The overhead lights blistered overhead like a scattering of miniature suns, as I sat backstage, waiting in my dressing room. Up on stage, I could hear the muffled voices of one of the other tributes, and the silken-sharp tones of our show hostess, projected above the poor tribute’s stuttering.

“So then, Zakia, lovely name by the way. What can you tell the audience about your winning strategy? You are planning on winning, right?” I couldn’t hear the response of the tribute, but the laughter that followed was answer enough. I cringed in sympathy, and looked down at myself. Soon, it would be my turn out there, under the spotlights, and under the piercing gaze of Rita Flickerman, game show hostess and manipulator extraordinaire.

I looked at myself in the mirror, in hopes that I didn’t look too much like a complete idiot. I was dressed in a dark gray flight suit, with a segmented breastplate and Greek helmet to match, and a pair of shined up combat boots. The jacket had a handful of patches stitched on, from a pair of crossed hammers and tongs, with Hephaestus Cabin etched out in blue Greek letters above it, to a simple lightning bolt streaking through a stylized Gryffindor badge. The breastplate and helmet were embossed with spiraling Celtic knotwork, and tucked away behind the helmet’s crest, I managed to etch in a simple Jerusalem cross. I knew by its weight that the armor was made out of aluminum, judging by its hack of heft, but I figured I might as well show the Capitol that I wasn’t an average pawn to be played.

My eyes traveled up from my armor and glanced over my own face. My once shaggy, unkempt red hair was now shiny and clean, pulled back into a ponytail, but the stubborn curls kept turning the end into an almost unmanageable tangle. My beard had been trimmed down from the untamable bush it was into a simple goatee, braided into two strands and decorated with colored beads. My storm blue eyes seemed to glisten in the flickering backstage lights, with just a hint of the anxiety I was feeling tying my stomach up into a knot. Just training jitters. Treat it like training. You can do this. I shrugged, and got to my feet again.

As the polite applause filtered in from onstage, I froze in my place. I was going to be next on the chopping block for Flickerman. The heavy footsteps tramping towards my direction was confirmation, for moments later, the door to my dressing room slid open, and an immaculately dressed person (I really couldn’t tell their gender, by the over-extravagant false eyelashes and brightly dyed hair) stepped in, and gestured mutely for me to follow him (her, it?). I scooped up my helmet under my arm, and followed after her, weaving through the crowded wings of the stage, and stepped out onto the crimson carpeting of the stage, under the blinding studio lights. There were two cushy-looking chairs arranged artfully, and one was occupied by a slender, middle-aged woman dressed in what looked like a mix between a dress kilt and a business suit, with her hair pulled up in a tartan-dyed bun. Rita Flickerman grinned at me, though it seemed more like a wolf baring its teeth before sinking in.

“So, Will, how do you like it here in the capitol? What’s different compared to your own town?” Rita opened off, after the introduction was over. My mind raced, as I tried to think of proper answers. More people? No sudden screaming?

“Well, to be honest, the first thing that came to mind is that the downworlders here aren’t actively trying to kill me,” I replied with a straight face, and the audience burbled with muttering and rogue patches of laughter here and there. A light flickered within Rita’s eyes, and I couldn’t tell if I had contented her, or opened myself up for a new attack.

“And why, pray tell, would downworlders want to hunt you? You’re no nephilim, nor a demigod, just a normal human,” she remarked, as the audience chatter died down to a dead silence. I smiled, but behind that mask, I froze up. Rita seemed to notice, as she casually leaned in, seemingly eager for an answer. “Not to mention, you alone got a 12 as your training grade. How did that happen?” Her words hung in the air, looming over me expectantly, when in the rearmost cracks of my mind, an idea sparked.

“Well, to be entirely honest, my dad, he raised me up alone, after… well, after my mum passed. He showed to me that the world really did have things that went bump in the night, and since he was a history professor before the bad times came, he showed me how to bump back with extreme prejudice,” I replied at last, looking first into her dark eyes, then to the rapt audience. The audience began muttering amongst itself again, and I could feel the atmospheric mood change in the crowd. Rita sat straight again in her seat, and the light in her eyes flickered.

“That explains things, then. Particularly the reaping. Now that, I particularly am interested to hear more about. Aren’t you, audience?” At Rita’s prompting, the crowd erupted into torrential applause, scattered here and there with sharp whistles and cat-calls. I leaned back in my seat, and sighed. There has to be one or two in every crowd, doesn’t there? I looked back to Rita, to see her looking at me expectantly.

