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No One Knows Who I Am	By : Marblez Category: G through L > The Hunger Games Trilogy Views: 4841 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games and I will make no profit from writing this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Disclaimer: I don’t own the Hunger Games or any of its characters. The many OC’s, however, are mine. :-)
Summary: Adya knew the moment his name was picked out of the bowl that he would not be coming back from the 74^th Hunger Games…
WARNINGS: SLASH! (M/M) VIOLENCE! ANGST! CHARACTER DEATH!
IMPORTANT AUTHORS NOTE - IN ORDER TO STOP MY STORY FROM BEING PERMANENTLY DELETED I MUST WARN YOU THAT I WILL BE QUOTING FROM THE BOOK & MOVIE (HUNGER GAMES by Suzanne Collins)

No One Knows Who I Am

The Capitol, Day One
“Whoa!”
Adya’s shocked cry was almost completely drowned out by the noise of the crowd currently surrounding them but Una, pressed uncomfortably close against his side just about heard him and asked,
“What’s wrong?”
“Someone just touched my bum!” he replied angrily.
That was in fact a huge understatement – the hand on his rear had not only touched it, it had squeezed. Hard.
“We’re nearly at the car,” she reassured him loudly.
The tone of her voice made him suspect that his wasn’t the only bottom that had suffered during the short journey between the safety of the train and the car waiting to take them on to the next stage of the games.
“What a bunch of perverts…” he muttered angrily as they reached the car, Una discretely helping him into the vehicle.
Hixas climbed in last, slamming the door behind him.
The silence that followed was heavenly, only the constant purr of the vehicles engine as it moved along disturbing the peacefulness…but of course it couldn’t last.
“Can you get us their any faster?” Hixas demanded, his attention focused for the moment on their poor driver. “The boy will need far longer than the other Tributes, what with the sheer amount of work that will be needed to get him looking even half-way decent.”
Adya felt the car speed up.
The rest of the car ride was spent listening to Hixas grumbling loudly about his “unacceptable working conditions,” his stress levels and all about how much extra work it was going to take to “sort them out.”
“Is it an opportune moment yet?” Una asked through clenched teeth.
“Sadly not…”
“Well it’s about time…” Hixas muttered as the car began to slow, shifting in his seat as he gathered his things together.
Obviously they were approaching their destination.
Adya didn’t know whether or not he should be relieved or frightened…
“Right, out you get,” Hixas ordered once the car had come to a halt.
Adya sighed deeply, allowing Una to help him out of the car.
“Once we get inside I will be handing you over to your prep teams. Their word is law as far as you’re concerned,” Hixas told them, grabbing both of his Tributes by their elbows and dragging them into the building.
A cold chill surrounded them as soon as they stepped inside and their footsteps began to echo around them.
This room was big.
“You will not argue with their decisions,” Hixas continued firmly. “You will not disobey or cause trouble. You will obey every order that is given and you will be polite and thank them for helping you.”
Yeah, Adya thought bitterly, helping to get them ready for the games that would ultimately lead to their deaths.
How kind of them.
“Their jobs are to turn each of you into a canvas for your stylists to work with,” Hixas explained as he continued to lead them through the large building. “Do not make it any more difficult for them than it already will be.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s going to be so difficult…for them…” Adya muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm as tried to pull his arm away from the tight grip.
“Stop that!” Hixas snapped at him, shaking him so hard that his teeth knocked together rather painfully. “Come on!”
As the trio moved swiftly across the room Adya found himself tormented with the sounds of the other Tributes already being worked on by their own prep teams, mostly whimpers of fear and pain with the occasional involuntary gasp.
It really didn’t help that he couldn’t actually see what was happening, leaving him with no other option than to imagine the worst.
“Here they are – the girls not too bad but the boys gonna need a lot of work,” Hixas announced, shoving the two of them forwards. “Do what you can with them before the parade.”
“Look at the state of his hair!” a female voice cried out melodramatically. “I’ll never get those tangles out and when was the last time it was washed?!?”
“Probably the same time the rest of him was last washed,” a second female voice spoke up, her voice low and filled with criticism. “He’s filthy.”
