A/N: This story has finally begun. Thank you so much to those who showed interest way beforehand! I appreciate you! Those of you who are new (and those I know) Welcome to Atonement. This is a continuation of "Emery Means Brave" and a prequel to "Haus Der Toten" and "Metamorphosis" . As you've seen with Emery, characters from my SYOTs will make an appearance. I imagine this will be a little bit longer than "Emery Means Brave" but shorter than my SYOTs.

This fiction right now is rated "T", but I will be moving it to "M" once the Games start. There is an allusion to sexual assault, alongside self-harm, heavy swearing and 'period typical' slurrs and terminology. And of course, the violence will be extensive.

The blog will be introduced in the next chapter. My update schedule will be quick enough, especially with ACT 1 (Pre-reaping to Reaping Day) pretty much being done and proofread. I'm following a SYOT format which will hopefully see me through until August.

Thank you for following along. Silently or 'vocally' That's my goal really, for you to have something to read while you're snuggled in bed or commuting or just have some time to kill. Emery's story did very well, so I believe this one will too. And so, without further adieu...


Atonement


Prologue - "Precursor"


"Why is it that we always have to serve them?" I grumble, continuing to cut up the pineapple in front of me. "Why can't they fix somethin' themselves? Enobaria could be lobbin' off Katniss' head by now."

Taking her eyes off her special dip, Mom fixes me a stern glare while sighing sharply. "What do I always say, Zenobia?"

"Womanhood is never over..." I sigh back in reply. I get it, the women of the house host guests. But this is the third platter we brought out - I'm sure everyone is full. Not to mention we're living through the Third Quarter Quell. Our eyes should be glued to the holovision as history is literally being made as we speak! Can't we forget tradition for a few days?

"Exactly, so why do you continue to ask stupid questions?" Mother replies, her glare softening as she realizes her tone was overly harsh. She sighs again. "A girl's duty is never done. Are you going to leave Randall to dry when it's your turn to make house?"

I let out a loud snort, opening my mouth and moving my jaw around to fend off the heat that spreads across my cheeks. How does she know he'll marry me? Maybe he's just a one-hit wonder? Even with the promise ring he gave me a few months back. I caress the gold ring on my finger now, brushing my thumb against the diamond heart fixated in the middle. It's an family heirloom dating back to the pre-Panem era. I'm still shocked that once we turn eighteen and pass our last reaping, I'll most likely be joining the hundreds of girls getting married. Still, Randall damn well knows that if he wants something, he could go get it himself. I wouldn't even be in the house. Neither of us would. I would be attending legislative assemblies in the Capitol on the military's behest while Randy is head in any of the twelve districts. I won't be like her, bringing the PNPK home even though she put up her uniform for the evening - treating the family like a chain-of-command where Dad's word is absolute no matter what. Besides holidays like the Games, they barely know how to let loose.

I blame the double whammy of being Community Home and Academy Brats. There's "switched on" - being really good at what you do - and then there's Mom and Dad's version of "switched on" - everything must be perfect and once you reach 'perfect', there's still room for improvement.

And by 'room', I mean a room as wide as Panem.

"Mom, Zen! Somethin's goin' down!" Paulus screams from the couch. If I didn't know the reason for his furor, you would think President Snow died. "Get your butts in here now!"

I spare Mom the quickest of glances before zipping out of the kitchen just as fast, plopping myself between my elder brother and Randall as I place a hand on the thigh of the latter. Mom takes her seat on the nearby recliner where Dad already sits, the dropping the platter of fruit on the tea table in a way that almost causes the thing to spill onto the hardwood floor. Fruit doesn't matter right now. The Quarter Quell seems to be nearing its end. Johanna Mason is on Katniss now but instead of going for the killing blow, she cuts into her wrist.

"Why the hell would she do that?" Randall asks aloud.

"Beats me..." I shrug. I'm curious still. What is she getting at, faking Katniss' death?

Our eyes never leave the screen, my face wet with tears when I finally decide to blink. With Fire Girl's screams of agony, Brutus and Enobaria seem to leave her alone and continue to pursuit Johanna into the jungle. Hundreds of meters into their chase, the two Twos are separated by the fog and the cameras cut to various scenes such as Katniss writhing around, Enobaria happening upon Beetee and now Brutus barreling toward Lover Boy and Chaff. It's Chaff that's the first to notice.

