live longer than any normal flower had affected some of their other traits too.

Once, he’d tried to convince the president to make them official mutts, to patent and distribute them. But Snow had scowled, clenched his fists, and nearly shouted as he said —These roses are for personal enjoyment, Mr. Kim. They are not mutts, they are a Snow family heirloom. When I leave the presidency, the roses will remain a reminder of who planted them.— After hearing those words, Jin decided he hated those roses.

His relationship with Snow wasn’t limited to meetings during the Games, much to his dismay. Ever since he’d been named Head Gamemaker, the invitations became constant, breakfasts, parties, district visits, garden strolls like today’s. —Sir, at this rate we’ll have a victor by tomorrow. The Games’ popularity has exceeded our expectations…

The president looked at him with those snake-like eyes, raised a hand to interrupt, not rudely, and offered him a seat. —Kim, who’s going to win this year?
The girl from Two seemed to be your favorite, but I don’t see that usual push from you behind her public image. —He paused, as if giving Jin a chance to choose his words carefully before continuing.— You can tell me who your favorite is.

By now, Jin was used to these “lessons” disguised as casual conversations, the kind that always ended with an unspoken execution order. One that couldn’t be questioned. —I like the girl from One. Eighteen, beautiful, strong, and she doesn’t come off as fake when she talks, district One won last year, and this would make it three in a row, but the people love them.

Snow didn’t seem pleased. —They’re called Games for a reason, the districts send their children to play for their lives. One survives, and we reward their… bravery.
It’s a game of survival, if we pick a winner every year, it becomes boring, predictable. People start asking questions. Start thinking things.— He held out a white rose and concluded —Control the game, Seokjin. But not the outcome. We don’t want… misunderstandings.

Jin understood perfectly. There would be no Career victor this year.—Of course, sir. We wouldn’t want to bore the audience, the result should be unpredictable…
Three wins in a row? I don’t know what I was thinking. Thank you for your advice. —He placed the rose in the lapel of his suit and gave a respectful bow, signaling the conversation was over and that he was ready to return to his duties.

But the president wasn’t finished. —You know, my granddaughter turned six this year. Her mother wants to wait until she’s sixteen to arrange a proper match with one of the Academy boys. I, on the other hand, think a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. And you, my son, you’re too good a catch to let fly. —A harsh cough cut the moment.
Jin saw a streak of blood stain the handkerchief before Snow tucked it calmly back into his pocket.

—I think it’s the perfect time to stop calling you son and start calling you grandson. My dear Kim Seokjin, you’ll be happy to know you’re the future of Panem.— The strange feeling rooting him to the ground was a mix of embarrassment, nausea, and the sinking weight of dread. But his brain managed to connect with his tongue just in time. —It’s an honor, sir, to know you hold me in such high regard. If you’ll excuse me, duty calls. I’ll join your f… our family later for dinner. —With long, stiff steps, Jin walked out through the palace gardens. He wasn’t running, no one was following. There were no cameras watching him, no mutts lurking.

And still… he felt like a new tribute, thrown into the arena late, with the absolute certainty that victory would be the worst possible outcome.

Chapter Text

Four years ago, a pocket of rebellion was uncovered in the opal mines of District One. Workers and their families were captured by Peacekeepers, but the ringleaders were handed over to the Parks.

Jimin’s grandfather harbored a deep hatred for rebel districts. His family had been one of the most devastated during the Capitol’s collapse in the dark days. After months of starvation and no hope, they resorted to hunting and eating stray dogs, despite the risk of rabies.
He raised his children to believe in the superiority of the Capitol, in the beautiful justice of the Hunger Games, and in total respect for the president. But he was also clear about one thing: never negotiate with hunger.

Jimin’s father sent him to interrogate the youngest of the rebels. —Your full name, age, and three reasons why I shouldn’t have your tongue cut out right now, please— he said, sitting across from a boy who looked about his own age, with a swollen cheekbone and dried blood staining the front of his shirt.

The boy straightened his back to appear taller and smiled like he was greeting an old friend —I’m Kim Taehyung, I’m 16. I was just slacking off a bit from too much Games training, I wasn’t conspiring or anything. —That’s exactly why you shouldn’t ship me off to the Capitol as some kind of display piece.— Then, without warning, he started to sing:

"Well, all right, I'm bad, but then, you're no prize either
All right, I'm bad, but then, that's nothing new
You say you won't love me, well I won't love you neither
Just let me remind you who I am to you"

The Peacekeeper in the room, an old man in his seventies, pressed the muzzle of his gun to the boy’s temple and ordered him to shut up. Jimin motioned for the Peacekeeper to step back and stop threatening the boy. —Are you insane? Or do you think that just because I’m young, you won’t face any consequences for messing with me?

But the boy simply smiled again and replied —You asked for answers. I’m giving them. The song... well, that’s a question for your guard here. It’s the reason 18 miners and 7 engineers were killed. They blamed us for the drop in production. —Jimin turned to the Peacekeeper, who had suddenly started sweating profusely.

—Do you know that song?

The old man took off his helmet before answering, —It’s banned, sir. Since the 10th Hunger Games. Only a few rebels know it, that’s how we identify the leaders...

The boy stood up and yelled —That song came from the damn trains! One of your Peacekeepers taught it to a bunch of kids around here!
How the hell were we supposed to know it was banned, or that it was some rebel anthem, if it was a Peacekeeper who sang it?!

The man responded with a hard blow to the boy’s temple, knocking him out cold. —Mr. Park, these rebels will say anything to save themselves. You can’t believe a word they say. Best to execute them, they’re not even fit to be avoxes. —But Jimin didn’t agree.

As a junior Watcher, he had access to several surveillance services.
He’d hoped that, under pressure, either the old Peacekeeper or the young rebel would slip up and reveal the truth, enough to condemn the right person.

—Officer, I’m afraid it’s you who’ll be facing a firing squad. Yes, the song is banned, but sentencing violators isn’t your job, nor the mayor’s. That boy is under Park family protection from this moment on. You’ll wait here. Your escort will be in shortly.

From that moment forward, Taehyung became Jimin’s eyes and ears in the district, keeping watch over the Parks’ interests, until the day they informed Jimin of Taehyung’s upcoming entry into the arena.
Jimin made sure he’d win, by whispering his name into Seokjin’s ear.

After the Victory Tour, Jimin got a call from his colleague on a private line. —Please kill me… an accident, anything, just kill me —Taehyung said.— Today, as soon as we got back to the district, they killed my brothers, my parents, my grandmother... Because I said no. Because I didn’t want to be their damn toy. —There was silence. Jimin thought the call had cut out.
Then Taehyung continued. —It happens to most victors… but it’s gotten worse since Odair, or at least that’s what Glimmer says. There’s no way out…

Jimin’s mind was flooded with images from interviews clips where powerful people accidentally touched Taehyung in ways that were just a little too inappropiate, too suggestive. —You’re not going to die, Tae. I’ll help you. We’re friends, right? Just give me time, gather everything you can from the district. We’ll find a way out.

Chapter Text

The control room falls completely silent as everyone watches their masterpiece: Park’s carnivorous plants tearing into two tributes with tiny, agonizing bites as they tried to fetch water. Only seven kids remain now, three of them in an alliance, which promises plenty of drama.

—Ladies and gentlemen, alternate shots of the carnivores with the reactions of the families. Zoom in on the ones who cry. I want the mentors from Districts 1, 2, 9, 7, and 10 live. But first, I’ll speak to them myself. If Kim asks, I’m at the Tribute Center.— Jimin arrives at the Tribute Center ten minutes later, finally able to light a cigarette. He lets the smoke fill the room, closes the window, a longtime habit to help him relax, then turns on the taps until a shallow puddle forms at the entrance, and softly begins to sing:

It's sooner than later that I'm six feet under
It's sooner than later that you'll be alone

He lights another cigarette, takes a long drag until a second voice joins in:

So who will you turn to tomorrow, I wonder?
For when the bell rings, lover, you’re on your own

Jimin wraps his arms tightly around the taller boy. —I can’t do this anymore. I’m responsible for those three kids’ deaths. The nightmares chase me even while I’m awake. I don’t know if I’m just pretending I approve of all this, or if I’m really not supposed to care. Tae… tell me those bastards actually have a fucking plan. —Taehyung pulls out two cigarettes from the pack and lights them both at once.

—They don’t trust me. Not enough to give me names or details. I played the traumatized, defensive kid card and all I got was Suga giving me some dumb motivational speech. —They pause, listening. No noise outside.

Jimin lets go of the younger boy —If we can’t get at least one contact inside the rebels, getting you out of Snow’s damn bodyshop will be impossible — another cigarette —You need to talk to Namjoon. After Yoongi, he’s our best bet.

Tae flicks one butt to the floor and lets the other rest beside his foot —I screwed it with RM. I doubt he’ll speak to me again, unless it’s to offer poison. Which, if all else fails, sounds like a great option right now.

Jimin hands him two more cigarettes and lights them for him —I didn’t save your ass twice just to let you give up now. We stick to the plan. You still have Hoseok… — a soft splash at the door, the signal to go silent.

—There you are, kid. The cameras are waiting and... Mr. Park— Yoongi’s face twists into a disgusted grimace.— Am I interrupting something?

Min Yoongi has the kind of street smarts you get from handling livestock three times your weight. He can read a room. So the cigarette smoke filling the air, the puddle by the door meant to warn of unexpected visitors, it’s clear something’s happening here that no one’s supposed to see.

He doesn’t imagine two friends planning a rebellion. He imagines a Capitol boy with money and power cornering one of the most famous victors in the bathroom before an interview —I’m afraid I’ll be taking Taehyung now, if you’ll excuse me.

He grips the victor’s arm tightly and escorts him to the interview room, where Enobaria and Neem, the District 7 mentor, are already waiting.
He offers Tae a seat and asks an avox for a bottle of water —You alright, kid?

Tae sees the opportunity and with his best acting chops fakes a few sobs. —I just need a moment… thanks so much for getting me out of there. Nothing happened, but with those rich Capitol boys, you never really know.

The interviews begin, cutting off the conversation, Yoongi can’t help watching the boy from District One. They’re always looking for new recruits in the resistance, but finding sympathizers in One is nearly impossible, they’re always defending the system. But that comment from Taehyung, he felt the resentment behind it. —Do you expect the alliance to fall apart soon, Suga?
Caesar Flickerman, always perfectly timed —Considering your tribute is younger than her allies and from an outer district, she’s obviously the weakest link. Do you think they’ll target her first? —It’s an insensitive but fair question.

Yoongi is too lost in his thoughts to respond quickly, but Tae jumps in, like he’s rehearsed the line a hundred times —Amathist is a lady of honor, Caesar. She doesn’t betray unless it’s absolutely necessary. In the arena, the honor of your district, and the Capitol, isn’t just in victory, but in how you treat your fellow tributes. After all, we’re all allies once we enter the arena.

Suga feels his heart climb into his throat. That little clown just hinted at a cross-district alliance outside the Games.

—

Seokjin watches the recordings obsessively, anything to avoid free time. He knows Snow won’t be announcing their alleged engagement anytime soon, given how obviously inappropriate it is. But whether it’s tomorrow or fifteen years from now, it’s still revolting.

He has no plan.
What happens when the second most powerful person in the country disagrees with the first?

His analysis gives him two options:
Make the president come to his senses… or go along with him, and become just another sick bastard like the ones who bought Finnick Odair’s victory just to “spend time with the boy.”

During the 65th Games, he stayed on the sidelines. It wasn’t his fault or responsibility, he just followed orders. Sending gifts is up to sponsors and mentors, he just coordinates delivery times in the arena. If a tribute benefits, it’s because of ratings, to keep his own head attached to his body.
Especially after finding out what happened to the last Head Gamemaker.

But convincing Coriolanus Snow to change his mind is impossible without solid leverage. Ethics and morals don’t exist in his logic.

For the first time in ages, Seokjin needs help. His family would love nothing more than to guarantee the presidency, even if it meant marrying him off to a squirrel.
The army’s brainwashed, blindly loyal to the Snows,  the media parrots everything Coriolanus says,  his subordinates would sell him out without blinking.

Maybe not all of them.

Park Jimin always seemed loyal and even if he refused to help, at least he wouldn’t betray him. The Park family always travels to the districts during the Victory Tour, to make sure productivity doesn’t dip from the festivities.
He’ll have to intercept Jimin in District 7, where a few areas still haven’t been bugged. He’s got a day or two left before the Games end, if he finds something Jimin, or the Park family, wants badly enough, he can use it as leverage.

—Cannon’s ready, sir— The female tribute from District 9 screams as the water around her raft bubbles, boiling hot. —As soon as it’s done, replay the arena’s best traps, end with Onyx.

Damn it.
Now he’s down to just a few hours.

Chapter Text

Claudius Templesmith looks pale on screen, something rare after so many years of hosting. The boy from District 10 snapped. He threw the girl from District 7, left her hanging from a tree, then slit her throat and started skinning her, just like Mari used to do with the giant beavers. But the worst part was knowing she was still alive until the cannon fired almost a full minute later.

— And there goes the cannon for the female tribute from District 7

The hovercraft descends to retrieve the 16-year-old girl. Jungkook only catches sight of the gruesome aftermath. Hidden by the branches of a sequoia, he watches the cleanup crew and tries not to throw up.

Amathist’s plan had seemed fair to him and Mari: with six tributes left, it was time to dissolve alliances. But to avoid turning on each other too early, they'd split up to find the rest —JK takes out the 10, Mari goes for 7, and I’ll handle 2. We’ll meet at the campsite for a fair final round.