“Well it’s going to have to come off,” the first voice announced. “I might be able to save a couple of inches but no more.”
“He’s too skinny,” a deep male voice muttered. Adya flinched as his side was pinched rather roughly. “Look at him – he’s all skin and bones! You can see his ribs even though that awful top of his.”
“We’re going to have to scrub him down at least twice,” the second female announced. “Who knows what so of things he’s carrying…”
“Ew!” the first female practically screamed.
Adya felt his cheeks flush red as shame coursed through his body.
Wow.
And he’d thought Hixas was bad…
“What about his face?” the second woman demanded sharply. “I can’t tell what we’ve got to work with under all that hair…”
“Hang on…” the man ordered gruffly.
What did he…?
Adya let out a sharp cry of shock as his head was yanked back suddenly as a pair of rough hands grabbed him by his hair, exposing his face to the three people criticising every little thing about him.
The shocked gasp was shared by all three of the critical voices.
“Yeah…” Hixas sighed deeply from where he was stood just behind Adya. “He wants us to help him keep that a secret.”
Adya’s sightless eyes filled with tears as his face was moved from side to side, every little detail being studied and silently criticised by his prep team.
He’d never seen his scars himself but he’d felt them, felt the raised ridges and strangely smooth skin under his fingertips.
He knew they must look bad.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Hixas muttered. “Good luck.”
Adya heard the echoing footsteps of his publicist’s hasty retreat but was distracted when someone started tracing the outline of his scars.
“I’ve got some cream that should bring down some of the redness, it won’t get rid of them but it might help to make them a little less noticeable,” the second woman mused thoughtfully, her breath tickling the sensitive skin of his face. “The rest we’ll have to cover with his make-up once he’s in his costume.”
“Well…I can give him a side sweeping fringe,” the first woman said thoughtfully. “I mean, they’re not in fashion any more but it might help to cover the worst of them, or at least shadow them.”
“Maybe we’ll get them back in fashion,” the second woman mused.
“Well it looks like we’ve got a tough job ahead of us, ladies,” the man announced seriously, not releasing his tight grip on Adya’s hair. “Kynthia, you’d better start by chopping off the worst of his hair or we’ll never it clean, not with those knots. Then we can give him a thorough scrub down.”
“All right, Bob,” the first woman agreed softly.
“Bob?” Adya couldn’t stop himself snorting loudly in surprise. “Seriously? What sort of a name is Bob?”
He’d always been told that the people of the Capitol had fancy, exotic names to match their fancy, exotic fashions…not Bob.
“I’ll hold him still for you,” Bob all but growled, his hands releasing Adya’s hair and moving to grip his shoulders.
Ow!
“Bob, he’s going to have to sit down,” Kynthia sighed. “There’s no way I can cut his hair this way – you’re both too tall for me to reach properly.”
Adya yelped as he suddenly found himself bent over at the waist.
“Oh – ok, that’ll work…” Kynthia mumbled.
“It doesn’t need to be perfect yet,” Bob growled as his body pressed uncomfortably against Adya’s as his hands kept him firmly in place. “Just hurry up and get rid of those tangles.”
“I hate doing a messy job…” Kynthia grumbled.
Adya flinched as a hand suddenly grabbed a large portion of his hair from in front of his face and pulled it up and away from his skin…
CLICK!
“Yuck!” Kynthia gagged. “His hair feels disgusting!”
Her hands returned to his hair, working her way through the tangled mess with her sharp pair of scissors, chopping off chunk after chunk after chunk.
CLICK!
CLICK!
CLICK!
And then finally she was done and his shoulders were released with a shove, sending him stumbling a couple of paces forwards before he caught himself.
“Oh! He looks even worse than before!” Kynthia wailed dramatically as Adya straightened back up to his full height. “What a mess!”
Slowly he reached up and ran his fingers through his significantly shorter.
It did feel messy; he conceded silently, all clumped together and uneven.
“Bob? Everything’s ready to go over here,” the second woman announced.
“Right…” Bob murmured.
Adya let out an undignified yelp when he felt the mans hands moving swiftly down the front of his shirt, popping the buttons open as he went and exposing the dirty skin beneath the equally dirty fabric.
