Chapter Text
The square of District Seven was overfilled with children and Sicheng began to feel his stomach twist again. Every year, the Reaping became more and more real to him, seeing people he knew or even people he saw around town being hauled away to the Capitol and never be seen again.
Sicheng held his little brother’s hand tighter as he weaved through the crowd, the pair definitely in the back and far from the stage. But that was fine, they’d stay right where they were.
“You’ll be okay, ge. We both will.” Renjun whispered and squeezed Sicheng’s hand, face staying stony. Sicheng wanted to believe it’d be true, but something pulled at his chest, something heavy and strong.
To take his mind off of it, Sicheng looked around for Heeseung, Renjun’s friend and Miss Im’s adopted son. He couldn’t find him in the sea of children and shortly gave up before looking back at Renjun.
Still holding his brother’s hand, Renjun looked forwards with his lips pursed and eyes narrowed. Sicheng frowned and wished he could comfort him, but there wasn’t much he could do past squeezing soft rhythms into Renjun’s palm.
The Panem anthem played its opening notes and Peacekeepers walked on stage with their guns in hand, the District Square quieting down. They sung lowly to the song, Sicheng only mouthing the words.
Of course, there was the propaganda video reminding the Districts why the Games were established in the first place. Because of a rebellion against the Capitol, the Capitol in defeating and bombing the 13th District, wanted to remind the Districts that they were beneath them, into scaring them into never rebelling again. And so, for the past 127 years, each District has sent two tributes between the ages of 12 and 18 to fight to the death in the Capitol as entertainment.
It was fucked up and Sicheng prayed it would never be him.
When the anthem and video ceased, the screens became black and the curtains of the stage before them opened. A short man with glittery eye makeup on and a friendly smile plastered over his painted face walked onto the stage in a dapper red suit. His black hair was slicked to the side and he wore a hat with red flowers on it. He looked like some kind of an insane clown, a bizarre figure who came back to the District annually.
Sicheng knew exactly who he was.
“Good morning, District Seven!” He chirped, holding the microphone and looking out into the grim faces of the crowd. It was silent and the man cleared his throat.
“As you all know, I am Chen!” He chirped again, doing a little bow. “Welcome to the 127th Reaping ceremony! I hope you all are well.”
No sounds came from the crowd. Sicheng hated this guy; every year he’d try and push and propagate the Games as an opportunity, but he supposed he was only doing his job. Still, it was sickening to him that the people in the Capitol actually did feel as if this were an honor, as if it were a rare opportunity to be grateful for.
He gestured to the drawing bowl, a glass case on top of a podium. “The drawing begins! Two lucky tributes will have the opportunity to compete in the 127th annual Hunger Games! How fun is that?” He asked, completely tone deaf to the morbidity of the situation. The crowd hadn’t responded and he huffed, holding onto the sides of the case and smiling again.
“May the odds be ever in your favor!”
Every eye was on Chen as he reached two delicate, painted fingers into the drawing and fished around for a sheet of paper. His hand lingered on a few before he smiled and felt the winner. He picked it up with such precision and every breath in the square was held.
Slowly, tantalizingly slowly, he opened the piece of paper and held it to his eyes. The world went silent and no one said a word.
“Renjun Dong-Huang!”
Sicheng’s heart dropped to his toes and his eyes widened. He couldn’t have heard that right, there’s no way his baby brother had been chosen. Out of everyone in Seven….
Should he raise his hand and volunteer? He wanted to, he would if he could; His body was frozen as he watched the Peacekeepers grab his little brother and grab him, forcing him to the front. Renjun cried out, squirming and fighting the Peacekeepers, who were much larger than him. Renjun kicked around, but didn’t scream or cry. Sicheng was frozen still.
This couldn’t be happening. He-
“Sicheng Dong!” Chen called out after unfolding the second piece of paper and Sicheng’s eyes widened.
No.
No, not both of us.
He felt a gloved hand on his arm, then another tugging him away. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, didn’t even hear the hushed voices and whispers of the crowd, the gasps and his mother sobbing out.
Every nerve in his body dropped, became cold and his brain became foggy. This wasn’t happening, this couldn’t have happened.
The Peacekeepers ushered him onto the stage, both siblings on either side of Chen being shown off like shiny new toys. His mother’s screams and sobs could be heard from the crowd but there was nothing she or anyone else could do but volunteer.
No one would, though.
“These are your tributes! From District Seven: Renjun Dong-Huang and Sicheng Dong!” Chen announced, clapping. Renjun only looked forwards as Sicheng looked at him, then to the crowd who clapped with relieved faces, yet still empathy towards them.
They were the tributes and there was no escape.
In a matter of minutes, they’d be whisked onto the train headed to the Capitol and never see the light of the District ever again. They’d fight to the death and be pitted against each other.
This was the game they’d be forced to play the hand they’d been dealt.