He hated to admit it, but he’d grown fond of both girls. He’d even insisted on going after Ceres himself, but Amathist, older and more experienced, said she didn’t trust him to eliminate someone from his own district.

Only Snow knows where Mari ended up, but she was lucky not to run into her district partner before he found the girl from 7. Dolan from 10 isn’t far; Jungkook can hear him walking toward the campsite. He remembers him from training: tall, but scrawny and slow.

He could throw a knife the moment he sees him, no warning, no hesitation. But that wouldn’t be honorable. He keeps thinking through his options as he moves, and when he finally sees Dolan, he hears someone scream and watches the boy take off running in that direction.

Another scream, this time, he recognizes Ceres voice. But it’s not a scream of pain.

He’s ready to go after Dolan but freezes when he sees Amathist, missing a leg, trying to shield Ceres from a blood-covered Mari, who’s gripping her machete like her life depends on it —Crazy bitch!— Dolan yells —Just kill her already. No need to make her suffer .

As he stands beside Ceres —I already gave ‘em a show with that traitor from 7. Just finish them off so we can start the grand finale.

Ceres barely registers the words. She charges with her sword raised. Jeon Jungkook, known as Golden Boy back at District 2’s academy, throws two knives so fast they’re almost invisible. One hits Dolan square in the neck, the other lands in Ceres spine. To the Capitol and the districts watching in shock, two cannons sound.

He runs to Amathist, trying desperately to stop the bleeding —JK, my hero… I won’t be there for the grand finale, I’m afraid.

A parachute descends beside her —That one’s for you, JK. Show them they can toss us into the arena, strip us of our humanity, but they don’t get to decide what kind of monster comes out. Now, Mari! —Hot blood sprays across his face and he sees the machete sticking out of Amathist’s chest. He turns instantly to see the other girl, silent until now, standing beside them.

—I… it was her plan all along. To give it meaning. If she made it out, it wouldn't make sense. But if one of us does…— Thick tears roll down her cheeks. —Dolan found the girl from 7 too fast. Ten doesn’t deserve to win. I should’ve killed him at the bloodbath. He wasn’t even planning to fight until I talked him into it. I did this. I...— Jungkook doesn’t know why he’s hugging her. Nothing makes the slightest bit of sense anymore, the blood, the bodies, the parachute.

Still holding Mari close, he grabs the parachute and opens it. There’s a note:

To Jeon Jungkook
And may the odds be ever in your favor.
—V.

A strange rumble shakes the treetops —They want it to end— Mari’s voice is so quiet he’s sure only he hears it, her face buried in his chest— Better one of your knives than the mutts. Just push hard right here— She places his hand on her side. —No pain. It’ll be over before you can even think about it. Like Amathist said… be a hero, JK. It was a pleasure to be your ally… I told you I’d make it to the final.

At the first crash of beaver mutts falling from the trees, a cannon fires. And the girl from District 10 falls still, a dagger in her side.

Claudius Templesmith’s voice booms as the mutts retreat back into the branches:

Ladies and gentlemen, Jeon Jungkook,
The victor of the Sixty-Ninth Annual Hunger Games!

Chapter Text

District Twelve is awful. He never even encountered any of its tributes in the arena, and still, everyone looks at him with absolute disgust. In Eleven, at least they had the decency to ignore him. And of course, he hadn’t expected a warm welcome in Ten, he did eliminate both of their tributes, but Suga didn’t even bother showing up to any of the ceremonies.

Things aren’t any better from Districts Nine to Five. Although seeing the ocean in Four was exciting, which is why Four topped his list of favorite districts, smell of rotting fish and all. Judging by his surroundings, Three was shaping up to be the worst. The floors were covered in some kind of oily liquid from the overflowing drains, and massive rats were everywhere, making his skin crawl with how much they looked like the arena beavers. Worst of all were the flying giant cockroaches. All he had to do was walk from the station to the Justice Building’s atrium, just a few meters, and he’d already stepped on three of them, hearing that sickening crunch under his boots. Absolutely disgusting.

The mayor gives his speech and they make him read something about the "tenacity" of the tributes who took their own lives. He doesn’t even remember those kids, he didn’t know they’d committed suicide in the arena until they showed him during the interviews. He just hopes this stop ends quickly. After all, the next one is his home district, and he can’t wait to be back with Neptun.

—Beetee Latier, victor of the 39th Games.

A man about his height with thick glasses wipes his palms on his trousers before offering his hand. —We heard the other districts gave you some free time during the tour, and we didn’t want to be left behind. I’d love to show you the chemical energy center. I think you’ll find it quite interesting, JK.

Brutus and Enobaria had warned him about his new nickname. The Capitol found it endearing that Amathist couldn’t pronounce his name, probably because many of them couldn’t either. So from now on, he was “JK” for the cameras. A constant reminder of the blonde girl who bled out in his arms. —Sounds great. Although I’m not sure I’ll understand much of what goes on there.— Still, he wasn’t going to pass up the chance to escape the roach sea, even if it meant walking through a boring old factory.

Beetee gets called away for an urgent matter at the communications center, so his guide changes, and he ends up face-to-face with the Games legend: “RM.”
In District Two, the man is basically an idol. No one can beat his kill record through brute strength.

His escort walks him to the victor’s village, and Kim Namjoon, shirtless in glorious boxers, answers the door. He looks confused, but Jungkook can’t contain his excitement —Hi! I’m Jeon Jungkook, tribute from District Two... uh, victor of District Two this year… I’m a big fan. They said you’d be showing me a fabric.

Namjoon bursts out laughing at the sheer absurdity of the moment —Tell me Jeon, would you prefer I give you the tour like this, or would you rather wait until the agreed time so I can put on some actual clothes? —To his surprise, the boy takes it as an invitation to come inside, slamming the door in his escort’s face in the process. —Jungkook, I really need to put on some pants before we go anywhere. So, make yourself at home. Just imagine your house is filled with poisonous stuff, and you're not allowed to get up from that chair.— The boy sits upright and crosses his arms, perfectly following instructions.

—Over here, we’ve got plenty of chemicals that’ll give the workers cancer. And over there, metal straight from your district, and workers with burn injuries that won’t ever heal. To the left is the only working bathroom in all nine floors of this building, though I wouldn’t go in there. We keep it sealed to avoid more cockroach infestations.— RM is terrible at giving tours.

When the awkwardness becomes unbearable and Jungkook is just about to apologize and head back to the train, Namjoon shoves him into what looks like a closet filled with glass jars. —Listen closely, we don’t have much time. What you did in the arena… was it your decision, or did someone push you to do it? Jungkook’s brain is fried. His idol just shoved him into a closet. —Answer me!

JK: I… I did what I had to do.

RM: Did someone tell you to? Or when?

JK: No.

RM: Did someone send you in as a volunteer?

JK: No.

RM: Do you think the way the workers in this factory are treated is fair?

JK: No. It’s horrible. The whole district is a mess… I’m sorry.

RM: It is. Welcome to the rebellion, Jeon Jungkook. We’ll talk more during your visits to the Capitol, in the meantime, hold onto your principles and no matter what they threaten you with, don’t give in. Your family would be better off dead than living off your pain.

Chapter Text

Neptun is dead.
His friends Iron and Gyeolseog say it happened when the Games began, at eighteen, and without volunteering, he was sent to the quarry.
He’d been working barely an hour before a massive rock “accidentally” tore his arm off, the infection and blood loss kept him from seeing the end of the day.

Jungkook hears the news along with how he’s belongings were moved from the academy to the Victor’s Village before he even got back to the district. During the move, letters, photos, toys; every single memory of his brother, vanished.

He spends most of the morning crying, but by midday he still has to give a speech —It’s an honor to bring victory back to District Two. I volunteered because I was sure I was the best choice if we wanted to win. But I couldn’t have done it without my mentors and, above all, without the generosity of the Capitol, which inspires us to be the best versions of ourselves— The mayor takes over, and the rest of the day passes with Jungkook on autopilot.

Namjoon’s words, which had felt so important and terrifying before, no longer have any space in his mind, crowded now with Neptun’s memory.
And it’s not even the good memories, just random replayed conversations, training moments, the rare compliment when Jungkook outdid him at something difficult, and imagined scenes of Neptun’s final hours.

He hides away in his train cabin and tries to sleep, until he hears his brother’s voice —Hey, Kookie, let’s go, we’re late —Neptun is there, smiling in his training clothes.
They’re in the academy, on their bunks.
It was all just a nightmare, no volunteering, no Games.

—Come on, Jungshook. Or would you rather go smash rocks?

Jungkook hurries to put on his uniform and runs after his older brother, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t catch up. The ground turns to grass, sequoias rise around him. Neptun keeps running, until he collides with Ceres and her huge silver sword.

Jungkook screams, but no sound comes out. Suddenly, it’s not Neptun, it’s Amathist, missing a leg, as Ceres strikes her, then both are crushed by beaver mutts.
He grabs her hand and pulls, only to find Mari in his arms, choking on her own blood.

—JK, wake up!

Brutus is staring at him in disgust. —We’ve arrived in One. So smile, take a stroll, and ignore any provocations. These people actually thought their tribute would win. My advice? Read the same speech you gave in Two and skip the ridiculous ‘sad friend’ act like you did in Ten. No one here is dumb enough to believe it.

And with that, the victor leaves the room,  Jungkook skips breakfast.
The mayor is waiting in the dining room —Good morning. The Park boy sent me, he wants a minute with his victor before the ceremony.

Brutus stands, leaves without a word. Enobaria gives him a hand gesture Neptun wouldn’t have approved of, and the escort tells Jungkook to change clothes before accompanying the mayor.

They arrive at a huge house, unlike anything he’s seen before —I’ll leave you here, kid. Cashmere, Taehyung, and Gloss are in the surrounding houses, they’ll see you after your meeting with Mr. Park. Try to stay calm. Everyone pays a price for rebellion. Even victors aren’t exempt —The man knocks, waits for someone to answer, and leaves.

A tan-skinned brunette woman greets him —Mr. Park will see you in his room. Go upstairs, second door on the right. And tell him Muselin has already left —Even with his mind clouded by recent events, Jungkook catches the warning signs. Still, not knowing what else to do, he follows her instructions.

The room is massive, about the size of an entire house in his district —JK! The man of the hour!— A short guy in a robe appears out of nowhere, grabs him by the arm, and steers him toward another door —Come on, we’ll be more comfortable in the bathroom.

Jungkook’s already ready to knock him out, it wouldn’t be hard; after all, he’s a trained killer. The bathroom is enormous.

Another, taller guy is sitting on a small chair with his back to them.

—I don’t know which one of you freaks is Mr. Park, and I don’t care. If either of you comes near me, I’ll kill you. Got it? —The robe guy lets go and walks slowly toward the seated man, hands raised.

—Relax, Jungkook. Forgotten your allies already? I’m Kim Taehyung, you can call me V, just not in public. And you know my friend here, but let’s be formal: Mr. Park Jimin, the guy who saved your ass in the arena — Taehyung steps closer.

Even if Jungkook recognizes the face, he’s not bluffing, he lunges with a punch, lands it, and ends up tumbling into the bathtub —Stay away from me! He didn’t save me, I got out thanks to Amathist and Mari!— Jimin rushes to his friend’s side.

—Idiot. We weren’t gonna touch you. Taehyung and the other victors kept the Capitol creeps busy, the ones who wanted ‘a minute alone with you.’ But Snow’s no fool. We can’t talk about this openly. That’s why we brought you to the only room in District One without microphones.

Jungkook’s wet, annoyed, confused and hungry from skipping breakfast. —I’m sick of your riddles. First Yoongi sends me notes but dodges me in Ten. Then the ‘last-minute changes’ giving me pointless tours of the districts. And Namjoon saying my family’s better off dead, newsflash: my family’s already dead! I’ve got no one, my whole district hates me, and I still don’t understand what the hell this rebel movement even is!

Jimin’s eyes go wide, almost comically so —Maybe you don’t. But we do. And we’ll guide you down the right path.

Chapter Text

The presidential palace is ready to welcome the highest-ranking officials and their families, artists, scholars, or simply people with a lot of money. Alongside the official reception celebrating the end of the victory tour, the entire Capitol is buzzing with small parties to attend. The most influential can buy the time of any victor they like and are allowed to take them as companions, even that year’s winner.

Jimin manages to get his brother to take Jungkook. Ji Hyun hates mingling with people from the districts anyway, so he assures Taehyung that as long as Jungkook stays quiet and never leaves his brother’s side, he’ll be safe for the night.

Meanwhile, Jimin pays for Hoseok’s company so he can make him an offer on behalf of “the rebel movement” and speed up a favor for Seokjin and Taehyung.
—So tell me, Mr. Jung… did you visit the west wing at the end of your tour?
A big smile is the only answer he gets —You see, the west wing is used for more formal meetings of the president’s inner circle, which I’m part of. That means no cameras and no high-grade microphones.

What Park says is surprisingly useful for him and for the movement —You really are someone important, Mr. Park. So… those are fake then? —Hoseok hates Capitol parties, and he knows Jimin just wants to get into his pants, but if the rich kid wants to play the impress-me game, he’ll milk him for all the information he can —Of course not. It would be foolish to leave even the most remote corner of this house unwatched. But there are blind spots, like this one —Jimin sits on the floor between two columns —The cameras can see you, but not me. And the mics can’t pick up clear audio unless we raise our voices. Now, Jung Hoseok, I’ve got something important to discuss with you. Every now and then, I’ll need you to lean in or laugh, you know exactly how to act for a tough audience.