“Hey! What are you doing?!”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Bob scoffed loudly, easily pushing Adya’s hands aside when the young Tribute tried to stop him. “We can’t very well wash all this dirt off you with your clothes in the way, can we?”
Cold air hit his upper body far too suddenly as the shirt was ripped from his torso in one final movement, goose bumps prickling the flesh stretched tight across his bones thanks to his years of malnutrition.
“Ugh…” Kynthia grimaced loudly. “His skins even worse under his clothes…”
“What did he do, live on the streets?” the second woman muttered.
“Yes, actually – I did.”
Silence.
Hmm, it seemed like causing uncomfortable silences was getting to be a habit of his, he thought bitterly as he waited for someone…anyone to break the silence…
“…why?” Kynthia finally asked.
“Why?” Adya repeated. “Because…well…there was no where else to go…”
“What about your parents?” the second woman asked with an obvious frown in her voice. “Didn’t they care? Didn’t they look after you?”
“They’re dead.”
Silence.
“We need to get back to work…” Bob muttered gruffly, his hands suddenly tugging at the piece of rope serving as a belt to hold Adya’s trousers up.
“Hey!” Adya cried out, backing away and actually succeeding in removing the mans hands from his clothing this time. “If they have to come off then I’ll take them off – I’m not having some strange man stripping off my trousers!”
“Fine. Do it yourself.”
Letting out a deep sigh he tried to ignore the sounds of all the people in the large room, knowing that there was a fare chance they could all see him right at that moment. His body began to shake and he felt tears of embarrassment and shame well up in his eyes as his fingers pulled at the knot in the rope.
The rope slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a soft thud.
As the trousers he wore were too big for him there was no need to undo the buttons at the front, a small tug and they were sliding down his legs.
Underneath them he was bare.
“I’ve only just noticed that hasn’t got any shoes on…” Kynthia gasped softly.
Adya sighed, cupping his trembling hands over his privates as he kicked the bunched up trousers off of his bare feet.
“Ugh! His feet are black!” the second woman grunted, her voice thick with disgust. “I am not cleaning those!”
“I’ll take his feet…” Bob muttered.
“I’ll do his hair…” Kynthia sighed reluctantly.
“Guess that means I’m doing the rest of him…” the second woman sighed. “Fine – at least that dirt’s spread out, not packed into one place.”
“Bob, can you get him on the table?” Kynthia asked.
Adya yelped as he suddenly found himself scooped up into a pair of strong arms and carried a short distance before being dropped unceremoniously onto a cold piece of metal – the table he presumed.
“Can I have a couple of stiff brushes down here?” Bob asked from the direction of his feet. Something was thrown in the mans direction. “Thanks.”
Adya yelped as a powerful jet of water suddenly hit his left arm, starting off icy cold but then rapidly warming up to become just a fraction too hot.
“I’d try and hold still if I were you,” Kynthia advised him softly as the jet of water moved up to his head, the hot water soaking his dirty hair in minutes.
Two more jets of water started up, one aimed at the centre of his chest and one at the sensitive skin on the bottom of his foot making him yelp and flinch away.
“She said hold still!” Bob snapped, a hand grabbing his left ankle as the jet of water was moved mercilessly over the ticklish flesh.
The second woman, whose name he still didn’t know, moved her yet of water all over his body. When it came to his privates he fought hard against her to keep his hands in place but it was no good and his face flooded red with shame as she hosed down his most sensitive area.
“Pass me one of the bottles of soap, Kynthia,” Bob ordered.
The three jets of water suddenly stopped and Adya let out a sigh of relief…but then the first of the stiff brushes began to attack his skin.
“Ow!” he cried out.
“Stop being such a baby!” Bob snapped, holding his foot in place once more as he scrubbed at the dirty skin.
Kynthia didn’t use a brush, he soon discovered, she used her fingers. Something that smelled like the fruit he’d had for breakfast was massaged roughly into his dirty hair and then rinsed out with the jet of water.
She repeated this move six times.
The second woman was merciless with her brush, scrubbing at every inch of skin between his head and his feet until he felt like he had no skin left. Then she too rinsed him off…before starting the process again…and again.