"Kid, look out!" He cries shoving Peeta down an incline just as Brutus thrusts his spear forward. Even with one hand I've got to give it to him, Chaff Mitchell is the only Eleven worth a damn. He holds his own against Brutus' heavy blows and fights back with thrusts and swipes of his own. He, alongside non-Careers like Daniel Bernhardt of D9 and James Logan of D5 are what the Academy behoove potential Career tributes like Paulus and I to lookout for. Non-Career males who are more switched on than average are just as dangerous as D1, 2 or 4. Randall and I begin clapping, hoping that our positive air will somehow reach the jungle and empower Brutus.

Paulus launches from out of his seat. "Yeah baby, woo!"

"C'mon Brutus you got this!" Dad claps his hands together. "C'mon, bring it home now-"

"Good, good!" Mom cheers, clenching her fists as she leans toward the holovision. "Kill him, kill him!"

Chaff is on the offence, swiping in an upward motion as Brutus drops down and tackles Chaff's exposed midsection. Brutus, the absolute beast we all know him as, powers the Eleven man into a nearby tree causing him to cry out again and again as Brutus continues to drive him into it. His spear discarded elsewhere, Chaff crumples to the ground as Brutus turns his attention to a dazed Lover Boy who only just rises to his feet. Brutus has his spear at the ready, preparing to let it fly into Peeta's chest.

We all exclaim when someway somehow, Chaff propels himself into the spear's trajectory. The pole enters his back and protrudes out of the sternum in a spray of blood. Chaff cries out, flopping to the ground dead. Like a deer caught in headlamps, Lover Boy watches as Brutus unceremoniously rips the spear from out of Chaff's limp body, signalling his cannon.

"Just you 'n' me, Peety..." Brutus jeers as he begins his casual stride to the younger victor. "No one left to hold your hand."

"You're damn right," Dad says towards the holovision. "Hurry up an' finish him!"

It's Lover Boy who begins the battle, swiping hesitantly towards Brutus with his machete. Obviously, Brutus swats away the blows as if warding off a persistent fly. Lover Boy's expression turns desperate as he closes the distance between them, locking the much larger Brutus Gunn into a grapple of all things.

"This guy is a real idiot..." I mumble.

Brutus seems to think so too. I've spent ample time at the very hands on information sessions he'd host at the Academy. He always loves a challenge. "Ah, so that's how you wanna play it?!"

Their spear and machete cast away, the two begin trading blows. Brutus' blows seem to have more oomph in them as Lover Boy reels with each strike. We cheer like crazy when Brutus launches a fist into Lover Boy's stomach, causing him to double over as a knee to the head sends him careening down the incline into a swampy pit. Bloodied and dazed, Peeta tries to scramble away from Brutus but he's way too slow. It's all over now.

"Don't'cha worry Peety," Brutus jeers, wiping excess blood from his lip as he slowly stalks over to Lover Boy's prone form. "Because you hustled so well just now, I promise I'll end Katniss real quick like once we're done here."

Lover Boy continues to scramble up the incline in vain but there's something different with his face, his eyes specifically. A split second ago they were filled with fear and now...now they were dark, angry. Just as Brutus hovers over Peeta, his hands moving to secure themselves around his neck, we exclaim with utter shock as Peeta swings a large, unwieldy log into his head. Brutus' bald head, sheen with condensation, immediately flows with blood as he drops into the muck. We watch as the cameras focus on Peeta's face. He's screaming like an absolute mutt, so unlike the timid mess he usually was. The swing must've been a good one because Brutus is absolutely out of it, stumbling backward as Peeta continues to roar. He pivots on his heels, sloshing through the swamp as Peeta continues to give chase. We all cry out when Peeta's log connects with Brutus' back, causing the older victor to cry out. It's his turn to scamper away from Peeta now. He must be gassed, because Brutus can't even clear the incline as Peeta hovers over him now with that dammed log.

As much as I wanted to, I couldn't take my eyes from the screen as Peeta powers the log down into Brutus' head not once, twice but three times in a spray of mud, blood and flesh. Brutus' head is half sunk into the muck and resembles a smushed orange rather than the cue ball-like smoothness I've known since I was born. Paulus is the first to react, screaming out a curse as he sends his glass tumbler to the floor, shattering it into chunks of glass.

"Fuckin' Twelves man..." he grumbles, gesturing to the holovision where Peeta proceeds to drop to his knees and throw up. "It's never one on one like a true tribute. It's always this crafty shit!"

"Paulus..." Mom eyes him with annoyance. I let out a soft snort. I always find it odd when she scolds us for swearing. We're Peacekeepers and Peacekeepers-in-training. I'd like to think that it was her time in the Community Home that drilled the prim and proper attitude into her.