Jimin slips off his shoes and loosens his suit —I know about RM and Suga, but I don’t think they’re rebel leaders. They’ve been victors too short a time, and their reapings weren’t rigged.

Hoseok laughs until his eyes water —You think those two are part of some movement? Then report them. I don’t see what that has to do with me —Jimin studies him, knowing exactly how J-Hope won his games, by betraying everyone, starting with his own district —I don’t think they’re involved. I’m absolutely certain. I have an informant. And I don’t want to report them. Or you. I want a deal. Take off your jacket and loosen your belt.

The bastard has him cornered. There’s not much Hoseok can do except follow the Capitolite’s instructions to the letter —I have nothing to do with those two or any movement. I’m a loyal citizen of the Capitol —Namjoon and Yoongi are like brothers to him, but if all three go down, there’ll be no one left to warn Thirteen or the others —If you want a deal, you’re talking to the wrong guy.

Jimin steps out of hiding so the cameras can see him and shoves Hobi into the blind spot instead, unbuttoning his shirt and mussing his hair —Take off your shirt. Here’s the deal: get Kim Taehyung and Kim Seokjin off the board, out of the president’s reach, and in exchange I’ll give you a list of high-ranking people who’d be happy to help your movement — He corners the District 5 victor, keeping them both hidden —A little teaser for your bosses: Plutarch Heavensbee.

Jin feels like he’s going to lose his mind if he has to hear one more word about the importance of mahogany exports for luxury furniture, but Jimin must be getting something done, or he’d already be back from the west wing.
—Tell me, Mr. Kim… do you plan to remodel when you move in?
All the blood drains from Jin’s face — Sorry… move where, Mr. Park?
Jimin’s brother clears his throat and gestures around —It’s no secret the presidential family wants to keep you close. Shame my brother couldn’t win the president’s favor, being younger than you… But I’m glad to know you’ll be visiting your best friend in this mansion.

Jin wants to scream. He can feel all eyes on him, and standing next to this year’s victor doesn’t help one bit. He searches for words but comes up empty. The whole Capitol knows Snow’s plans. He’s about to have a panic attack when someone stumbles into Jungkook, spilling wine all over his suit.

—Sorry, I told Mr. Ring two glasses were enough —Taehyung hauls the drunken Mr. Ring off the floor and “accidentally” spills more wine on Jin —Looks like you’ll have to change. I’ll call an avox for you. I think the east wing lounge is free, so you can change there.

One avox girl escorts Mr. Ring to the bathroom, and another leads them toward the east wing —Hope that gave Jimin enough time. That old man had more stamina than I expected. Couldn’t find Namjoon or Yoongi, they don’t seem to have been invited — Jungkook tries to shush him immediately, as if he’s the only one aware of the girl next to them, but Jin doesn’t seem to care —She won’t say anything… I mean, she’s with us. My cousin Jennie.

The girl nods and leads them into the lounge, where Jimin and Hoseok are pretending to have been caught in a compromising moment.
Jimin bows several times to Jin —We have a deal. They’ll pass the message along, and we’ll expect news before the next reaping. If we don’t like the answer, we hand it over to the RIP line.

Chapter Text

The Parks had exquisite taste despite their questionable ethics. The forest view blended perfectly with the large tennis court, and Jin loved spending a few weeks in that house with his right hand resting before the next matches. Tennis games, exquisite dinners, walks through the woods… when Jimin told him his long-term bet was to retire in that mansion, far from the Capitol’s noise and political pressure, far from death and the Games, Jin understood it perfectly.

Now those peaceful memories were stained with everything they’d been trying to run from. — Jiminnie, I wouldn’t drag you into this if I had the slightest idea what to do. Ask for whatever you want, no matter what it is, I’ll get it for you. Just help me out of this arrangement.— The look of disgust clouding Park’s beautiful features when Jin told him how Snow planned to marry him off to his granddaughter was all the assurance he needed, if they couldn’t find a solution, at least Jimin wouldn’t betray him.

— It’s not about what I want, boss. The real question is, what are you willing to give up? The way I see it, the only way out would be to leave Panem. — Jimin paused, watching his friend’s reaction to such a bold statement. When he didn’t see even the slightest hesitation, he kept going. — I know the rebels have a base out in the lost lands of 13. No clue if it’s just a couple of tents or a full-blown military complex, so don’t ask. I tried to infiltrate Taehyung, the victor of the 67th Games, through the RIP line. I’m not sure how deep they’re involved, but RM’s been there more than once with Beetee Lathier and other victors.

Jin didn’t look surprised at all. He just made a small sound of acknowledgment, signaling Jimin to continue.

— The plan was for them to invite Taehyung themselves and then subtly persuade him to lead us to the higher-ups. Then I’d bring them either to you or to Snow, in exchange for getting Tae off the market for good—  Jimin paused for a long moment, waiting for any reaction from his superior, but Jin didn’t even blink —They haven’t invited him yet, but Suga trusts him. If we offer them something good, maybe...

Seokjin raised his hand, and Jimin instantly fell silent. He knew better, when the elder was thinking, pushing the conversation further was pointless. They walked deeper into the forest in total silence until Jin sat down under a large oak tree —Friend, your plan is mediocre at best, and I mean that with all due respect. The only thing you’ll accomplish is getting us all hanged. Snow doesn’t negotiate with rebels. You and your boy from One have been traitors from the moment you started making deals behind my back.

The younger man shot back, —I wasn’t finished. Once they take Taehyung to 13, we could ask them to keep him there and free him from Snow. Turning over the rebels is just a backup plan if they don’t cooperate.
But deep down, Jimin knew Jin was right. He was Head Gamemaker for a reason, no one could read Snow better than him. —I can see you’re not happy with this… Taehyung really matters to me. And so do you. If I’m risking everything by getting involved with rebels, it’s because I don’t want him to be another disposable piece on Snow’s board. I don’t want that for him, and I definitely don’t want that for you.

A small part of Jin felt relieved to have Jimin involved. His plan might get him and Taehyung killed, but it came from a good place —Sorry, Jimin. The plan sucks. But we can still use that information. Maybe not with Snow, but with the rebels. Like you said, the only way out is the one that takes you far from the Capitol, maybe even out of Panem. We can ask them to erase us from the map.

Then Jin’s face shifted into the one Jimin knew all too well, the Head Gamemaker’s face. The look he wore whenever he was about to start the Games, when he knew the outcome he wanted and exactly which pieces he needed to move to get it —I’ve got a plan, Jiminnie. Do you know our most recent victor? I want him ready to play. Make sure he meets your little friend from One, and make sure they both attend the dinner at the Presidential Mansion. I need you there too, you’re going to be my grand entrance into the game.

Jimin slipped back into his role as second-in-command, already running through a mental checklist to prepare the ground. The first step: intercept Jungkook in District One before his tour ended, and secure him a partner for the ball.

Chapter Text

—He told me to go to hell, didn’t give a damn if we got handed over. He knows we won’t say a word even if they torture us… you know how those old storks get when it comes to the crows: “the freedom of Panem is worth more than the lives of you three in the bigger picture.” That’s what the bastard said before cutting the line — Namjoon was losing the little sanity he had left. —No, Yoongi, for fuck’s sake. He’s the mind of the rebellion in the district, he’s the one who tapped the phones and gave us these free communication lines. If there was even the slightest chance to meet their demands, it would’ve been through Beetee Latier, and he just threw us to the wolves…

Someone knocked on the closet door in a frenzy. —If you don’t hear from me in six hours, tell Hobi and try to get to Four or Twelve.— Nam cut the line the way Wiress had taught him and rushed to the door. — Taehyung? — He glanced around; the boy was alone. He grabbed his shoulders and pulled him inside. — How the hell are you here?

V: Jin pulled some strings.

RM: Jin? As in Kim Seokjin? Chief Gamemaker, right hand to the President, his damn future replacement?!

V: They sent me to talk to you in person. Things got complicated. Odair refuses to take payment for his… “services,” so they were insistent on getting time they could pay for with Jungkook instead.

RM: And what the hell does fucking Kim Seokjin have to do with any of that? Why the hell did he send you here of all places in Panem?

V: He was near the border with Nine, it was easier to get here without taking the train. They can’t let them do that to Jungkook. You have contact with the rebels. Tell them there’s been a change of plans: they’re taking JK instead of me. They wanted him with you anyway…

Namjoon grabbed a bottle and smashed it against the wall. —Do you think we’re some kind of fucking charity? I mean, being a snitch has its perks in the Capitol, but I didn’t think they’d be this brazen.

The younger boy shook so hard he could hear his own teeth chattering, his wide eyes bloodshot, dark circles carved deep beneath them. —Namjoon, I… They killed his family, and he didn’t even get a say in it. I had this deal with Park Jimin, and then Seokjin pressured him… I just want to keep him safe.

But a crying boy was no longer enough to soften the older man. —Oh, a poor little kid who has no idea what he’s doing. Honestly, I thought it was stupid they wanted to use you as part of the rebellion. But "he’s pretty," they said, "he’s got that rebellious fire." I’m glad Yoongi didn’t convince them to recruit you… — He didn’t know how long they’d been stuck in that closet, but he’d better warn Suga before the man came himself to check if he was alive. —I’ll call your dear ally from Ten, remember him? A hint: you sold him to the Capitol along with Hoseok and me.

Taehyung tried to speak, but Nam silenced him with a gesture while reconnecting the wall phone.

—Min, I’m alive and I’ve got company. Don’t say anything, just listen. They want to switch Taehyung’s ticket for Jungkook’s to Thirteen. I’ll think about what I can do with that information, hopefully it’ll save our asses.

As soon as he hung up, he turned furiously, finding Taehyung looking utterly wrecked.

—I want a detailed explanation of how you got into this "deal" with the Gamemakers, and what your relationship with Jungkook really is.

Meanwhile, Jimin paced the length of his apartment. He had a tracker panel he’d snagged during his first Games, one that showed the locations of the victors from the past ten years. He’d planned to modify it to keep tabs on the sawmill workers, people in Seven “disappeared” in the forest all the time, but he’d been fascinated by the irregular movements of certain victors.

At first, he thought it was just part of their Capitol duties, appearances at events tied to their hobbies, escorting high-ranking officials to ceremonies. But his curiosity spiked when he noticed several victors from Three suddenly showing up in the lost lands of Thirteen. Among them, his newest acquisition: Kim Namjoon, “RM.”

Handing him over would be the right thing to do, one less rebel to worry about. And being barely a couple years older than Jimin, he’d be easy to break. But his growing friendship with Taehyung held him back. The smiling boy from One would never speak to him again if he found out he’d sent his idol to the gallows. So Jimin decided to keep an eye on the victors, in case they spun out of control, but not report them unless he had no other choice.

Now he watched in horror as Taehyung and Namjoon were together in District Three without him knowing a thing. And as if it could get worse, Min Yoongi was leaving District Ten, headed toward Five, where Jimin was sure he’d meet with Jung Hoseok.

—This group of idiots is going to get us all killed.

He cared for Taehyung. He was his friend, the one who’d helped him rise to the head of the Park family, working as his spy. But he couldn’t risk his status in the Capitol. He wouldn’t survive a war. Seokjin needed to know. —Chief, I’ve got an issue with the panel you gave me. You know I use it to watch for any sign of rebellion in Seven, but it’s sending weird signals, the geolocator’s glitching, redirecting me straight to Three.

Jin would understand. They’d worked together for years, and over time had developed their own coded language for situations even the President couldn’t know about.

—Don’t worry, Jimin. Just a little interference I caused when updating the software. I’ll make sure it all goes back to normal.

He was the one who sent Tae to Three, but why? Had he also ordered Suga to meet J-Hope?

—Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a meeting with the President. I’ll call you later.

Jin wouldn’t give him more information, but he expected Taehyung to use the private line to report in soon. He hated being left out. His father had always warned him to steer clear of fools with good intentions, and now Tae was one of them.

He’d only had to look at his face when he explained that Jungkook would end up in the market sooner or later to know: Kim Taehyung, in a hero’s impulse, was about to do something incredibly stupid to keep anyone from touching that boy.

Chapter Text

District Five is overcrowded, which feels ironic given the high number of deaths from sepsis and tetanus. Rust is everywhere in the factories and in hovercraft maintenance, where most of the adults work, if you can really call “adults” the kids barely past sixteen.

Children don’t fare any better, cleaning trains and tracks where more than once they’ve been run over by careless conductors, either drunk or too high to notice. Yoongi has avoided visiting Five ever since his victory tour, when he witnessed a boy his own age suffer a tetanic shock in the middle of the ceremony, and no one could help him.

Still, he had to meet Jung somehow. Leaving Panem through Ten was impossible. If he crossed District Five, they could make it to the southern coasts of Four, and without Beete’s support, the best option was Mags, the oldest living victor. Everyone seemed to respect her enough to listen to her opinion, and she had never agreed with the idea of sacrificing tributes in the name of Snow’s “greater good.”

As a victor, he was allowed to keep a horse after impressing the Ravenstill family by making the animal “dance” to the rhythm of Panem’s anthem. On horseback, it only took him an hour to reach the border. He bribed the peacekeepers necessary to cross the first fence without trouble, but he had never really learned to swim, and the wide river that marked the natural border with Five made him pause.

Then he heard the unmistakable sound of Hoseok’s motorcycle. With a big rope, they improvised a crossing, and so, completely soaked and on the verge of a nervous breakdown, he threw his arms around his friend as they sped across the training grounds on the edge of District Five, which connected to the victors’ village.