“I’ve never seen someone with such dirty feet,” Bob grumbled as he worked, still on the left foot by the time the other two were on their third repeat.
He hadn’t even started on the right foot yet.
“Isadora? His face still needs doing,” Kynthia pointed out.
“I was waiting for you to finish with his hair,” the second woman explained.
So that was her name.
Kynthia, Isadora and…Bob.
“I’ve just got to put some conditioner in,” Kynthia said.
What she applied next didn’t froth up like the first stuff had but felt cold and almost slimy against his scalp. She massaged it into his hair for what felt like forever before eventually rinsing it out.
“Close your eyes, boy,” Isadora ordered.
Seconds after he’d obeyed he felt two things – Bob moving on to his other foot and a soft cloth being rubbed across his face, pressing down onto his eyelids and scrubbing up and down his nose, cheeks and jaw.
“He looks so much better already…” Kynthia sighed with obvious relief.
Adya spluttered as one of the jets of water was suddenly aimed at his face and a hand began to rub the hot water over the same places the cloth had just been.
“Isadora! Try not to drown the boy!” Bob snapped from his feet.
“His face is clean,” Isadora announced. “You nearly done with his feet?”
“Nope.”
“If we flip him over to do his back can finish them that way?” Isadora asked.
“Yeah, shouldn’t be a problem,” Bob answered.
Hands grabbed his arm and pulled it across his body, forcing him to roll over onto his front or have his arm ripped from its socket.
These people did not know the meaning of the word gentle.
Adya sighed, twisting his head to one side as the stiff brush returned to his skin, scraping its way down his back, across his buttocks and down the backs of his legs. The back of his neck however was clean with the same cloth that had just been used on his face, a semi-gentle hand smoothing his hair up and out of the way.
Five rinses later and they agreed that he was finally clean.
After he was dry (thanks to the painful rubbing of three different towels across his abused skin) they dressed him an open backed gown.
“Right, down you get,” Bob ordered.
Sitting up slowly he felt for the edge of the table, finding it to be remarkably dry and twisted his body round so that his legs hung over the side. Sliding forwards cautiously until he felt the cold ground beneath his tender feet he finally stood.
“Kynthia, work your magic on that rats nest of his,” Bob ordered.
“I’ll just get a chair,” Kynthia said, hurrying off.
Adya frowned – her feet clicked really loudly…oh, she must be wearing those shoes that the Capitol people liked…what did they call them?
Oh, stilettos.
She returned within moment, setting a chair down to his right and guiding him down into it. Her hands forced him to sit up straight and to tilt his head up towards the ceiling of the large room.
“Yes, I’m definitely thinking that a side sweeping fringe is in order…” she murmured thoughtfully. “I’ll keep a decent length for the rest of the hair; throw in lots of layers that we can play around with later.”
Once she had decided exactly what she was going to do with his hair she fetched her “kit” and set to work. Adya held perfectly still for fear that those sharp scissors would cut something more than hair off should he dare to move.
“Give me your hand,” Isadora ordered.
“What? Why?”
“I’m going to do your nails while she does your hair,” the woman explained, her hands clasping around his wrist and pulling his right hand away from his body.
“Define do my nails…”
“I’m going to clean the dirt out from underneath them, cut them, shape them and buff them so that they look more like nails than claws,” she explained.
“…ok…” he mumbled softly, flinching as he felt something scraping at the underside of his nails, cleaning out the dirt that obviously hadn’t been washed away. “You’re not…you’re not gonna paint them, are you? I don’t wanna look like a girl…”
“No, I’m not going to paint them!” Isadora snapped at him.
Adya fell silent, leaning back against the chair and letting his eyes fall shut, listening to the sounds around him;
Kynthia hummed softly to herself as she worked.
Isadora was completely silent.
Bob was working on something a few paces away, mixing something in a bowl if the sounds were anything to go by.
And then there were the other sound, sounds that came from the other prep teams working on the other Tributes;
“…your looking stunning, darling…”
“…a little bit more I think…”
“…now this wont hurt a bit…”
“…right we’ll take you in to your stylist now…”
It was shortly after Adya had listened to the twentieth tribute being led off to meet their stylist that Kynthia finally stepped back and announced that her work was done. Isadora had finished with his nails long before.