"The boy's right, Brigitta." Dad rebuffs with a wave of the hand. "Let him vent, he's only sayin' what everyone thinks."

"Lemme say here and now that it won't be me," Paulus continues, waving his hand around for extra emphasis. "When I get in there, Pop, they're the first to go, the Twelves-"

"They'd better be. You'd better not let that shit happen to you," Dad replies, downing his drink while jabbing a finger toward Paulus. "Two years is quite enough tomfoolery for me."

Mom groans, turning her attention back to the screen while I keep my eyes focus on Paulus who continues to grumble under his breath. He had just passed his ACT - Advanced Career Training. He's one of the handful of boys slated to be picked for HG 76. Bias aside, even if he doesn't get picked, Paulus is one of the best cadets at the Academy. Captain of every team, constantly active within the school body. He'll do an even greater job as an officer in the Air Force if he doesn't get his spot as male tribute. We all know he's gonna be chosen.

Even with the popularity he has among cadets and staff, I can't help but cringe when he talks about volunteering. I know he has it in him to win, but the thought of losing him to some cheap outlier gnaws at me.

Randall lurches upright beside me. "What the hell is she doing now?"

I focus my attention on the screen, watching with intrigue as Katniss ties her arrow onto Beetee's wire. District 4's Finnick Odair watches on in curiosity as Katniss' gaze turns towards the turbulent skies, standing upright as she levels her bow towards the rumbling clouds and that odd tree that serves as a lightning rod.

"Katniss..." Finnick bounds toward her, a hand outstretched. "Katniss get away from that tree!"

Katniss ignores him, waiting for lightning to strike as she launches her bow. We see as much of her being struck and launched off her feet before the holovision freezes and cuts out entirely, returning to the perplexed expressions of Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith.

"It appears we've encountered some technical difficulties..." Caesar says wearily, exchanging odd glances with his co-host. "We are just as confused as you are so please wait out until further notice!"

Confusion washes over the living room like a wave. Everyone is on the edge of their seats, squinting towards the holovision screen as a 'PLEASE STAND BY' appears on screen.

"What the hell..."

"What'd she do this time?"

"What's going on?"

Mother reclines back in her chair, eyeing the holovision as scenes of a chaotic Hunger Games Headquarters in the Capitol are shown to us. Escorts and victors alike are guided in handcuffs into Peacekeeper SJ-7's. "We'll find out soon enough."


We - I - found out soon enough. It seems that Fire Girl and Lover Boy were a part of a plot to destroy the arena and bring down the Capitol alongside Panem with it. Almost as soon as she fired her arrow into the arena, rebels throughout the districts began work to upend the system that's kept us safe for centuries. Even though District 2 remains loyal, there is a sizeable element of rebel activity within, attacking military convoys and even bombing the government quarter multiple times. Our summer vacation is cut short. They call Paulus and I back to school, putting every cadet to work by shoring up defenses around the district capital and even the expansive training range the Academy uses. Every day my friends and I walk down Main Street it seems that dozens upon dozens of Reb followers are hanging from their necks.

I'd like to think we're doing well.

"Good Evening Panem, we are live in District 6 where yet another Rebel operation has been shuttered. As you can see here, cache upon cache of weapons and other hoarded goods are being recovered by our noble Peacekeepers," the cameras cut from Marceline Devereaux to the warehouse where the goods were found. Two hovercrafts zip overhead, dropping their payloads onto the building and blowing it to smithereens. "Strategic bombing, as employed in District 12, serves as a prime strategy in the fight against this persistent rebellion. The same scene of Rebel dens being blown apart is playing out throughout the nation. This is not the Capitol's fight to lose."

"These people are so foolish," Mother says, shaking her head as a commercial urging loyal Panemians to turn in scrap plays on holovision. "Trying to pick a fight against the Capitol, after what happened last time."

"All we need to do is hold fast." Father replies while placing his mug on the table. "Though I doubt that there are many people like us in the other districts for us to do so."


Months down the line, Dad's doubts are true and my thoughts seem to be wrong. We're not doing well by the slightest.

By fall, one by one, each district's capital city seems to fall to the Rebels causing normal, loyal citizens into little pockets of resistance. It starts out east in the Outliers. By November, the Rebs in District 2 start to become cockier. You can't walk the streets without being harassed by PKs or being witness to an arrest or disturbance. People outright avoid the district administrative center now. It's an utter warzone. Mom and Dad don't trust anyone on our street anymore and who can blame them? Two days ago, PKs raided the Turpin family home. They all died in a hail of bullets. I didn't expect them to be turncoats. To lessen unauthorized traffic, High Command limited personnel entering Cheyenne Mountain - or what the Rebs call "The Nut" until now.