Its only current residents were Hobi and two middle-aged women, Hyundai and Porsche, victors of the 36th and 41st Games, so there would be no one around. And with the noise of Porsche’s generator, the microphones scattered all over the village wouldn’t pick up anything suspicious.

—You’re insane, and I don’t know if I’m even crazier for going along with you. What the hell did Namjoon tell you to make you climb on your cow and cross a river? —For someone branded as sweetness incarnate in the Capitol, Hoseok had his bitter moments. —Hyundai took care of it, there’ll be a failure in the cargo train two kilometers from the station. After that, it won’t stop until District Four. Two minutes to board, but once you’re in, no guarantees.

Fifteen minutes to change clothes at the victor’s house. Ten minutes to reach the “incident” site. Two minutes to board the train. Yoongi might have less than half an hour left to live, and he couldn’t care less, as long as he managed to save Nam and Hobi —Why do you have two uniforms? I told you, you’re not doing anything stupid, only one is needed to deliver the message.— Still, Hoseok changed clothes, and with no time left to argue, they got back on the bike together.

Eyes fixed on the road, Hobi tried to reason with him —I want to know exactly what the plan is, or I swear I’ll crash this bike and none of us are leaving the district— His stony expression left no room for excuses. Yoongi owed him at least an explanation, and he knew it, he had already caused enough trouble.

—Beete turned his back on us. The next option is Mags, but the only way to reach her is in person. Nothing’s changed: either we get Kim Seokjin out of the Capitol, or we’re handed over. But there’s one difference: Taehyung isn’t going. They want to get Jungkook out instead.

Hoseok nodded once, and Yoongi thought that was the end of the conversation. But the younger one wanted more answers —And where exactly do you plan to meet Mags? The train stops at the entrance to the district to drop supplies for the peacekeepers, then heads straight to the fish farms, or whatever that stink is, it doesn’t come back. It goes straight to the Capitol.

Suga knew it was a one-way ticket, but time was running out before either side decided they were too much of a liability to keep alive. He was ready to improvise —Mags usually takes a walk around the whole district, just in case something ‘happens.’ They say she’s kept that habit since her Games. I’ll wait for her at the fish farms, if I’m lucky, I’ll see her today or tomorrow. While I wait, I’ll figure out how to get back to Ten. Nam was planning to talk to Latier again, but we can’t expect swapping a One victor for a Two victor to mean anything to that idiot.

From their current spot, they could see the tracks, which meant they were about to part ways —Yoongs, don’t get close to the tracks. Always keep this distance. Peacekeepers are busy checking for stowaways and never patrol after four. If you walk toward the sun, you’ll find a big log that works as a bridge across the river.— His words hadn’t fully registered when Hobi shoved him off the bike and kept going full speed —It only takes one to deliver a message!

Lying in the middle of District Five with what felt like a fractured shoulder, Min Yoongi could only think that there was nothing more dangerous than an idiot with good intentions.

Chapter Text

A couple of hours after arriving in District Four, Hoseok found the victor. Mags radiated the calm of a grandmother, and seeing her, he almost felt guilty about what he was about to do.

—Hi, I’m your hope… I mean, you’re my hope… well, I’m J-Hope, from District Five, victor of the… well, you already know that. Look, I’m not really sure how to say this. Beete Latier and Nam… RM… they… —he paused, visibly uncomfortable— I’m sorry, I’m just really nervous and I haven’t had a drop of water since yesterday. Let me start over.

He rubbed his hands together and lowered his gaze, knowing exactly which strings to pull. The act was flawless: shaky voice, glassy eyes, a tangled speech that bordered on fragile. After all, surviving the Capitol’s whims had taught him to manipulate emotions like a pro —I came because Namjoon spoke with Beete about a plan to rescue someone… we, the RIP line, have gotten close to Taehyung, the victor from One. He’s just a kid. And still, when he learned what we were trying to do, he begged us to save JK, this year’s tribute. Maybe you don’t even have anything to do with this, but he believes Beete will help us, and now he’s convinced he’s sacrificing himself for Jungkook.

He swallowed hard before continuing, making sure to look even more broken than he actually was —If Beete doesn’t change his mind… I don’t even want to imagine what will happen to Tae, or to JK. You know better than anyone what the Capitol does to those who resist, what they did to Finn…

Mags, weathered by years at sea and in the Games, immediately understood what Hoseok was trying to imply. And she fell for it. Not because of wit, but because there were things a decent person simply couldn’t turn away from. Mags was, without a doubt, something the Capitol had never managed to break. A true victor.

He, on the other hand, only knew how to move in the shadows. The Games brought out the worst in everyone, and though he’d long ago learned to accept his nature, it still hurt to see Namjoon, Yoongi, even Jimin, willing to risk it all… while he only stepped in when there was an escape route guaranteed.

Just as he’d predicted, Mags spoke to Latier and got him a way back to Five. Yoongi, no matter how good his intentions, would never have managed to convince her. That’s why it had to be Hobi. Not out of courage, but because he was a coward, just not a stupid one. Sending Min Yoongi to Four would’ve been a waste of resources with no guarantee of success.

Back in the fake safety of the Victors’ Village, Hoseok waited for news from Three. Namjoon surely had already gotten the go-ahead from Thirteen. Instead, he got a call from an irritated Yoongi, with a bruised shoulder and what sounded like a cold, ranting about how he nearly drowned because he couldn’t hold onto a tree trunk with just one hand while crossing the river.

—How was I supposed to know that after all these years tripping over your boots you still don’t know how to fall properly?— Hoseok mocked. —Yeah, yeah, poor cowboy who never learned to swim… You should be grateful. When you ran out of fuel, I changed the filter, and now this machine purrs like never before. So I expect a little more gratitude from you.

—I’ll admit it,— Yoongi huffed —Your little stunt with Mags worked so well they’re actually considering pulling out all three: Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook. But Namjoon isn’t too sure. Still, he agreed to take your opinion into account, since you’re our hope, the ray of sunshine in the dark, and all that cheesy stuff. Convince him to take Tae. I know he sold us out, I know we’d be Avoxes or crow food if it were up to him… but he’s just trying to save his own skin. Not that different from what we did in our own Games.

—You mean what I did? You, my dear friend, just had a very lucky psychotic break. I think that’s what Aurelius called it — He paused before adding, —I’ll speak up for him. Do you know the plan?

—No. According to those idiots, it’s too risky for me to keep getting involved. I doubt they’ll tell you any more than they tell me… like our heads wouldn’t be the first to roll if this all goes south.

—Better that way,— Hobi replied with a crooked smile —Now go drink some tea or something. And say hi to your cow for me. You know I love her.

—It’s a damn horse!— Yoongi shouted before hanging up.

It wasn’t long before Namjoon called. His voice was tense and tired, like someone who’d practiced a speech too many times but still didn’t want to deliver it —I need you to listen in silence before you say anything. I didn’t make the plan. I don’t have any real power over what’s going to happen. I don’t agree with it. And Suga can’t know.

Nam’s tone was the same one he used when arriving on that cursed train with two coffins to deliver, families waiting without knowing which one he’d feed empty words to first —They want Seokjin. He’s the only one they find useful. Jungkook, according to Thirteen, is a traitor’s whim. Even so… he works too. They’re going to take all three out through District Twelve’s border. Once they’re in the woods, a sniper will take out Taehyung. They expect that to shock Jungkook, destabilize him, and make him fall behind. Meanwhile, they’ll pull Jin out.

—Abandoning him to die in the middle of the forest after a gunshot?— Hobi couldn’t hold back his anger. —Peacekeepers will be there in minutes. Damn it! Who are these people? He’s a kid, they both are. Bloody hell. I can already see the headlines: Escape attempt foiled thanks to our brave Peacekeepers. I doubt they’ll even bother with a trial, they’ll just hang Jungkook. And with Seokjin’s disappearance, of course they’ll connect the dots…

—They’ve got that covered,— Namjoon answered with a bitter whisper. —They’re going to plant a body. The official version will say Jungkook and Taehyung planned to kill the capitol guy during a private moment and then escape. The body will be that of a burned miner. They’ll pull a couple of Jin’s teeth to match the identity with the head of gamemakers.

The silence between them was long. Suffocating.

—And if that’s not enough,— Nam added, —they’ll pin it on Park. They’ll paint him as Taehyung’s accomplice and force him to say he gave them the weapons and the plan, that he wanted Jin dead to take his place, a crime out of jealousy. In short… they’re screwed.

—If Suga finds out about this…

—He’ll try to save everyone. And then we’ll just make the list of dead longer. There’s no way to stop this bloodbath, Hobi. Thirteen doesn’t want rebellious victors getting organized. They want an informant, not an ally. They’re not that different from Snow, they see us as numbers. One dies, another takes their place.

—And why are you telling me this?— Hoseok asked, suspicious —Because you think I’m miserable enough not to do anything about it, unlike Yoongi? Is that why you can dump all this on me without worrying?

Namjoon sighed, exhausted. Not like someone giving up, but like someone who’d already tried everything and had nothing left but to accept it —I’m telling you because I want you to use that charm of yours on Park Jimin. I don’t trust the Capitol’s people, but I know he’s just as afraid of dying as the rest of us. And whether it seems like it or not, he’s the only one with a bit of real power in all this.

Chapter Text

Park Jimin sat in the secondary control room, a small cabin in the train headed back to his residence in District One. He was staring for the third time at the files of the fallen tributes. He knew it wasn’t necessary, but it worked as a distraction. Something to do with his hands. Something that didn’t involve thinking about whatever Tae and Jin were hiding from him.

Since their last call, the elder had only replied in monosyllables. The atmosphere between them, once almost choreographed, had turned into a discordant, distant solo. Talking with Jin used to feel like conducting an orchestra tuning up before a concert: harmonious, precise. They both made sure everything was perfectly in place, so much so that even death in the arena always seemed deliberate, never accidental.

Now he felt like a sidelined spectator, forced to watch from the shadows as a performance unfolded without him. The holo flickered twice. It was time for someone to tell him what the hell was going on —Come in, Jung,— he said without looking up. —A call would’ve been enough, but since you’re here, let’s not waste time.

Hoseok entered at an easy pace, as if unaware of what he was walking into. He was neatly dressed but unpretentious, with that mix of charm and danger that so captivated the Capitol. Jimin didn’t invite him to sit. Hoseok didn’t ask —What the hell are you plotting that isn’t too irrelevant to share with a mere senior Gamemaker?— Jimin asked, sharp as always —The mics are off. Feel free to spill your rebel propaganda.

—Well, I don’t usually sneak onto trains that drag me this far from home without a good reason,— Hobi replied kindly. —Unfortunately, most of my reasons are already dead… or about to be. So I figured I’d talk to the one person left who can still make a difference.

—You overestimate me if you think I hold that kind of power,— Jimin replied, lowering his gaze —even at the top, the Parks are still just rats at the feet of the Snows.

—And you underestimate how much it’ll cost you when this all goes south,— Hoseok said, still smiling, but with a sharpness just beneath the surface —thirteen doesn’t trust you. Snow sees you as the lapdog of his favorite plaything. If anyone wants to survive the political game that’s coming, they’ll need allies. Real ones.

Jimin narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t stupid. —Is that a threat, Hoseok?

—No. It’s an invitation not to die alone. —Silence filled the room, broken only by the faint hum of the surveillance projectors. Jimin didn’t answer, so Hobi stepped closer —Namjoon says you’re afraid. I am too. I guess we all are. But there are ways to survive without becoming the same monsters you serve.

—And you’re going to teach me those ways?— Jimin shot back, irritated.

—No. All I do is talk pretty. But you… you get to decide whether the end of this story bears your signature… or your corpse.

Jimin looked down. He thought of his sawmills, the opal mines. His father telling him to always stay above the mud, always flawless. Then he thought of the cannons, the tributes, of Jin, the only one who ever called him comrade without asking for anything in return. Of the damn steps of that waltz he couldn’t follow anymore.

—What do you want me to do?— he finally asked, his voice low, resigned, eyes fixed on the arena feeds looping across the screens.

Hoseok didn’t answer right away. Only then did he allow himself to sit across from him, elbows on his knees, expression calm —I need you to choose. You can’t save everyone… but maybe you can decide who won’t be killed.

Jimin turned a dial. On the screen appeared an interview with Jungkook. In the audience, Taehyung’s face could be seen. —You want me to betray Jin?— he whispered at last, not looking at him.

—No. Betrayal isn’t necessary,— Hobi replied —you just have to move the pieces. Change the plans. Get them all out of the Capitol together.

Jimin let out a bitter laugh. —Seems, dear J-Hope, that you know more about his supposed plan than I do. Again, you overestimate me. If you want my help, tell me what your little rebel friends are planning for Seokjin and Taehyung.

The comment caught the District Five victor off guard; he hesitated before speaking the truth —Tae asked to stay in Jungkook’s place.

Rage flared in Jimin, and with all his self-control he held back a violent outburst. He wanted to kill that idiot and then bring him back just to scream at him until his throat bled. But he said nothing.

—Either way,— Hobi continued, —neither of them is meant to survive. They only want Seokjin.

The Gamemaker was on the verge of collapse. —And you expect me to fix that with a tweak in the programming? With a discreet order? With a couple fewer cameras and a few minutes’ delay?

—I’m not asking for miracles, Jimin. I’m asking you to choose. The Capitol has already chosen, the rebels too. But Taehyung…— Hoseok paused, knowing exactly what words would strike deepest —Tae never chose anything. He’s only ever survived what they put in front of him.

