Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Hunger Games world, which is trademarked by Suzanne Collins. All original characters are products of the author, as is the premise and plot. Copyright infringement is not intended and I make no money from posting this story.

A/N- Enjoy.

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The sun was setting in the standard beauty that the citizens of District 4 had become accustomed to. I stare at it longer than usual, considering the events that would take place about a week from now. It was the late afternoon, and a Sunday at that, so everyone had just gotten off work. My parents were inside the house.

Mother was frying the fish, and boiling the prawns until it was the right shade of orange. Father was sharpening one of the spears that he used for fishing.

My brother stared apprehensively at the depths of the darkening waters. The only reason why I was living a comfortable life up until this point was because he had been a victor in the 38th Hunger Games. He had been 17 when he entered.

It was a voluntary choice of his. We had gone a few years without a victor, and our district had been slowly declining with regards to the sustenance of the citizens. We had enough to go by everyday, compared to the other districts surely, but with the larger population and what we had formerly been used to, resources had been scarce.

Our parents never asked us to sign up for tesserae. There were very few in the district that did. Fishing was a profession that was mandatory for almost everyone who were 18. Making hooks and weaving to form different items were skills that the standard citizen needed to learn growing up. Everyone in this district knew how to swim. After all, we were surrounded by ocean.

There were plenty of things that could have made our livelihood. This was why our district never truly starved. Unlike the Capitol though, we had to work every single day of our lives to continue living. As comfortable as we were, we could not remain idle. There was a quota of supplies to fulfill everyday, and if it weren't met, then someone would pay the price.

To maintain the supply of nutrition for our district, the children were trained in school everyday, from the age when they would attend school. This increased our chances in surviving the Hunger Games. This was why we were skilled in combat, if not survival. Swimming was second nature as walking was. Fishing and searching for valuable things in the sea weren't limited to just the adults.

As despicable as it was to place two children in for slaughter, we had no choice. Our only choice was to make sure that they had the best chances to come back alive. It was illegal to train, but it seemed the Capitol enjoyed a dose of violence and combat, so the Peacekeepers turned a blind eye to that aspect. Skilled fighters made for good television.

Peacekeepers paid special attention if any of the citizens were breaching the perimeters of our district. We were given a vast ocean to fish and dive. The Capitol needed their different ingredients for their varying meals, after all. They also needed their pearls and valuable minerals from the ocean. There was a point where it stopped though, and a barrier suddenly protruded from the deep, blue waters. Peacekeepers were present round-the-clock, in case anyone decided to hoard any resources from the ocean, or maybe leave the district without permission. Everything that we caught was to go to the quota. There was only an allotted amount of resources that we could take home, and it wasn't a lot. It would usually be one fish, and occasionally, shellfish and oysters.

The rest went to the supply that went to the Capitol. Hoarding and poaching were strictly forbidden. As much as we had the resources from our surroundings to keep us well fed, the Capitol made it unable for us to do so freely.

Once in a while, there would be a whipping at the town square because some citizen couldn't help it. The amount of resources and the value of each were going to be the basis of income of each citizen per day, although it wouldn't be very much. If you have reached the maximum quota, you would just end up going back to land and handing over what you have caught. It wasn't any use to catch excessively. The Capitol wouldn't give any currency than the allotted maximum they would offer everyday. It would be lucky to catch a school of valuable fish or even an oyster with a pearl in it. Then you wouldn't have to be at sea all day.

I didn't really understand how they managed to estimate the value of different resources. It probably depended on weight, largeness, or how rare it was.

There were just going to be days when you wouldn't get a catch, and your family would have to make do with whatever they had. It would be a good thing if the district had a victor for that year, which meant food didn't need to be a worry, not until the next year anyway.

The Victor's Village was in an area of District 4 that was relatively far away from town. It was more like private summerhouses, lined neatly across the stretch of beach. There were twenty houses there, and each was large enough to have 10 people live in. Currently, there were twelve victors living. These houses were the only ones with proper electricity that didn't have occasional blackouts. Even the wealthy from our district did not have that privilege.

The Victor's Village had the perfect view of the ocean. A few yards from each house was the sand and sea. There were no water villages that blocked the horizon.