"They've given us the go ahead!" I hear Dad cry out from inside the house.

Paulus and I are loading the family 4x4 with essential goods after Mom and Dad got a message via radio to wait out for official instruction. I feel myself become a million pounds lighter. Hearing that is the best news I've heard in a long while. Things were getting very bad in Two. Everyone is at each other's throats. You can't even trust your own neighbor. It's only a matter of time before a rebel mob marches down the street and begins creating a ruckus, like other villages have experienced. Mom enters the garage, clad in her uniform. We're all in uniform. It makes the entry process easier.

"Is everything packed?!" She asks, making her way towards the car.

"Yea!" Paulus replies, entering the backseat.

"We're ready to go!" I add, following him.

Mom takes her place on the passenger side and pokes her head out toward the house entrance. "Marcus!"

"Yeah, yeah, just makin' sure we're all set here!" Dad replies, swinging the door closed as he heaves a rifle in his arms. "I'll be damned if a bunch of looters ransack our home."

I can't help but focus on Dad's hobble as he bounds down the stairs and into the driver's side of the car. He was in D11 when it happened, rioters toppled his observation tower, crushed his leg something awful. It was so bad they offered him a wheelchair and a nice pension. Yet here he is, wearing his combat whites ready for anything. Backing out onto the driveway, we stop only to let Paulus close and lock the garage before leaving our street behind for Snow knows how long. Back in July, our street was decked with flag pennants and kids playing out on manicured lawns. Now houses with boarded up windows and makeshift signs warning that trespassers will "GET THEIRS" seem to dot each and every home.

Dad turns off the radio that continuously drones emergency warning messages as Mother splays out a map over the console. Realistically we're not that far from the mountain complex, but given how Ravinstill Springs is a giant war zone, getting there won't be easy. I just hope that the PKs still have control over most of the roads.

"I certainly hope you're not taking the highway." Mom says.

"No. We'll take a main road and switch onto a concession." Dad replies. "Hopefully the morning makes it so that people are less inclined."

We do just that, avoiding the main roads while keeping mainly to rural roads skirting the city limits. My stomach is in knots each time we pass the scene of a skirmish, burnt out husks of armored cars both PK and makeshift Reb. The morning haze doesn't exactly help my anxiety either, the fog so thick that I expect something to come bursting out and ruin our day. Paulus' hand gently gripping my wrist pulls me back into reality but isn't enough to calm me. Still, I can't help but raise a brow as he serves me that cocky grin of his.

"We're good Zen," He assures, snickering as he gives my wrist a slap. "We're gonna get to the mountain, link up with our pals and give the Rebs some hell."

I sigh, reclining back onto the bench seating. Domita, Garrick, Bea, Callista, Randy, they're probably all making their way to the mountains if they haven't already. We'll get in and weather out the storm until High Command can come up with a proper plan to repel the Rebels. Paulus is right. We're good. All we need to do is just get there. I keep my eyes peeled, watching out the window for threats when suddenly, the car screeches to a halt and I find myself crashing into the front bench seat. I lurch back up just as fast, scrounging my nose and mouth in an attempt to fend off the flash of pain. Beyond the windshield I see multiple men with their weapons drawn towards us. They shout commands but are muffled by us being inside.

"Mom...?" I call out wearily, clutching the front bench seat as my heart steadily begins to beat faster and faster like a train gaining speed.

I receive no answer as Mom turns to face Dad. Usually she carries a face of stoic fortitude. But now I can see that mask slipping as she fearfully says, "Marcus...?"

"They got the road blocked." He pats for the rifle leaning against the middle of the bench seating. "Even if we did pop it off first, there's no guarantee..." he glances down at her midsection. "You still got the other...?"

Mom sighs, adjusting herself. "Yes."

"Good. As soon as you find an opening-"

"-Hands up!" an armed man, a Rebel, stomps toward the driver's side and rips the door open, pulling Dad out. One by one, his followers do the same, tugging Mom, Paulus and I out into the cool morning air. These aren't District 13 regulars but Reb insurgents judging by the mockingjay armbands they wear over their civvie clothing. They stagger us off in a diagonal line, commanding us to raise our hands to our chests. A dark-skinned man gives us a look over, a stupid sneer on his face. My hear thumps a million times a second. My brain keeps repeating the same words like a broken hi-fi. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. Paulus on the other hand verbalizes what I keep on the inside, a string of curses.