Jimin pressed his lips together. An image flashed through his mind: the arrogant boy, bloody and proud, singing through his interrogation like fear wasn’t enough to silence him. Then, his trembling voice over the private line: “Please, kill me.” He wasn’t a hero anymore, not even a martyr. Just someone who couldn’t keep being a puppet.

—There’s another way to do this,— Jimin finally said— Not total victory, but not a massacre either.

Hobi studied him carefully —Are you going to help us?

—I’ll try. But you need to understand something, Hoseok: if I fall, everything collapses. I can’t afford doubt, or protection, or even choice. One mistake and I disappear. Like everyone else— He let out a dry laugh— come, here’s something I want to show you.

He moved to the sound panel, entered a private code, and played an old recording. A forbidden melody filled the room. A song from the Tenth Games. From the trains. From the dead.

“Well, alright, I'm bad, but you're not a prize either...”

—Tae sang it to me four years ago. That day I thought I’d saved his life,— he murmured— now it’ll be our mark. If you hear it in a broadcast, if someone sings it in the halls… you’ll know one of ours is there. That the plan is still alive. Show it to the others.

Hoseok closed his eyes for a moment. Something that felt a lot like hope stirred inside him —Do you even realize what you’re doing?

—Yes. For the first time. And if this fails, tell Tae… that I tried.

—You’re not going to die, Jimin.

—That’s not your call,— he smiled, faint, real. —We’ll dance this waltz to the end. Just make sure you don’t step on my feet.

The bunker beneath the Kim mansion was the only place in the Capitol where Seokjin felt no need to pretend. No cameras. No mutts. No roses. Just Jimin.

The elevator descended in perfect silence, as if even the metal didn’t dare disturb Kim Seokjin. At his side, Park Jimin barely managed to keep his composure. He knew the hallway’s heat sensors would register the faint tremor in his fingers. Access to the bunker required paired fingerprints: Jin and Jimin.

He had built it years ago, during the final stage of his private renovations, hidden even from state records. Only the two of them knew it existed. Its location wasn’t random: right on the border between the Capitol and District One. A gray zone, as uncertain as the future they shared.

The door opened with a quiet sigh, releasing cold, clean, heavy air. A place of absolute security. No transmission came in or out without consent. Here, at last, they were just themselves.

Jin walked in first, unhurried but firm. Jimin followed in silence.

—You can talk now,— Jin said without turning— No one hears us here.

Jimin watched him for a few seconds. Then exhaled, weary— Hobi came to see me. You know why.

—Of course,— Jin replied, opening a side console with practiced ease— but I thought you knew my main motivation isn’t saving your new friends. So now it’s Hobi?— His tone was dry. —Mind your tongue, Park. When I’m gone, you’ll be alone against the world.

Those words struck a nerve in the younger man. —You’re right,— he retorted bitterly— I had this plan with Tae, and now I’ve condemned him just to save you from ‘the Capitol’s most promising match.’ I guess I’m just another puppet for the great Chief Gamemaker Kim Seokjin.

The elder was caught off guard; he wasn’t used to this attitude from Park. He opened his mouth to respond but was cut off.

—No need to try and manipulate me, Jin,— Jimin added quietly— I already know every corner of this story: Snow’s granddaughter, the rose on your lapel, the golden chain dressed up as honor.

Jin glanced at him sideways. —And what do you intend? Save them all by handing me over?— For the first time, Jimin saw a crack in the mask of control Jin always wore.

—I’m here to offer you a way out,— he said, serious, direct— I can’t do this anymore. But maybe we can come out unscathed… or at least alive.

—Alive?— Jin let out a low, bitter laugh— Jiminnie, you and I both know Snow won’t let me walk away in peace. He doesn’t want a successor, he wants an extension. A young, pliable body to rule from the shadows. Escaping the Capitol isn’t freedom. It’s just a postponed execution.

He walked toward the center of the white room, where a console floated above a matte steel table. —And if we manage it? Where would we live? Who would trust us? Do you think Thirteen wants me alive out of humanity? There’s no place for Gamemakers outside the game, Jimin. No place for victors either.

Jimin stepped closer— What I’m proposing isn’t meaningless betrayal. It’s strategy. I have a promise I need to keep.

Jin said nothing. For a moment, his jaw tightened— Taehyung?

—Him and you,— Jimin confirmed— If we leave you here, they’ll kill you both. Selling him as a product, you as a symbol. You’re too valuable to let go… and too dangerous to let stay, under these circumstances.

Jin lowered his gaze. He thought of the recordings, the interviews, of Jimin’s disgust when he confessed about the engagement. He thought of the empty eyes of victors who had endured that hell with forced smiles.

—How many times have you wondered what would’ve happened if you hadn’t said it? His name. How many times did you think you were saving him… when all you did was condemn him with prettier words?

Silence.

—And now what? You expect me to turn double traitor to the Capitol and District Thirteen just so he can sing again in the mines?

—No. I want you to help me so no one else dies. Not Jungkook. Not Taehyung. Not you.

Jin frowned— And what makes you think I have that power?— he said coldly. —Snow already chose me as heir, as son-in-law, as symbol. I’m more chained than ever.

—Exactly,— Jimin said firmly. —Because if you fall, everything falls with you. Snow built you as a shield, but you can become the key.

The tension grew thick, almost tangible.

Jimin turned to the holographic map of the districts. At the bottom, barely visible, a line of data showed the layout of the underground tunnels— I don’t have a plan,— he murmured— there’s no precedent for this. No one has ever escaped Panem with their dignity intact. And I don’t want an improvised escape. I want a master plan.

Both men were silent. Jin sat on the edge of the table, rubbing his face with his hands. When he finally spoke, his voice was measured.— I don’t want to involve you. You could pretend you knew nothing. Your family would protect you. You could still come out of this with your position intact.

—And what would I do with it? Watch them destroy everyone one by one?— Jimin sighed— No, Jin. I’ve already chosen my side.

The elder looked at him— What do you have?

Color returned to the younger man’s face. —A connection to the RIP line. I spoke with Hoseok. I know Namjoon’s moves. I know what Thirteen is planning, though I don’t yet know how we can use it.— Finally, Jimin sat across from him, mirroring his posture.

—I want to talk to everyone,— Jin declared with conviction— Yoongi, Hoseok, Namjoon… Tae, if necessary. I won’t move without knowing every piece, every risk, every name.

Jimin nodded. Inside, relief and fear clashed, exploding in slow motion— They’re ready to listen. But you need to decide soon. Jungkook and Taehyung are marked. Thirteen’s finger is on the trigger… and Snow wants to put a tracker on you.

Jin smell the white rose even when is no longer hung on his lapel, but he could still feel it there, like a perfumed mockery. He stared at the console— Then bring them all here.

—Do you already have a move in mind?

—Not yet,— he said, eyes fixed on the map— but I will. Before they’re all seated at this table.

Jimin nodded. The game had just begun.

Chapter Text

The train slid along the tracks like a whisper in a graveyard. Outside, the darkness wrapping the edges of the Capitol offered no promises, only warnings. Inside, the air buzzed with unanswered questions.

Taehyung sat with his back to the window, arms crossed and jaw tight. He muttered apologies to no one in particular, a one-sided conversation he’d been having with himself since his return to District Two.

Namjoon pulled an old map from his pocket, spread it across the table, smoothed it with his palms, and began to speak in the calm voice of a tired leader. —We’re on the outskirts of District One, so close to the edge that, if you look to the right, you’ll see the giant dam feeding the Capitol its power— He looked at them— I know you have questions, and you deserve answers. You’re here because everything went to hell for you. The rebels planned to frame you for murder Jungkook, and kill you on the spot, Taehyung.

Jungkook frowned— They were going to say I killed him? What good would that do them?

—A scapegoat,— Taehyung cut in quietly, fists clenching hard— The rebels already have enough victors working for their cause. Our only value is as bait, to lure in the big fish, Kim Seokjin. If I die during Jin’s extraction, there are no witnesses, and they can pin it all on you.

Namjoon nodded slowly— Snow’s got complete control over his Peacekeepers. They plan to leave behind a burned corpse resembling Kim Seokjin and say you two killed him during an escape attempt. The Capitol’s never been safe, but now neither are the districts, not for you and not for Jin. There are too many pieces on the board, all one move away from falling. That’s why we’re going to District One.

Jungkook blinked, incredulous— We’re going to Jimin’s mansion? He’s… on our side, I guess…

—He’s on the side of survival,— Namjoon replied— but we’re actually heading to the Kim house. Jin no longer trusts Snow, and he never fully trusted Thirteen. He knows what’s at stake isn’t just his freedom, it’s his life, and yours.

Taehyung spoke without lifting his eyes from the map— And why does he care about us? Why not just run? With the rebels’ plan, he wins.

Namjoon lowered his voice. —Because you’re Jimin’s friend, and apparently he’s got a soft spot for you. Jungkook, being connected to you benefits him as much as it hurts him. You’re the one who pulled him into this.

Jungkook swallowed hard. Taehyung looked away. Neither argued. Namjoon folded the map neatly and put it away— We’re going to the only place where Seokjin lets his guard down. His bunker.

The train stopped among decommissioned industrial hangars, in a yard once used for hauling marble. Rusted rails creaked under the pale moon. Hoseok and Yoongi were the first to climb down from the engineer’s cab.

—We’re at the Kim mansion. Nobody says a word until Jimin gives the signal. Breathe quietly if you can,— Hoseok whispered.

They walked single file, matching every step ahead of them as precisely as possible. There was no room for mistakes if they wanted to avoid the pressure sensors and thermal shields. When they reached the reinforced door, Hoseok hummed a tune, and it opened automatically.

Jimin was waiting at the center of the room, standing before an oval table with a dynamic map of Panem projected across it, heat zones, supply lines, military positions.

Seokjin came in last, not out of arrogance, but because he needed a few more seconds to rehearse his speech. There were no weapons inside, but he was still surrounded by seasoned killers. He walked to the head of the table and stopped. No one spoke. No one moved —Thank you for coming,— he said at last, voice steady— I’m sure you all know this isn’t a social call.

Yoongi, arms crossed, raised an eyebrow— You don’t say. Guess I showed up in the wrong outfit then. What’s the plan, Seokjin?

Namjoon, steady as ever, cut through the tension— We’ve all been working with fragmented information. We each hold pieces of the puzzle. But only you, Jin, can see the whole picture. That’s why we’re here.

Taehyung lifted his gaze, scanning the faces around him— I hope what you’re about to say is better than the collective suicide the rebels were planning. Did everyone know about that? Seems like Jungkook and I are just corpses on standby.— He added a square smile at the end, as if he’d commented on the weather.

No one replied. Jungkook, visibly nervous, gripped the rabbit’s foot hanging from his belt —Is this… to decide who lives?

Jimin jumped in quickly, planting both hands on the table— No. It’s to decide how we all survive, or at least try to.

Hoseok, leaning back in his chair at the far end of the table, gave a humorless smile— We’re calling it ‘the master plan.’ But I like ‘last chance before the bloodbath’ better. Very Capitol. Like those interviews, right, Seokjin? Or maybe like that one second you get to choose if you want to get blown up stepping off your platform.

Seokjin closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he was no longer the politician or public figure. He was the strategist, the architect of the very system he now dared to betray— Snow thinks I control you. Thirteen thinks I’m keeping tabs on you. They’re both right. And because of that, they both trust me enough not to suspect… yet.

—What’s your move?— Yoongi asked bluntly.

—The mountains south of Twelve,— Jin explained— thirteen already built half the plan for us, get out together through the forest, leave behind a big accident. It’ll be during the reapings, and the blame has to fall directly on Snow. That way there won’t even be an investigation. He’ll erase our tracks himself.

—And who dies?— Taehyung asked hoarsely, earning cold stares from everyone at the table— Please. These ‘master plans’ always need a sacrifice.

Jin smoothed his hair back and furrowed his brows slightly— No one. If we do it right, no one. But if we fail, the list will be long. And you’ll be the first names on it.

Namjoon nodded slowly. Jimin turned a knob on the console and the map shifted showing evacuation routes, tunnels, relay stations —I’ve been setting this up quietly since before the tour. These are false supply routes I programmed myself. It’s a fast, safe path to anywhere in Panem. If we hit a checkpoint, my name alone will get us through.

Hoseok straightened, more serious now— And the sniper from Thirteen?

Namjoon answered. —Wiress helped me move resources. Obviously she has no idea about this meeting or anything said here. She gave me extra intel about Thirteen’s plan—like the sniper’s time and position. But they won’t act without your signal, Jin.

Yoongi felt every muscle in his body tense. There was a lot no one had told him until now. He spoke through clenched teeth, almost a growl— So you’ve got a signal. You, the chief overseer, give the order and they kill Taehyung. Must be routine for you by now.

Jin nodded, unfazed by the weight of the words— The signal was supposed to be a stumble. I’d fall, then the shot would come. That way there’d be no risk of them hitting me by mistake. But now we’ll have a different signal, a song. You all know it.

Taehyung, eyes distant, murmured the tune that had caused him so much trouble —Too bad I’m the bet you lost at the reaping. What’ll you do when I go to my grave…

Jungkook turned to him, confused— What’s that?

Jimin looked at him with sadness— A forbidden song. Our mark. If you hear it… it means it’s time to move.

A respectful silence followed. No one dared break it.

Jin, the seasoned overseer used to commanding, spoke again— Listen carefully. No drills, no rehearsals. We have one shot. I want opinions and doubts. I won’t move a single piece without knowing exactly where everyone stands.