The rest of the population lived on the other end of the district. Those citizens had to live on houses that were on stilts. It was a cramped area, and you could hear your neighbors easily. There was hardly any privacy in that area of the district, and those water villages housed nearly a thousand. Those houses were just a tiny room and an even tinier bathroom. The wealthier ones lived near the town square. Some middle-class ones managed to maintain houses there as well. The town square was near establishments like the hospital, quaint clothing and shoe stores, the butcher's shop and the bakeshop.

We used to live in one of those water villages. If my brother hadn't stepped up, or if he died in that arena, my family wouldn't be living this comfortable life. Father was a fisherman, considered working class, and we got by fairly well. Three meals a day were his goals, but a feast was out of the question. I lived on seafood my whole life. Purchasing bread or meat would have cost my father extra. Mother weaved and sold nets as her livelihood. We still owned that house, since it was our assigned place of residence. Once in a while, I would stay there to remind myself that hardship was still probable for us, if my brother didn't play his cards right with the Capitol.

The population of our district was about 12,000-15,000. I wasn't particularly certain, since they didn't teach us specific statistics at school. I learned about the different industries in different districts, but that was the extent of knowledge allowed to us.

Aldo and I were by the wooden deck that stretched out from the beach. By the edge, the wooden rails stopped because ropes attached the boats that the victors owned. We were by the edge, our feet dangling several feet above the water.

"It wouldn't be likely for your name to be selected, Serena," he said quietly, reading my mind. It had been on the Games for the past month, and hardly left my mind as the reaping date drew nearer. "Your name will be in there on six slips of paper, among five thousand. There are about 2,500 kids who are eligible for the Games. At this point, it could be anyone. Be glad that you live in a district with a relatively large population."

"But then there are only a few hundred who sign up for tesserae. Getting chosen is by chance. I may as well be selected because I'm your sister. Imagine having a relative of a victor inside the arena. You know these people don't play fair."

He did. He's been a mentor every year since he won. The next year, our district had another victor. Her name was Mari. After that, the other partner who was a mentor gave the reigns to her. Aldo and Mari have been mentoring ever since, although the last five years gave no victors. The victors alternated in taking the role as mentors for the tributes. There were a lot of victors to mentor, but not everyone was up for the job. Since Aldo and Mari were new victors, the other victors had allowed them to learn from mentoring. The other victors had learned and shared this information, but young mentors were still determined to bring tributes home. When the time came when Aldo or Mari couldn't handle it anymore, one of the other victors could step in and play mentor again.

Aldo had seen what the Capitol did to victors who did not comply with their wishes after winning the Games. Aldo himself had to stand the presence of some Capitol citizens who wanted him. This was kept hush, although the victors knew about it because some, if not all, were subjected to it. If word got out, the victors would probably pay for the indiscretion, and so would the people that they loved. Aldo had confided this in me one night when I heard him screaming in his sleep.

He did not tell our parents. It would be better if they were kept in the dark about this sort of thing.

Aldo was handsome, even in District 4 standards. Most in the working class, the people who lived in water villages had the same tanned, almost leathery skin from being out in the sun too much. Hair colors differed, but some who didn't have black hair had gold streaks intertwined because of the sun. Eye color differed as well, but general ones were brown, green or near black.

The ones with more money to spare had considerably lighter skin, and faces that looked less beat down. They had the safety of shade based on their employment, because these people didn't need to be out at sea. They had different professions that required less work and sweat.

My brother and I had the same tan skin, from being on our father's boat, growing up. Our eyes were different shades of the ocean. His were the deep blue, and mine were the light shallow waters of sea green near the shore.

The Capitol citizens loved him because of his well-built physique, from all that manual labor to aid our father, combined with training. His shoulders were broad, his muscles well defined. His dark hair was mingled with gold streaks because of the sun. He had seemed strong and capable among his competitors, when he was a tribute. He had shown no signs of fear or regret. After all, he was a volunteer. What motivated him to do so, I couldn't fathom at the time. I only remembered him watching our parents slave away every day. He must have been tired of it.