"Well well well, what do we got here?" chuckles the man. "Buncha PKs hightailing it."

"I think this is the best catch we got all week." His pale skinned friend adds. "Hey Matix, Command is gonna love you after this, eh?"

To my shock, I see a boy about as old as Paulus and I emerge from the two 4x4's that block our path. The charcoal uniform of a District 13 regular takes second place to his extremely pale hair and skin. 'A ghost' is all that I can think about as he stalks towards Dad, his dark blue eyes expressionless while he reaches into his pockets and begins stripping him of electronics and other kit like the map.

"None of you move a single muscle." 'Matix' orders, his voice screaming young-like-me. "The Rebellion will offer you mercy only if you comply."

"Hmph, what an absolute load." Paulus snorts in reply. "People derail trains and blow up dams don't peg me as the 'merciful' type."

"Shut the hell up!" the dark-skinned man barks, snacking Paulus upside the head.

"Paulus, stop it!" Mom spits.

Dad doesn't take his glare from off the Rebel soldiers. "Easy Paulus."

Paulus huffs. "Can't believe this shit-"

"Those are what we call temporary evils for everlasting peace," the dark-skinned man continues. "You lapdogs have done worse and you know it."

"Dixen, you're only making things worse." The boy named Matix reprimands. He turns back towards Dad who fixes the Thirteen solider with an amused expression. "The insignia on your sleeve marks you as a high-ranking sergeant. Tell me, Sergeant, where are you off to? What was your latest directive?"

"I don't know what you're talkin' about kid." Dad replies with a shrug. "The city is getting too hairy for comfort so I'm movin' the folks to greener pastures, that's all. The PK whites are for ease of access."

Matix' face sours for a moment as he nods to the man holding Dad at gunpoint. A kick to the leg causes Dad to cry out.

"That's odd, seeing as this road serves as a beeline straight to the mountain fortress used to consolidate the Capitol's war effort within the region." Matix trills in reply, kneeling down as he grins in my father's face. "Sergeant, I highly suggest you answer truthfully this time."

"That's the truth." Dad replies through gritted teeth. "I'm not sure what else to say."

I allow my eyes to wander, looking for an opening to get a drop on these fools. Except there seems to be no opening. I make note of how the dark-skinned one, 'Dixen' leers at me like I'm a tall glass of water in a desert arena. I make my disdain known, holding my glare towards him as he changes his attention to Matix.

"What about the girlie and her big mouth brother?" he says.

"They're academy cadets. Essentially, they're brainwashed lapdogs." Matix comments with the briefest of glances toward Paulus and I. "And you, miss?" he says, turning his attention to Mom. "What's your true purpose? A specialist like you should know something of note?

"I'm a clerk. And he a trainer." Mother replies evenly, keeping her eyes forward. "We're not active infantry, therefore not in the loop."

"I know it seems off, you being questioned by a 'boy'," Matix continues as his eyes dart from Mom to Dad, "But I'll have you know that there are other people who aren't as lax as I am. So I'm going to ask you one more time-"

"We should just waste 'em," Dixen growls while leveling his rifle toward Paulus. "They'll just blab to the next PK unit."

Paulus, unfazed by the gun at his chest, shakes his head with a snort. "Whatever happened to your mercy?"

Dixen places the muzzle of the rifle directly onto Paulus' chest. "Shut. Up!"

The knot in my stomach continues to intensify as I wonder to myself how in the hells do we get out of this. There literally is no way to get out. This is it, one of these trigger-happy fools eager to grease a PK is gonna riddle us with bullets and toss us to the side of the road. Its then that I see Mom's hand slowly dipping into her parka all while giving the impression that she's engaged in the current argument. A quick glance around shows me that Matix and his bonehead crew are still focused on Dad and Paulus.

"What did my wife tell you?" Dad continues casually, attempting to stagger upright. "We're not fighters. We're essentially looking after ourselves at this point. The whites make it easier to pass through without hassle. I don't want my kids involved in whatever's goin' down in the district center."

"I'm not an idiot, Sergeant. Why would we stop you here? Why post a sentry here at all if it wasn't for the fact that this road holds strategic value for Capitol forces such as yourself?"

"Like I said, I know a place to hunker down while this all blows over." Dad says adamantly. Something twitches in my gut. Something is about to go down, but what? Would it be with Paulus and the two men who have their rifles at the ready? Dad with this Thirteen?

Matix snorts. "What choice words..."

"You know what I mean."

"Of course I do-"

With a sudden motion Mom rips a sidearm from out of her pocket and fires two shots into the Rebel in front of her.