Taehyung spoke first— I don’t care if the rebels plan to kill me as part of the plan. I can’t stand living in the Capitol as something anyone can buy or use anymore.— He said it without drama, with an unsettling calm— I’m sorry I dragged you into this, Jungkook. I thought I could save you from the fate I had. I don’t know if I want to die, but if my life is the price for the others to escape… I’ll pay it. I just want to be far from the Capitol. I should’ve died in my Games... at least then I’d be free. I don’t want anyone else to die trying to save me.

Jungkook clenched his fists, visibly shaken— That’s stupid!— he burst out. —Onyx sacrificed himself for Amethyst and then she sacrificed herself for me and Mari… I thought they’d given me a chance, that living when they all died had to mean something. But it doesn’t. I know you’re V, that you sent that parachute. I still don’t understand why you chose me over the tributes from your district, but I understand one thing, dying there isn’t some noble sacrifice. It’s just another show!— He stood, trembling. —You’re the only thing that kept me sane. Don’t you dare give up!

Taehyung lowered his eyes without replying. Yoongi stepped in, calm but firm— Then let’s make sure no one dies. Let’s follow Seokjin’s plan. I’ve seen too many graves in Ten, and every year I go back to bury more kids.— He paused, looking at each of them. —I’m not burying you. You still got that rabbit’s foot, kid? We’re allies. Inside and outside the arena, like Tae said. I’m willing to do whatever it takes. But if something happens to me… promise me you won’t turn this into another arena. Stay together. No betrayals in this alliance, please.

Hoseok spoke without his usual lightness. —I survived my Games by betraying everyone. I manipulated, lied, sold myself— He lifted his head with resolve.— This time I want to be worth something real. I want to protect, not deceive. Give me the dirtiest part of the plan. I’m ready.

Jimin looked at the victors, each bearing at least one visible scar, insignias carved into their skin for surviving the Games— My father taught me to survive. I didn’t choose the Capitol or its customs. I played my part to stay alive. I’m risking everything... my family, my name. If we fail, they’ll kill them— He looked at Jungkook, tense. —So if we’re doing this, it better work. I’m not dying for a suicide dressed up as an ideal.

Namjoon took a long time to speak. His voice was restrained, almost wounded— Thirteen made us believe we were more than pawns. That we mattered. But it turns out, just like the Capitol, we’re disposable pieces— He closed his eyes briefly.— I don’t want to be part of an army anymore. I want to be part of something that matters. Something where no one has to die on someone else’s orders.

Jin weighed each of their words and added in a whisper, —I chose you. Your reapings, your gifts, your victories... none of it was chance. I decided who lived and who didn’t.— He looked at each of them. A heavy silence fell.

Jungkook spoke, barely audible— So no one else even had a chance?

—You won because I believed you still had hope,— Jin replied. —The President demanded a boy, not a girl, and you were the best candidate. That’s why I let Taehyung send you the last parachute. Mari wasn’t meant to leave that arena.

Yoongi muttered, —Damn you for that. But thank you for saving him— Jin nodded— The reaping ceremony will be the move then.

Chapter Text

President Snow’s office smelled of dead roses. Jin never knew if that scent was intentional or if simply everything that man touched started rotting from the inside. Still, he smiled respectfully as he entered, bowing just as protocol dictated.

—Kim Seokjin,— Snow said, lifting his gaze from the small book in his hands —What brings you here without an appointment?

First mistake. Jin was always welcome in this wing of the presidential mansion, but never without an invitation. Snow liked to play on his own terms.
—Mr. President… grandfather?— Jin weighed every word with the perfectly practiced courtesy of someone who knows every second could be their last. —I’m still getting used to the familiarity with which we’ll be addressing each other from now on. I have concerns regarding the Reaping ceremony in District Twelve. Rumors of instability in the mines have been circulating, you know… words that shouldn’t be spoken are being shouted, and I fear a spark might ignite.

Snow raised an eyebrow— Are you suggesting that, of all districts, Twelve is the one considering rebellion this close to the Reaping?

Now he had his attention. That was enough to make him forget the boldness of coming uninvited —I don’t suggest it, I anticipate it,— Jin replied —If they stir up chaos during a broadcast, the narrative has to be flawless. I propose you send Plutarch Heavensbee. He already handled Twelve’s crowd once during the second Quarter Quell.

Bringing up the Quell was risky. Snow had history with those Games, and it was easy to anger him when they were mentioned. But only those closest to him knew certain details. Jin knew them, and that was part of the gamble.

—I should meet with him first,— Jin went on —His story has to align with my plans for these Games: a show of strength without losing legitimacy.— There it was, planting the idea that Snow should let him take the lead, without suggesting it outright— The Capitol shouldn’t just react to these misfits in the districts, it must dominate them.

Snow narrowed his eyes, intrigued —And you think Plutarch will be enough to control the narrative? Why not go yourself and make sure our actors follow the script?

The old man was testing him. He couldn’t give in too easily, or he’d reveal his true intentions —Allow me to supervise Twelve from a distance. You know I prefer to avoid the outer districts. I’d rather spend my time in the Capitol, and only when absolutely necessary take a short trip, never beyond Seven.

The president seemed amused by the answer —You shouldn’t refuse to see the country you’ll one day govern, son. As you know, I once served as a Peacekeeper in a Twelve outpost. I think it’s a good chance to toughen your character. You’ll go as an ‘honored guest.’ Everyone will love a future son-in-law so concerned with the state of his nation.

Jin held his posture, showing just the right touch of resigned displeasure. —If you consider it absolutely necessary, I will obey, Sir. I trust you have the best intentions. Though, if possible, I’d like to bring my personal escort with me. He’s more familiar with this kind of… ‘people.’

Finally, Snow smiled, though his look was that of someone reading between the lines —Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing, Jin. You have the tongue of a poet, but the soul of a chess player. Still… I’ll grant you the move. Just remember, you can play with that Park boy now… but not after the marriage.

Jin bowed his head, exactly as he had planned —I won’t make mistakes, Sir. These will be unforgettable Games.

From his golden-covered desk, Park Jimin drafted documents as if they were love letters to the system. Official notices, inspection orders, maintenance lists, requests for psychological evaluations. Each one was a perfectly crafted excuse to move his allies toward Twelve.

He had to get them all there a week before the Reaping. He started with Yoongi, who would arrive as part of an experimental program for “productive rehabilitation” an absurd but functional proposal: bringing back horses for mining transport. As a Victor and expert, Yoongi had no choice but to relocate where he was told. He’d arrive three weeks early, and the idea sold easily.

Hoseok would be slipped in through his skills. He was known as a logistics technician, able to perfectly coordinate cargo arrivals across the country. Something Capitol citizens deeply appreciated. Ever since he’d won his Games, no one had had to wait longer than necessary for supplies, even from the outskirts. So Jimin created alerts of delays in Twelve caused by failures in the rail network. Backed by a temporary order approved in the name of the Games Committee, Hoseok arrived on the same train as Yoongi.

Namjoon was the easiest, since the rebels also wanted him there. He would supposedly monitor radio frequency information flows, under the premise that a rebel cell might have infiltrated Twelve’s transmissions. Playing the double agent, Jin helped by approving his arrival as an “external analyst” two weeks before the Reaping.

Taehyung and Jungkook, on the other hand, were the trickiest. He enrolled both as part of a new “readaptation program for Victors with post-arena trauma.” To his surprise, he didn’t even have to forge the forms, Capitol doctors signed them without objection. Part of the program required living with miners and working underground for a time. It made no sense, but it worked. A favor called in to Dr. Aurelius, Taehyung said.

Jimin even had a plan to attach an official sealed document justifying his own presence during the ceremonies: “ethical evaluation of the psychological impact of the Games.” But thanks to Jin, it wasn’t necessary. The president himself was sending the Games committee to Twelve for an inspection and as honored guests to boost morale or at least that’s what the media told both the Capitol and the districts.

The hardest part had been solved, thanks to his greatest resource: bureaucratic confusion. The Capitol was so focused on the upcoming spectacle that it didn’t notice the paperwork. Jimin turned the overload of administration into his greatest ally. Everything was in place. Papers stamped. Credentials issued. Positions assigned.

No one suspected, because no one thought a Park, a Gamemaker, a symbol of wealth and status, could be dancing to a different rhythm. One that didn’t follow the music of the Capitol or of Thirteen. Only that of his own conscience.

Seokjin entered the room loosening his tie and asking for a drink. Jimin poured him a dark whiskey from District Ten. Jin pressed the glass to his forehead as if trying to put out something inside himself.
—Are you sure about this?— Jimin asked.

—Which part?— Jin replied, swirling the ice in his glass— Leaving it all behind? Betraying the man who could erase me with a single signature? Or trusting people who grew up hating me?

—They don’t hate you anymore. I meant, if there’s anything beyond this. Here… it’s horrible, but it’s safe. Out there, we don’t know what you’ll find. Jungkook and Taehyung would survive in the wild, they’re well-trained. But what about you?— Jimin asked.

Jin looked up. He hadn’t had a moment’s peace since the plans began. He seemed truly exhausted.
—Years ago, I planned an escape for people who wouldn’t have survived a week outside if they’d tried to run with me. Now I have two Victors, no less, to keep me company. Jimin knew the story, about how his cousin became an Avox.

—Do you know how ironic that is? The architect of the prison is the first one who wants to escape it.

Jimin stepped closer and placed a small object wrapped in gray velvet on the table. Jin unwrapped it: a black metal rose. Not a common ornament, it could pass for a brooch, but if you pressed a thorn, the tip of the stem sharpened into a blade —So you remember who you are… when they try to take it from you— Jimin said with a soft smile.

—And what about you?— Jin asked, tears in his eyes. There was no time left to take Jimin with them. His family would ask questions. Too many loose ends.

—Don’t worry, boss. You know me... I’ll keep dancing their waltz. Until someone shoots me, or until the rhythm changes.

At that moment, Hoseok appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame, not intending to interrupt the intimate moment between the friends.

—Hey,— he said, more serious than usual —If this fails, I’ll speak first. No one’s a better snitch. I’ve earned the reputation of a liar, maybe it’ll finally come in handy.

—It won’t fail, Hobi,— Jin replied, looking at him with genuine affection —And it’s a relief that they think you only know how to lie. That way, you’ll be the one to tell this story. And you’ll make it unforgettable.

Hoseok gave a crooked smile, but his eyes were wet.

—Then I’d better make sure it has a good ending.

Chapter Text

Night fell like a black curtain. They moved in a line through tall trees, following the marked path toward the secondary mine of District Twelve. It was the first phase of the escape route. To their right, the walls were made of gray concrete, lit only by two dim yellow lamps hanging from the ceiling.

—I never wanted to come back here,— Yoongi muttered, staring at a crack in the wall —I hate leaving District Ten, everything looks even more screwed up in the other districts. It makes me feel privileged in my own misery.

Taehyung nodded, patting his back. Jungkook, restless, rubbed his old rabbit’s foot between his fingers —Sometimes I think all of this is punishment,— he said —You know, in Two, every kid at the academy takes tesserae. We hand them out, and they’re part of the food they give us during training. There’s no real risk,  one way or another, one of us ends up in the arena anyway. The orphanage sent me to the training center the moment they realized no one was coming for me. I never went hungry. I had my team… and Neptun to keep me company. I didn’t miss my family. Now I think that, surviving the arena and all, it makes me something unfair. Something that has to be cleaned away by death.

Namjoon stopped walking and motioned for them to sit— Winning was already a punishment, Jungkook. Don’t overthink it. I got tesserae the day I turned twelve. I knew the arena was waiting for me, so I prepared. I studied every replay of the Games, read everything about the recurring plants,— he said bluntly —For the Kims, it’s not about luck. Getting reaped is a certainty. Ever wonder why Taehyung, Seokjin, and I share the same last name?

The three of them looked at him curiously —It’s part of an old Capitol program. Started during the Dark Days. They changed the last names of rebel bloodlines, replacing them with names linked to loyal districts. ‘Kim’ was one of the chosen ones, it replaced entire generations. They erased family records and gave us new identities. Our shared name… is just statistics.

—So… if the surname came from the districts, how did it become so important in the Capitol?— Taehyung murmured.

—The original Kim family was one of the leaders in District One. Rumor says they started the armed uprising. But when things were about to fall apart, they allied with the Parks and the Cranes. That earned them a place among the richest. Now the Capitol flaunts their status, but after a war, money is the only real power,— Namjoon replied —They weren’t the only ones. The same happened in Two with the Plinths, but they didn’t know how to play the right circles. The Kims suggested the name-change project, and President Ravenstil thought it was an elegant way to erase the rebel legacy.

Yoongi snorted, though his voice was softer than usual —They tell that story in Ten, too. But there, they say the name change was meant as redemption, a way to stop innocent people from dying just for carrying their parents’ name. Too bad they sold that idea to the Capitol before the Games started, it became an easy way to track the right families. Not many know that version… and still, every now and then, they reap a Kim. As punishment for their ancestors.

—So you’re not related?— Jungkook asked, eyes wide for once without trembling. —I swear I thought you were distant cousins or something. Tae and Jin do look alike... they're both super handsome.

The comment lightened the mood, making all four victors laugh.

Jin emerged from the shadows of the secondary tunnel, as if sculpted by the darkness. Despite the grim surroundings, he kept his usual elegance. The light gray coat he wore stood out sharply against the filth, like he still refused to let the district’s mud touch him —You’ve talked enough,— he said calmly, without raising his voice. —It’s time to focus on the plan.

Everyone stood immediately. Hoseok came right behind him, jacket crossed over his chest and a dead flashlight in his hand.

—We move at dawn— Jin’s voice sliced through the air —Two days left until the reaping, but the plan can’t wait. Tonight, you’ll sleep underground. At first light… the accident setup begins.

