Monster (Finnick Odair x Reader)

Twenty-five Percent

**ARIA'S POV**

I sat on my couch in the Victor's House as Katniss and the bread boy were being interviewed for their first day of their victory tour. Caesar was insufferably peppy as always.

I rolled my eyes and quickly clicked the TV off, groaning and rubbing a hand over my face. 

I, thankfully, had one of the victors houses all to myself. The other victors of 5 thought I was crazy anyways. 

During my games (the 67th, I had been 15 and was now 23), the cameras in the arena had made it seem like I was a murderous sociopath. They shot my kills, which were only 4, from every angle, replaying them to make them seem more brutal and even showing them from angles where it seemed like I had killed more tributes than I actually had.

"And there you have it folks!" Caesars voice boomed, "Our winner of the 67th Hunger Games!"

There was a deafening applause that played over the screen as I watched from the hovercraft that had picked me up just moments after I had won. 

One of the peacekeepers walked up to me, carefully cutting my tracker out, but keeping a wary eye on me. I shifted at some point and he flinched away. I looked at him oddly.

"Something wrong?" I asked.

He shook his head quickly, "Just... trying to keep myself safe." He scurried off without another word.

Keep himself safe? Safe from what?

"Let's replay our victors most brutal clips, shall we?" Caesar brought my attention back to the screen.

The scene cut to back in the arena, showing me throw a dagger at another tribute, knocking her dead within seconds, then cut to me grinning.

I looked at the screen in shock. That dagger hadn't been thrown at her... it was at a bird I was trying to get for dinner. The bird had moved and she'd lunged for me, making contact with the dagger. And that grin- that- that was from when I caught food on a completely different day.

What was happening?

Clip after clip showed of my 'murders.' There were only two of them that were purposeful but I'd counted 14 deaths shown. 

What the hell?

In the end, the Capitol and everyone else thought I'd killed a total of 14 people, which was breaking the record of Brutus who was set at 11. In reality, I'd killed 4. But, I couldn't exactly come out and say the Capitol was lying, I liked my head being attached to my neck- thank you very much. 

Besides, I was quiet and standoff-ish, so said my mentor, so it wasn't that hard to make it seem like I was crazy. Though the solitude was nice in some sort.

Since I won my games, I seriously think I've only talked to maybe 6 people. 

I stood up and headed for the kitchen when my TV automatically turned on, the Capitol music playing and then cutting to a shot of Snow.

"He looks like shit." I mumbled, taking in his professional but deteriorating looks.

I hated Snow. When I refused to be his slave after I won my games, he threatened to kill my mother, sister and brother. When I called him on his bluff and returned home, all three of them were oozing with blood on the kitchen floor. On the counter was a bouquet of white roses and a note, "Never forget: Snow lands on top."

After that, I moved into the victor's home, not being able to bare the memories of my childhood home. 

I stayed inside unless I was buying food at the market. I didn't talk to anyone unless they talked to me. 

The grief had been too much to bare at some point.

That's when the suicide attempt happened. A knife, an empty hill and a crushed soul. 

Before I could bleed out, my mentor, Soren, had found me, saving me. 

She paid for my therapy and time in the psyche ward, insisting on it. 

Soren saved my life and I promised that one day I would pay her back.

"Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of Panem.. This is the 75th Hunger Games." I sighed, having forgotten that the games were coming up. I never really cared to keep track anymore anyways. I was never chosen as a mentor, and the District 5 kids always died. They were never the strongest or the fastest or the smartest. "When the charter of the games was written, it dictated that every twenty-five years there would be a Quarter Quell." 

My vision zoned in on the TV, forgetting the kitchen as I sat back down. The Quarter Quell was always something new and unforgettable. Everyone knew the stories of the 25th and 50th games.

"To make fresh for each new generation the memory of those killed by the rebellion against the Capitol," Snow continued, "The Quarter Quell was reserved for the games of special significance. On the 25th anniversary, each district was made to vote on the tributes to represent it. On the 50th anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for every Capitol citizen, each district was required to send twice the tributes to the arena."

I groaned as he continued rambling, "C'mon old man, either get to the point or throw yourself in your grave at this point." 

"And now, on the seventy-fifth anniversary of our rebellion, we honor our third Quarter Quell, as bestowed to us, by the signers of the Treaty of Treason." Snow takes an envelope out of a small box that a young boy in an all white suit had placed moments before and slowly opens it.

"As a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol," Snow recites from the letter, "on this 3rd Quarter Quell games, the male and female tributes are to be reaped..." He pauses, the suspense building and my heart racing, "are to be reaped from the existing pool of Victors in each district."

My stomach drops as does my jaw. 

Existing pool?

That means that... that I could be called again. I could have to go back. Do it all over again. Risk my life once again against experienced tributes. 

I quickly shut the TV off, cutting off the old snowball and running upstairs into my room. I dug through my dresser and pulled out a photo of my mother. I hadn't done it in a long time, but I spoke to her. 

"Help me Momma." I whispered quietly. "Come back and wrap me in your arms and tell me this isn't happening. Tell me it's all fake Momma."

The picture slipped out of my hands and I slipped back to reality.

I let out a frustrated scream, slamming my fist against the wall and leaving a medium-sized hole. 

"FUCK!" I yelled angrily.

There were 4 female tributes from 5 and 2 male in District 5. I had a 25 percent chance to be called upon that stage a second time. 

25 percent chance to do it all over again.