Rick Riordan's Hunger Games [PJO AU]

1. Reaping Day

District 1

Piper heard that in other districts, people hardly volunteered. Unbelievable.

In Districts 1, 2, and 4 — where the Careers come from — this wasn't the case. There were so many willing participants that the escorts had to select the tributes from the pool of volunteers.

Her father, Tristan McLean, had told her that in the future there wouldn't be as many volunteers are there were now, though she didn't understand why.

Dad had won the Hunger Games years before she was born, and she was determined to follow in his footsteps and bring home the same amount of fame and glory that he had.

Plus, who wouldn't want to go into the Arena to fight twenty-three other players to the death if you could have everything you ever wanted when you won?

The escort reached into the glass bowl of male names, then read in singsong. "Bryce Lawrence!"

An eighteen-year-old boy with pond scum green eyes and a devilish smirk whooped and ran up the stage. Personally, Piper didn't know him well, but she'd heard the rumours. The rumours of murder and torture and blackmail.

He'd be a valuable ally to have, though she had to be careful when the number of players narrowed and the Careers turned on each other.

Lawrence grabbed the microphone from the shocked escort and hollered, "Heck yes! I'll be winning, just you wait."

The escort snatched the mic back, pompously fixing his silver wig. "And now for the lady." He dipped his hand into the bowl and plucked out a piece of paper, unfolding it delicately. "Piper McLean."

Piper beamed with pleasant surprise, proudly making her way up to the stage. She stood beside Bryce, and, after she motioned for it, the escort grudgingly passed her the microphone.

"I'll win," Piper promised the cheering crowd. "I'll be like my dad, and return to District 1 with a crown on my head." She found her father among the people, but the expression on his face was not happiness.

It was fear.

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District 2

The female escort stuck her hand into the glass bowl of female volunteers, plucking out a name.

Clarisse held her breath. She was eighteen, and if she didn't get chosen now, her father would never forgive her. He had never gotten picked in his younger years, so he expected her to. She'd spent nearly all her allowance to get her name in the bowl as many times as she could. It was so expensive to have your name put in more than once.

If she didn't get chosen, she was going to run away.

"Clarisse La Rue."

Clarisse pumped her fist, her fear leaving her. "YEAHH!!" she leaped up onto the stage, bellowing war cries. She spotted her father in the crowd, waving and roaring with delight. And suddenly, everything was worth it.

The escort announced the male participant. "Harley Davidson."

Clarisse stared as a muscular twelve-year-old boy whose head barely came up to her chest came bounding up to them, cackling madly.

There was a groan of annoyance from District 2, which always happens when kids get chosen, and Clarisse tried not to cringe as she stood beside a kid who was surely going to his death.

◼▲◼

District 3

"Nyssa Barrera."