—Setup?— Jungkook repeated, suspicious.

Namjoon answered, —We’re going to stage a collapse in the main mine’s ventilation system. Nothing too big, just enough to force an evacuation and suspend operations for safety reasons. They’ll talk about a gas leak and a ‘mandatory inspection.’ That’ll get us access to the extraction point.

—Thirteen’s in on it,— Jin added, his tone edged with irony. —They contacted me this morning. They think they’ve got everything under control. They think I’m their prize, their political trophy. They’re preparing an escape route just for me.

—Tell me right now, Kim Seokjin,— Yoongi said, frowning. —Are you considering going with them? If you are, I’ll handle it. They’ll get you out without involving Tae or Jungkook. But if you let them touch even one hair on their heads, I swear there won’t be a place in hell where you can hide from me.

—No,— Jin said firmly —There’s no way I’d leave them behind... and definitely not let you plan something without me, my dear cowboy.

Hoseok stifled a laugh, lowering his flashlight. He leaned closer to Yoongi, whose pale face was quickly turning red —I taught him that word.

Jin went on —Thirteen expects me to say a keyword during the ceremony rehearsal ‘unstable.’ That’ll trigger their protocol. Two guides in the woods, one sniper. They think I’ll be in the square, on the podium. I will be, just not the way they think.

—So what’s the plan, then?— Jimin asked, arriving covered in mud up to his knees. —Because if it’s just a controlled collapse and a code word, we’re not going to survive.

Namjoon cleared his throat and took over —Evacuation starts with the song playing in the tunnels along with the alert. Jimin will trigger it when Jin says the word. The mine gates will close as if it were a toxicity alarm. At the same time, old tunnels will open, ones that lead to a sealed gallery that’s been closed for twenty years. Jin’s got the codes. Yoongi has the access.

—And Thirteen? They’re supposed to escort Tae and me to the forest,— Jungkook pressed.

—Thirteen will go to the wrong place,— Jin said with a tense smile. —I sent them slightly altered coordinates. They’ll be waiting in the tunnels, but the collapse will block their way to you. Nothing suspicious… but enough to delay them.

—So you’re really going to betray them... for us?— Taehyung asked carefully.

—They already betrayed me,— Jin replied without hesitation. —They want me as a symbol, not as a person. If I leave through their route, they won’t just leave you behind, they’ll use me later as a bargaining chip. I’m not handing them another generation of tributes for their holy war.

Hoseok clicked his tongue —So what’s the signal, then? The song?

Jin nodded —The song’s the bait. The word’s the trigger. And the fall, the distraction. The moment you hear ‘unstable,’ Jimin will send the Capitol a fake transmission of a ‘technical glitch.’ At that exact moment, Jungkook and Taehyung will already be underground, with Yoongi covering the access. Namjoon and Hoseok will split between the control base and the perimeter exit. No one stays behind.

—And you?— Jimin asked softly.

Jin looked at him gravely. —I’ll fall. Literally. The podium’s rigged, it’ll be dramatic, the most theatrical thing I could come up with. They’ll think it was an attack, and Thirteen will panic. Once Snow hears, he’ll send reinforcements. It’ll all turn to chaos. That’s when we disappear.

Yoongi sighed —And if something goes wrong?

—Then whoever runs fastest survives,— Jin said flatly —I’m not promising paradise, just a way out.

The yellow lamps flickered, as if struggling to hold back the darkness.

—Then we’d better run together,— Taehyung added with a small smile. —Because if someone stays behind… I’m staying with them.

—No martyrs this time,— Yoongi growled. —The three of you get out, or none of you do.

—I like that,— Hoseok said, finally turning on his flashlight. —Now follow me. I’ve got a nice cozy carpet waiting for us down there. ‘All or none,’ huh? That’s why District Ten doesn’t write rebel slogans.

Jimin smiled faintly —Let’s prep the collapse, gentlemen.

They stepped into the darkness, broken only by the weak beam of Hoseok’s light, as if he carried a small piece of sunlight in his hands. Jin lingered behind for a moment, letting the cold air calm his nerves. He looked up at the moon before joining them. The device was still hidden in his coat, but he didn’t yet know if he should make the offer. Those boys were barely considered adults by their twisted society, and they already carried too much, mostly because of him. He followed them between the concrete walls like a ghost walking toward the edge of chaos.

That morning, when he spoke to the infiltrators from Thirteen, he’d remembered the day Jennie’s tongue was cut out. They were both sixteen. At home, the word betrayal had begun to echo again and again. His uncle had arranged Jennie’s marriage to Pollux, the eldest son of a well-positioned family. But something had gone wrong, terribly wrong, and suddenly, Jin had to attend the ceremony where Jennie and her fiancé would be reduced to accessories, transactional objects for anyone’s taking.

Jin had the device with him then too, and in a moment of courage, he’d tried to get his cousin out through the basement. But she chose to stay. She couldn’t leave Pollux behind, not knowing what awaited him.

Now, standing before him, were four people willing to stay behind for the sake of the others. And for the first time, he truly understood Jennie. The plan was already in motion. The proposal could stay as just that, an option. If they decided not to take it, he could still save the two youngest. There was nothing left to lose… only life itself.

The tunnel echoed with the hum of the backup generator. A red line blinked on the console leading to the sealed gallery. The operation was precise, technical, restrained. Everything was nearly ready, except for the final move.

Jin paced back and forth, jaw tight, blueprints in hand. The others watched him silently. They knew something inside him had cracked. He was more tense, more focused… more human.

—The original plan is clear,— Jin began, dropping the blueprints on the makeshift table. —Get Taehyung, Jungkook, and me out. The rest stay, and keep playing Snow’s game.

A heavy silence filled the air. Jungkook swallowed hard. Jimin looked down. 

Then Jin spoke again. —But… there’s something else. Something even Thirteen doesn’t know— He pulled a small black box from his coat pocket  one switch, one silver key.

—This is the emergency extraction network for high-risk personnel. It was a prototype made eleven years ago by a surveillance committee after the disappearance of a former tribute mentor. It was never used. It’s off the grid, but it can carry up to eight people.— Namjoon crossed his arms, waiting.

—Eight?— Hoseok repeated, tense.

—Eight,— Jin confirmed. —Seven if you don’t count me. It’s meant to activate an underground train planted in every district and the Capitol. The project was abandoned, unmapped, unfinished. No one knows it exists. Not Snow… not Thirteen.

Jimin leaned over the table, staring at the altered plans Jin laid out like poker cards.

—Why didn’t you tell us before?— he asked, barely containing his disbelief.

—Because I wasn’t planning to use it. It’s risky, like I said, it was never completed. Everything could be collapsed or lead us halfway across the planet. No one knows. I wanted you, to have a real chance. But now I know that if only the three of us make it out, we won’t last long. Not in that world. And if you stay… they’ll break you. All of you. In slower, crueler, more invisible ways than the arena ever could.

Taehyung murmured, —So… you’re suggesting all seven of us escape?

—Yes. During the chaos of the collapse. The fall from the podium will buy me seconds. While Thirteen panics, you’ll move toward the secondary mine. I’ll get there through the old gallery. If all goes well, we’ll be inside the ghost train before dawn. After that… we’ll figure it out.

Namjoon was silent for a long time. Then he said slowly, —Do you realize what you’re asking?

—Yes,— Jin answered, eyes locked on his. —I’m asking you to trust me… just one time.

Hoseok let out a dry laugh —That’s not asking for trust, that’s asking for a leap into the void.

—Then let’s jump,— Yoongi said. —If everything goes to hell, at least we’ll die trying something... not going back to being pieces.

Jimin crossed his arms, but he no longer looked like he wanted to argue —What about our families?— he asked, as if needing to confirm there was no turning back.

—Your families will be safe,— Jin said firmly. —We’ll both ‘die’ in the attack. Snow will lie to everyone, we’ll be the missing, maybe the martyrs. But free.

Taehyung nodded slightly. Hoseok stood and bumped knuckles with Yoongi. Jimin closed his eyes, then nodded too, agreeing to the plan.

Jungkook looked at Taehyung, then at Namjoon, then up at the ceiling, as if he could see Mari cheering him on from between the rusted beams —Then let’s do it,— he whispered. —Before I change my mind. Where do we get seven bodies?

Namjoon simply said, —We don’t need them. A mine accident rarely leaves anything to bury. If we make it look like an attack, we can leave traces of each of us near the collapse site. No one will come digging.

Jin flipped the switch on the box. A small blue light blinked on. The network was active —We’ve got exactly seven hours to set everything up. By midnight, all seven of us have to be in that train.

The night stretched tight, like a string about to snap.
The plan had changed.

Chapter Text

The sky over District Twelve dawned under a blanket of low, heavy clouds, the kind that seemed to foreshadow tragedy, even as everyone tried to pretend they didn’t notice.

The square was already prepared: flags, cameras, the Justice Building’s podiums draped in the golden emblem of the Capitol. At 05:00 hours, the seven were in motion.

Jimin had tampered with the shift log system so that Hoseok, Namjoon, and Yoongi appeared to be working under their supposed official duties. Each sent falsified reports placing them inside the mine.

Yoongi had set up low-intensity explosives in the safety zone, designed to cause only a partial collapse, under the pretext of securing the entry path for their transports before arrival. Hoseok left false leads: a tablet with biometric records and a half-filled notebook detailing how the railway lines needed to run dangerously close to the tunnels, and that he’d be inspecting their stability.

Namjoon planted interference signals in the watchtower and made sure an emergency alert was transmitted from an abandoned console, all pointing toward the mine. He even spread reversed boot prints leading any future search straight to the point of collapse.

Taehyung and Jungkook, dressed in worker uniforms, crossed the threshold at 8:00 a.m., just as a group of miners entered through the side access. Among them, a dark-haired woman with sharp eyes stopped short when she spotted the boys —Hey! What are you doing here? Are you even old enough to be in this place?— she shouted, helmet in hand, gaze unwavering.
They had no visible IDs, exactly what they needed: a witness to place them at the scene.

Jungkook froze, but Taehyung reacted fast —New Victor Reintegration Program! We’re accompanying the air safety team today!

The woman frowned, suspicious —Air safety, and no notice to the gallery chief?

At that moment, Jimin activated a public comm channel from his post outside the mine, letting his voice ring out. “Confirmed entry of secondary inspection team, shift two.”

The woman sighed, lowering her tone —Fine. But don’t wander off, kids. This gallery’s been rotten since the last flood. —Taehyung and Jungkook exchanged glances. Jungkook managed to murmur, —Thank you, ma’am.

Jimin left his torn jacket by the secondary tunnel entrance, covered in soot, as if he’d tried to enter during the chaos, before taking his position near the podium where Seokjin would fall. He wasn’t about to leave him alone for even a minute.

District Twelve’s square was packed. Cameras buzzed like mechanical insects, and the Capitol’s screens were already live. Jin climbed the stage with steady steps.

It had been his idea to hold the rehearsal, he’d told Snow he wanted pre-Harvest footage they could use “in case of emergency.” He grabbed the mic, voice steady and measured, more actor than Gamemaker —Today, we celebrate stability…— He looked straight into the camera. His pupils trembled for a split second. The next line had to come out clear. —But some things can’t hold forever. In unstable times…

There it was, the signal. From his position, Jimin sent the link to the Capitol, simulating a technical failure, and began playing the song through the mine’s speakers. A spark triggered by Yoongi ran through the detonator system. Just as Jin fell through the sabotaged podium.

His body crashed down, dragging part of the structure with him in a controlled roar that threw up clouds of dust, screams, and cameras turning toward the wrong place. Chaos erupted at exactly 11:35.

Jin stumbled, pretending to limp toward the underground access where Jimin waited. But he hadn’t counted on Haymitch Abernathy. The Victor was standing near the stage, unexpectedly —Where do you think you’re going, princess?— Haymitch muttered, gripping his arm with surprising strength for his age. Their eyes met.

For a second, Jin thought it was over. At the tunnel entrance, Jimin froze —I have to get help— Jin said, his voice cracking, part of the act.

Haymitch narrowed his eyes. He didn’t let go right away, but something in his expression shifted. He noticed Park behind Seokjin, and thought about the strange influx of young Victors recently arriving in the district, among them, Kim Taehyung, Jimin’s favorite protégé. Suspicion flickered, maybe even understanding —Sure… go save the nation,— he finally said, releasing him with a grunt —Try not to get yourself killed, pretty boy.

Jin didn’t wait to hear more. He ran toward the gallery, still limping slightly from the fall. His hand throbbed, leaving a faint trail of blood, good, that would help sell the act. The secondary tunnel entrance was open; Jimin rushed to his side, both feigning panic as they plunged into the mine.

Inside, the fake alarms were already blaring. The tampered ventilation sensors had been triggered. The gate began to close just as Yoongi, Hoseok, Namjoon, Taehyung, and Jungkook entered through different access points, regrouping according to plan.

But fate played its card. The same group of miners from earlier, led by the middle-aged woman with deep lines across her face, saw them go in.

—Hey! What do you think you’re doing?!— she yelled.

—We’re part of the inspection! You’re the ones who shouldn’t be here!— Jimin shouted back, but it was already too late.

At 11:53, the echo of the song was swallowed by the roar of vents releasing pressure, right as the timed explosions went off. An old fissure widened more than expected. The gate gave way with a monstrous groan. Only a few miners managed to retreat in time. A storm of concrete, dust, and metal rained down on the rest. Three workers died instantly.

