Artemis Fowl and the Hunger Games: Chapter 1

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The Hunger Games is hell. Every year, for seventy-five years, a personal hell where people try to find their own little niche in life, and die trying. One victor emerges. One victor, scarred for life, mentally and physically. Twenty-four tributes from the twelve nations of Panem. A President with a heart of steel. But what happens when Artemis Fowl competes? Taking the places of the original twenty-four tributes in Suzanne Collins' The Hunger Games are the characters from Eoin Colfer's Artemis Fowl, and maybe a few more from the imagination of Yumiko Shimizu and Stella Soot. Who will win?

No one knows.

But may the odds be ever in your favor.

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Chapter 1: The Victors of Hunger Games Past

Artemis Fowl the Second opened his eyes.

Today. Today was the Reaping. An honour, it was said to be, if you were chosen. The Propoganda was eaten up like bread and butter. But he knew the truth. The horrors of the field. The bloodbaths. The fighting. He couldn't even lift a bow, never mind shooting with it. If he was chosen, he was dead.

And what of his little brothers? Ever since the age limit had decreased, well, there was a chance they could be chosen.

Two names. He told himself. Two names out of millions. What are the odds?

He calculated the odds, and didn't like them.

But, whether he liked them or not, Reaping day was today, and there was only a few hours until it fell upon him.

Silently, he got out of his bed, and trotted downstairs, feeling exposed in his footy pajamas his mother had insisted him to wear the night before, much to the delight of his little brothers. The house was clean and tidy, another whim of his mother, and no one was awake yet. Nothing stirred.

Artemis decided to change and go for a walk.

Once neatly dressed in a pressed, black suit, Artemis felt much more comfortable. He recoiled at the thought of the felt footy-pajamas against his skin, and wondered how he could get away with incinerating them. Once again, he trotted downstairs, pulled on his loafers beside the door (His mother didn't allow them in the house) and stepped outside.

The morning was warm, an omen of the day to be sweltering, and Artemis was already questioning his judgement on a suit, despite the uncharacteristicness of it all. No one was out of their houses, and the streets were empty, to say the least. Reaping day was one of the only days to sleep in.

He walked out of the Victor's Village and down the streets of the common district, sighing as he went. He passed the Mayor's abode and the noisy, clattering factories. District 3. Even though it was in the midst of rich Districts 1, 2, and 4, it itself was not rich.

His mind turned to his father, and his experience. His father had been a tribute in the games when he was a boy. He had lost his leg when a poisened arrow had pierced him. Artemis shuddered when he thought of his brother's fates and his own if they were chosen.

The Reaping will be hell. Artemis said to himself, starting back to his home where he was planning to work on another one of his devices, and maybe, if he could, get a quick nap. He hadn't slept well in a month, worrying about this day. I hope I don't get picked.

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