“Well… what all would you want to know about it? It was just a simple reaping,” I started, but Rita shook her head imperiously, and gestured back to the multiple wide-screens arrayed behind us. Each one of them showed the same scene: the governor’s estate, on the day of the reaping. The tribute-potentials were arrayed in their age groups, with the older folks up front, and the young’uns towards the back. There were the usual squads of “Peacekeepers” kitted up in their white plastic armor, both on stage, and patrolling around the crowds. Up on stage was the Capitol escort, a rather fussy-looking guy with poofy blue hair, dressed in a caramel-colored overcoat and a golden breastplate, presumably in an attempt to show that he’s just like the rest of us, in particular the scattered Guardians in the crowd. Not.

I watched as Blue began off on the usual “welcome-to-the-Fandom-Games-and-let-us-kill-your-kids” spiel, as the speakers behind him burst out in patriotic music. Once the standard show-off procedures were over with, things got serious. He started off with the choosing of the female tribute, and the ladies’ section went unsettlingly quiet as the poor lass bravely walked up through the crowds, and up to the podium. When Blue pulled the slip of paper out from the boy’s bucket, hell broke loose.

“David MacGordon.” The male crowd burst into action, as perhaps a dozen or so figures dressed in patched overcoats quickly surrounded a young boy, and when the Peacekeepers shoved their way through the crowds to get to the boy, the rest of the males shoved them back. It looked like it was about to break out into a riot, when-

“I VOLUNTEER!” A voice roared from the chaos, and I winced, as I recognized it. The camera zoomed in, until it focused on a tall, shaggy and hairy-looking young man dressed in a patched and beat-up leather overcoat, like the others in the group behind him, but he had on a battered black leather cowboy hat, and under his coat could barely be seen the sheen of matte black combat armor. The shoving and fighting slowed to a stop, as the weight of my words settled in. “I volunteer as tribute,” the man said again, and the crowds parted for him, as muttering began washing through. He made his way up on stage, and while Blue sputtered through his final words, trying desperately to act as though nothing unordinary had happened, the crowds stood silent. And watched. The camera froze, locked onto the volunteer’s face- my face.

“Well Will,” Rita’s voice said at last, breaking the spell. “That certainly doesn’t seem like a normal reaping.” I looked back at her, and I could see the mix of triumph and surprise in her expression. The room had fallen dead silent. I cursed inwardly. Great. They just had to have footage of that.

“First thing I want to know, and I feel that many of these fine audience members would want to know, is what the story is there,” she continued, her eyes boring into me like icicles. My thoughts raced, before slowing down to a conclusion- I couldn’t hide, if they so desperately wanted to know.

“First thing, my dad taught me since I was a wee ankle-biter that family was everything. When everybody else stabs you in the back or leaves, family will be there to pick you up again. That stuck, and after he too passed, a year or so ago, I did what I could to take care of those who had no family, or otherwise were unable to deal.” I shrugged. Rita seemed frozen in place. The audience was still dead-silent, rapt and attentive. I had them hooked.

“Anyways, as time went on, things got bad. People started disappearing. Demons, mutts and vamps were crossing the border, and taking up more and more territory, until it got to the point where folks wouldn’t dare step outdoors once night fell. The local lads in white didn’t seem to care, until their own patrols were ambushed, and slaughtered like fish in a barrel.” I paused, and looked out over the audience. You could have dropped a pin, and it would have sounded like an anvil fell.

“Once they realized their own weapons didn’t work out that well against them, their supervisor came to me in private, and asked me for help. After we arranged a deal, we managed to quickly assemble a crew of concerned citizens, and before long, we managed to reclaim the district. It was a nasty fight, but we finally got it through.

“However, a few months back, word must have gotten back to the Capitol, because the entire Peacekeeper platoon stationed here was removed, and a fresh one took their place- with no knowledge whatsoever of what happened. Hence the near riot, when the reaping came about. The townsfolk knew the truth behind the Peacekeeper’s boasting about pushing back the downworlders, so when Davy was called up, they would have none of it. Family is much more than just blood. There you have it,” I concluded, and looked over the audience. Judging by their expressions, they were totally stunned. Fear? Anger? Disgust? I couldn’t tell. I looked back at Rita, and was surprised to see her at a loss for words. A faint smile crossed my face, and I drummed my fingers on the dome of my helmet briefly. “Now, does that answer your questions?”

“I believe it does,” Rita said, after a moment. “From what I can see, now, the Fandom Games will certainly be an interesting challenge for you.” She got to her feet, and gestured that I should rise as well. I got up, cradling my helmet under my spare arm, and she took my other hand, raising it above me triumphantly. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you William MacGordon, the Gaelic Guardian!” The audience roared in applause, and I felt my cheeks flush violently. Behind me, in my peripheral vision, I could see a hologram of my own face, grinning vaguely. I couldn’t help but grin for real right along with myself. Rita Flickerman, mistress of manipulation, had been silenced, stunned. And I had a greater chance to survive.