"If you are chosen, you will have a chance," he said, with a definite tone in his voice. My brother never lied to me, so I knew that he didn't completely rule out my being a tribute. "You know how to get food. You're the best at combat skills at your class. You can identify what plants are edible and what aren't. It doesn't hurt either that you have the looks for it."

I didn't think myself attractive, although I hardly think anyone would think of himself or herself attractive. Living with one appearance your whole life could make you bored with it. A person must have been very self-absorbed to admit that they were good-looking, or might have had a lot of admirers. My brother surely had an abundance of them.

If the time came though, I think the stylists had a lot to work with. I had the proper symmetry for a woman, healthy black hair that reached until the waist, and tiny, but full lips. My face was square in shape, quite different from my brother's angular features.

I would probably be classified as a Career tribute as well, just because I was in District 4. Most of the tributes from our district at least lasted the first day of the Games. Betting on us was an obvious choice, although there were some underdogs that managed to have special sets of skills that the others couldn't have acquired because of their districts.

"How are you managing, thinking of another set of tributes that might not come back home?" I asked him, taking the pieces of grass beside me and continuing on weaving a mat, just to keep my hands active. They moved automatically and swiftly.

He didn't answer. His eyes were set on the sun that had completely set now, save for the few rays of light that it allowed.

Aldo had changed significantly when he came home from the Games. Gone was the brother who used to tease me and make jokes at almost everything. He was still there, but a more serious man came over him, and afforded dark, sarcastic humor instead of his silly pranks before.

He turned to look at the twelve houses that were lit. A few victors were out on their porches, probably pondering on the impending Games.

"I think we should head back. I have to finish on a few more carvings for the Capitol." He stood and up and held out his hand for me.

I took it and brought the mat with me as we walked home. His talent was carving sculptures made out of wood, so the Capitol had sent blocks of wood in different sizes, as well as carving knives and sharpeners. They sold his works at a hefty price at the Capitol.

There were twelve victors. Aldo and Mari were the youngest ones. The other ten were Bailey, Nikko, Eula, Louis, Mags, Yoro, Eddie, Travis, Sonya and Tyler. They varied in age and skills. Yoro, who was about 60 years old, had won one of the Games that ranged in the 3rd to 5th Hunger Games. I really couldn't keep track. I never wanted to ask him about it either. I wasn't alive for it, but Father had told me that his arena was all snow and mountains. He barely made it out alive, what with the tributes dying of cold. The landscape was fine during the mornings, but the blizzards during the night had been especially brutal. Yoro had survived on the warm water supply that he rationed properly, which he received from sponsors. He also had the idea to put a hole in one of the frozen lakes to see if there were any means of food in the water.

Careers were only being coined back then, so the typical alliances hadn't been formed yet. There weren't a lot of Games that occurred to have plenty of bases for different strategies either. Yoro had been working alone, since his female counterpart had died a few days into the arena, after freezing to death. They had been working together, but she just didn't wake up one day.

Father had remembered that Games distinctly, even though he had still been a child back then, because Yoro had been the first tribute from District 4 to win the Hunger Games. At the end, the Gamemakers had lured the remaining tributes together, before they all just died from cold. Yoro was against two, and he ended up killing both. Now, he had a few missing fingers, replaced with robotic ones made from the Capitol.

When he got home, he shared details that could prove of value to future generations. He was a mentor even before the Games started, and that was how the training program started. The training program added more knowledge each year that different weapons had become available, and the possible arenas had more twists.

Yoro had only been sixteen at the time, Father said.

Yoro ended up marrying the sweetheart he thought he would never come home to, but he never had children. After a few years and the training program didn't need him anymore, and more victors surfaced, he lived a quiet life.

I had a deep respect for him. He was the first piece of hope to our district. He had no mentor back then, so he would have gone blindly through that arena, without knowing what it was like in there. The one who had controlled the gifts from his sponsors was the Capitol citizen who was assigned to each of the tributes from each district. I imagine that that person wouldn't have been very bright, but gave Yoro what he seemed to need.

I knew that every district had at least one victor at this point. One had managed to survive against all odds. No district would go without a mentor now.

Mother and Father were silent at the table when my brother and I got home. No one talked that much at dinner.