Living Lies ✜ Hunger Games x Reader

"I'll explain."

(A/N: (Y/N/N)= Your nick name

Enough said. I think you guys can see where that goes.

What the hell just happened?

A small gasp escapes your mouth, and you reach a soaking wet hand up to cover it, fearful somebody might be outside the closed bedroom door listening.

You slowly raise your eyes to stare in the mirror, trying to figure out exactly when the girl looking back changed so much from the last time you looked in a mirror on this train. It's not even so much of the self changes, it's the people that you know have died since the last time you were on the train. Since the Hunger Games began.

And now, another dead. Granted, you're nearly entirely convinced he was a Capitol plant (why would one of the disguised District 13 guards try to kill you?), and now you're in trouble.

If Snow had any suspicions that you were alive, using Prim as a lure to draw you away from District 13 was a very good idea. Maybe, at the least, he expected you might have guards accompanying you from District 13—but this is much worse. You have no backup; only your companion Lavinia.

So who knows if there are more Peacekeepers on board the train that know of your presence?

You can't bail off the train—you need to get to District 12 and warn Haymitch of the new kind of hybrid night-thorn berry that the Capitol has created—along with stopping the Reaping. There's no other choice in the matter, but it's a calculated risk. It's proverbial suicide to disguise yourself as an avox, so you can only hope that the very simple, very easily ruined plan you're going to carry out isn't screwed up by a freak incident.

Turning from the mirror, you dry your shaking hands and unlock the bathroom door, peeking out around the edge. The room is exactly as you left it—the elegant glass bowl filled with night-thorn berries, the well made, plain bed covers, the closed wooden door, and, of course, the dead body lying on the floor beside the bureau.

Reluctantly, you step towards the body and bend down, taking note of the wide open eyes, slightly foaming edge of the mouth, and lack of rise and fall of the chest. You don't need to check the man's pulse to know that he's dead. You wonder, with a shudder, if the Capitol and Gamemakers ran into the same issue when they thought you were dead.

Quickly, you undo the bed farthest from the door, pulling down the covers to what you think is far enough. Then, choking back a gag, you drag the body as close as you can get it to the bed, and heave first the feet onto the mattress, and then the top half. Squeezing your eyes shut briefly before closing the Peacekeeper's own, you yank the covers over the body and smooth them, thankful it wasn't a messy death by a flesh wound.

Next, you don your Peacekeeper disguise, making sure to select the one that you originally picked, which seems to fit the best. The next hour or so is spent fretting in front of a mirror, attempting to fix some of the small things that point towards your act. You need to behave like a Peacekeeper. So rigid, unmovable and stern. Shouldn't be too hard to pull off, right?

Tomorrow morning, when you get off the train (hopefully, you make it that far), you can weave your way straight through the chaos to somebody who will listen to what you have to say. The list is few. Haymitch, might be more concerned with the fact that you're there, instead of why, Katniss will be grief stricken over her sister and everybody else thinks you're dead. Whoopee.

There is one person (granted, he still thinks you're dead) that would do anything to the Capitol just out of sheer hatred. But when he finds out their plan, or what happened to you, surely, it would be out of more than just hatred. Anger fueled.