Faced with the scene, Jungkook and Jimin tried to move debris, desperate to pull at least one survivor out. Taehyung joined them, it didn’t matter if it delayed their plan; they couldn’t bear more blood on their hands.

—Get out… you can’t save them…— came a weak voice through the haze. They barely saw the man among the rubble, bleeding from his forehead, a metal rod piercing his side —A collapse always follows another… leave while you can… I’m Burdock… Burdock Everdeen…

Yoongi and Namjoon grabbed the two youngest, dragging them back toward the others —We can’t do anything anymore!

—Run!— the miner groaned, his voice a whisper —There’s no way out for us. But you… if you can… tell my family…

Smoke and dust swallowed everything. The mine had become a tomb.

When the secondary gate shut, the seven moved through the hidden passageway, each carrying the weight of guilt. No one spoke. Jin was the last to look back, watching as the gallery fell into permanent darkness. He clenched the silver key in his hand. At 12:01, the ghost train left District Twelve. There was no turning back.

Outside, the Capitol and Thirteen would both look to the ashes, searching for bodies that would never be found. The news reached both sides as fast as the blast itself.

In the Capitol, President Snow’s face appeared on every screen, stern but composed. His speeches were always slow, deliberate, as if time itself owed him its attention —Today, Panem has been wounded by a new form of betrayal,— he said, his tone more sorrowful than commanding. —Five Victors and two of our brightest young Gamemakers lost their lives in an accident during a commemorative ceremony in District Twelve. We’ve begun a full investigation, but out of respect for their memories and families, we’ll keep details confidential until we have certainty.

Images showed columns of smoke, soot-covered faces, the ruins of the stage and remains of the mines. No bodies, just traces proving they’d been there. The Minister of Order, Sire Crane, offered harsher statements behind his frozen smile —A tragedy that could’ve been avoided if rebels hadn’t spread paranoia when the podium collapsed,— his voice boomed through the stunned streets.

—The Capitol was helping these Victors. We aimed to integrate their experience into the new national reconciliation policies. It’s tragic to see symbols fall… literally. My son, Seneca Crane, will take leadership of these Games... not to fill Kim Seokjin’s shoes, because no one ever could, but as proof that the Capitol remains strong, and Panem united.

But not everyone believed the story. Haymitch Abernathy, locked away in the Victors’ Village, stared at the screen without flinching. A half-empty bottle hung from his hand, his eyes clearer than usual —Son of a bitch…— he muttered —They actually did it. I hope it was worth sacrificing so many just to save yourselves. —He had seen the determination in Jin’s eyes. Now, the silence wasn’t just absence, it was a declaration of independence, one that had taken his best friend as collateral.

Meanwhile, in District Thirteen, the impact was different. No televised speeches, no makeshift memorials, just the cold certainty of betrayal. President Alma Coin, reports in hand, went over them line by line. Each name was crossed out, marked: “Presumed dead. Body not recovered.”

—Not a single one?— she asked, almost irritated by how professionally everything had been covered up.

—There are traces of their belongings,— said one of the techs —DNA linking Jungkook and Taehyung, thermal signatures from the RIP line, even a fragmented recording showing Park Jimin leaving the building minutes before the explosion and running toward the mine to help Seokjin. Everything suggests they tried to escape… and failed.

Coin pressed her lips together, then walked to the screen displaying a frozen image of Jin right before his fall. She stared at it for a long moment —He beat us. All of us.

—What do we do now?— asked Boggs.

—We declare them heroes,— she replied without hesitation —Martyrs of the cause, whispered in silence. Let the Capitol believe they were ours. Let Panem mourn them as symbols of hope lost in a battle without fire. History is written by the dead, and these ones… have written their chapter.

The Capitol called it terrorism disguised as rebellion. The rebels called it sacrifice. Across every district, the news spread like wildfire. There were no official ceremonies, but spontaneous vigils bloomed, candles on walls, handwritten notes:

“We will not forget our Victors.”
“They weren’t soldiers. They were brothers.”

Families received visits, flowers, symbolic compensation and a sealed envelope with the word “honor” embossed in gold. The only thing that never reached them was a body.

Chapter Text

The roots formed natural traps; the wet ground and thick air made every step a challenge. Even so, the seven kept moving, guided by Jin, who was limping, an improvised bandage wrapped around his bleeding hand. Jimin walked beside him, gripping Hoseok’s lantern, who now carried a large backpack. Jungkook followed at the rear, covered in dry soot, his eyes fixed on the ground as if afraid to see Burdock Everdeen’s blood reflected there.

Close to midnight, Taehyung raised his hand. They’d found what looked like the skeleton of an old building, half-collapsed walls, ivy-covered arches, and a leaning tower.
—Here. We can stop here,— he said hoarsely.

They entered one by one, their bodies heavy from tension and exhaustion. Hoseok lit a small fire. Yoongi rummaged through the first-aid kit, cleaning Jin’s wounds with alcohol. Jin barely let out a groan, while Jimin silently removed stone fragments from Jungkook’s arm, still stained with dried blood. The boy didn’t let go of his rabbit’s foot.
—We didn’t save them,— he finally said, voice low —We watched them die and did nothing.

—We did what we had to do,— Namjoon replied, though without conviction.

—What we had to do?— Jungkook echoed —Isn’t that what they told us when they threw us into the arena?

—It’s not the same,— Hoseok said, his knuckles coated with dirt. —In there, you couldn’t choose. Here... you hesitated. And that makes you different.

Taehyung stared at the fire. The light made him look younger.

—I didn’t hesitate,— he said calmly —Not once in the arena. Not when I gouged out those girls’ eyes from Districts Three and Five, not when I stabbed the boy from Four. Not even when I hung my own district partner and watched the mutts tear her apart. But now...

Silence stretched between them until Yoongi broke it —I was seventeen... when I killed the two tributes from Two. I knew they were siblings.

Jungkook looked up —I remember,— he murmured —It was the first time I thought death could have... aesthetics.

No one breathed for several seconds.

Still tending Jin’s wounds, Yoongi added quietly, —I did it because they were about to kill another girl. I think she was already dead by then. I didn’t save her. But I killed them, and I thought that was enough. Now... I don’t even know what ‘enough’ means anymore. What I’m trying to say is... maybe that’s all that’s left of us,— he whispered, finally setting down the bandages and pulling out a cigarette he didn’t intend to smoke —Scattered pieces of monsters. But at least now, I get to choose which direction to walk.

—And there are no cameras anymore,— Jimin added.

Jungkook couldn’t take it. He stood, trembling, his wound still open —But I killed them... Dalton, Ceres, Mari...— His voice broke —Yoongi, she asked me to. She put my hand on the knife. Said she’d rather it be one of mine than a mutt’s. I did it... because I had to? In the end, she wanted the monster to have a name, and it was mine she chose.

—That’s right,— Yoongi said, not sugarcoating it —You were a monster the Capitol made. We all were. But we’re not in the arena anymore.

—And that changes anything?— Jimin asked —I wasn’t in the arena... but I carried every blade you drew, every axe, every knife, even if it wasn’t my hand holding it. I feel the weight of every name I signed for mandatory training, every child I knew was going to die.

—You stayed in the Capitol to protect your family. You did what they forced you to, to avoid the punishments they threatened you with,— Jin murmured for the first time in hours —Sometimes... that’s its own kind of arena.

Taehyung’s eyes glowed, not with tears, but with fire —You were monsters to the districts, just like we were after the arena. Nobody wanted to know what we did, but everyone wanted to see us do it again, over and over, like a circus act.

—Your interviews with Flickerman... it was like watching someone else,— Hoseok said.

—It was someone else. It had to be. The one who sat there laughing afterward... he couldn’t let them see the real one. I thought I was keeping my family safe, but it wasn’t enough. The real me couldn’t show his face. I even tried... well, to rid the world of what I’d become. But they didn’t let me. They kept taking piece after piece until all that was left was something they could sell and use. I don’t know if there’s any of me left outside that arena... or if I buried it there with the rest of the dead.

—I don’t know if we can ever leave that place,— Namjoon said, placing a hand on the youngest’s back. —We all left a part of ourselves under that artificial sky, the moment we chose our own survival over someone else’s. Maybe that’s what the Capitol means by victory, a grave where the body still breathes but the soul’s already gone.

—No graves. No cannons,— Hoseok said softly —I won without killing anyone... well, except her.

—Your partner,— Jimin said quietly.

—Yeah. Gipsi was sick, even years before our Games. I knew her from home. Nobody thought she’d survive the winter, much less the arena. When we were alone... I didn’t even hesitate. Hours later, I convinced everyone the Careers had killed her because I had to convince myself too.— Thick tears rolled down Hoseok’s cheeks —And the others... they sacrificed themselves for me. I didn’t even choose to win—they handed it to me. When I saw their deaths replayed again and again during the Victory Tour, I realized what I’d done. ‘One of the most sadistic performances,’ that’s what Caesar Flickerman called it. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the biggest coward of all.

—You’re not,— Yoongi said —The real cowardice would’ve been letting the Capitol take even that from us... the choice. You survived. That makes you just as guilty as the rest of us who chose to live.

Jin, his hand bandaged, leaned against the wall —You’re not the same people who went into your Games. I’m not the same man who sent you there,— he murmured —Just like we can’t keep being what the Capitol made us. Maybe... it’s about trying to be human again?

—It’s too late to be human,— Namjoon replied, —but we can still be the ones who remember, so this doesn’t go unpunished. So those who died aren’t lost to time.

No one spoke. Namjoon had stepped away a few paces, pretending to inspect the plants, just to have something to do with his hands.

Yoongi still had the unlit cigarette between his lips. He didn’t need to light it. Then Jin stood quietly, limped toward one of the still-standing walls, and pulled a white cylinder from his coat, a piece of chalk.

—Jin?— Jimin asked, cautious.

The older man didn’t answer. He just knelt before the wall and began to write.

First, a name: D1, Velma Deraux, 61st, 17 years old, pink ribbon from her mother. Then another: D1, Cassian Lorre, 61st, 18 years old, his grandfather’s pin. Soon there were 24 names, each marked with the number 61 and a personal item beside it.

Yoongi watched, stunned —Why the ones from my year? And why not me?— he said through tears and sobs. Everyone moved closer, surrounding Jin, who kept writing.

—What are you doing?— Jimin asked, fear and concern mixed in his voice. Then he saw the pattern. D2, Yoonji and Agust Karr, 61st (siblings). —Your year in the arena... it was Jin’s first as a junior gamemaker. — He whispered, unable to look away —You’re writing all their names…

Jin nodded, never pausing. Each stroke was steady, deliberate, almost reverent. His handwriting was elegant, precise, as if each name belonged to him.

The list kept growing.
D3, Liora Meek, 62nd, 15, steel necklace.
D3, Fenrick Sol, 62nd, no district symbol, assigned a gold coin and sent home with his body.

Hoseok turned away when his year appeared.
D4, Riven Corall, 63rd, 17, seashell.
D5, Gipsi Flann, 63rd, 14, rope bracelet from her younger sister.

Soon Namjoon was crying too.
D6, Eli Aker, 64th, 17, gear-shaped pendant.
D6, Rueka Vance, 64th, 12, bracelet from the orphanage.

On the wall appeared not just the names of tributes from the 61st Games onward, but something deeply personal, the symbol of each one, the item they carried from their district to the arena. All of it came from Jin’s memory.
D7, Bren Oak, 65th, 15, symbol removed for being dangerous; his father’s screwdriver returned with his remains.
D7, Kaia Timber, 65th, 14, family ring lost in the arena (recovered and sent to her grandfather).

—How do you remember all these names? Are they real?— Jungkook asked, surprisingly the only one not crying.
D8, Sera Loom, 66th, 18, patchwork ribbons, couldn’t clean off the blood, didn’t return them to her family.
D9, Renn Sowell, 66th, 16, wheat sprig, held it until his last breath.

—I remember them all,— Jin finally said.
D10, Yuna Vale, 67th, 13, lucky horseshoe.
D10, Jonn Pastrel, 67th, his father’s cufflinks. —Even those who died before the cameras turned their way. The ones who didn’t make it to day two. The ones no one remembers, except their families... and me.

D11, Shira Pluma, 68th, 15, daisy brooch, couldn’t be recovered from the ashes.
D11, Kelo Sprout, 68th, 17, no symbol, refused anything from the Capitol.

Jungkook stepped forward, unsteady, his bandage loose. He stood still for a few seconds, then whispered, —Amathist, Ceres, Mari, Dolan.— Jin wrote each one down.
D12, Renna Cade, 69th, 12, metal bracelet.
D12, Thale Ash, 69th, 12, grandmother’s necklace.

Finally, with the last bit of chalk, he wrote:
Burdock Everdeen, miner. Died in the mine collapse during the escape.

Yoongi slowly rose and approached. He touched one of the names, read it under his breath, and let a single tear fall. Taehyung ran his hand over the names of his victims, his partners, his enemies, looking at them as if each one could look back.

Namjoon pressed his palm to the stone —This isn’t a tombstone,— he said —It’s an act of memory.

—A farewell— Hoseok added.

Jimin raised the lantern higher. The light reflected on the damp wall, illuminating dozens of names in white, a constellation of absences.

—There will be more like them,— he said sadly —We can’t stop it.

—But we can reach the end of this road,— Jin said —And when we do, we’ll tell someone what we saw, what we lived, what we were forced to do.

—And if there’s no one left to hear it,— Jungkook added, —we’ll write it down. Like you did today.

Jimin turned off the lantern.

One by one, the seven sat facing the wall, where the names remained, marks of an untold story.

Because for the first time, no one was watching.
And they, the ones who survived, had decided to live.