“Am I the last one here?”
“No,” Bob answered. “You’re not the last, not yet anyway.”
“I didn’t see much body hair on him when we washed him down,” Isadora spoke up calmly. “I don’t think we’ll have to do much more than his face.”
“Do what with my face?” Adya asked suspiciously.
“Get rid of that facial hair that you’re obviously just starting to get,” Bob explained simply, taking hold of Adya’s chin and tilting his face up towards him. “The audience want to watch pretty boys…not ones with scruffy bits of fluff on their chin.”
Of course it would be something like that.
The cream that was quickly applied to his face seemed to burn into his skin making him his in pained surprise. Thankfully it was wiped away just as quickly.
DONG! DONG! DONG!
“Is that the time?!” Isadora suddenly gasped in horror as the chime rang out loudly through the large room. “That means we’ve only got another hour to go before the Tribute Parade!”
“We need to get him through to Willow – now,” Bob said firmly.
Adya yelped as a hand grabbed his wrist and tugged sharply, jolting his shoulder as he was sent all but flying out of the chair.
“Come on, boy,” Bob growled and Adya had no choice but to stumble after the man who had such a tight grip on his wrist. “Willo–”
“Finally! What took you so long?” an unfamiliar female voice demanded.
“Willow! He was a mess!” Bob protested loudly. “It’s taken us this long to make him look even remotely human!”
“Well you haven’t left me much time to make him look like a star…” the unfamiliar woman grumbled loudly.
Adya could only assume that this was his stylist, Willow.
He flinched as a smooth hand suddenly cupped his jaw, the touch much more intimate than Bob’s rough grip earlier, and turned his face from side to side. “Hmmm…not bad I guess…” Willow murmured thoughtfully, running the fingertips of her other hands across the raised edges of his scars. “As long as we can hide those scars that is…”
“Is his hair all right?” Kynthia asked. “I know it’s not really in style any more but we decided it would be better to hide his eyes…”
“No, its fine, Kynthia,” Willow answered, her hand releasing his chin. “Bob, would you get him into his costume for me while I sort out my kit.”
Adya was sort of prepared for it when Bob’s rough hands stripped him of the flimsy gown he had been allowed to wear, his hands already in place over his groin.
“Put these on,” Bob ordered as he pressed something into Adya’s hands.
“Er…what are they?”
“Your underwear.”
“Oh.”
His underwear turned out to be a rather tight pair of boxer briefs.
“Now these,” Bob ordered, handing over what was obviously a pair of trousers…a pair of soft…silky trousers. Nice. “They fasten at the front.”
“Oh, like normal trousers then…” he muttered sarcastically as his hands sought out the zipper. Upon finding it he easily stepped into the trousers and slid them up his legs, frowning at the unfamiliar smoothness.
“Here’s your shirt,” Bob said as the next piece of fabric was pressed into his hands. “It’s a pullover shirt so there’s no buttons for you to worry about.”
“Thanks…” he muttered. “So…how do I tell which is the front?”
“Er…” Bob mumbled, sounding briefly unsure as he took the item of clothing back from the Tribute. There was a rustling sound and then Adya’s hand was grabbed and forced to stroke down across…the ruffles?
It had ruffles?!
“They go on the front.”
“Right…” Adya murmured.
It took him nearly five minutes of struggling to get the shirt on correctly and once it was in place he was even less impressed with it than he already had been.
Not only was in made of the same material as the trousers but the ruffles were huge, dominating the front of the shirt in a ‘v’ pattern that started at his shoulders and travelled down towards his belly button. From what he could feel they continued slightly over onto his back but no where near as dramatically.
“I feel ridiculous…” he announced with a grimace, running his hands down the ruffles once more.
Thankfully there didn’t appear to be any ruffle on the trousers.
“You look fantastic – just how I pictured it!” Willow countered brightly. “Now let’s see what we can do about those scars…”
Adya was grabbed by his arms once more and dragged over to another chair.
He was getting rather sick of this…
“Hold still,” Willow ordered. “And you might want to close your eyes.”
What followed could only be described as the most uncomfortable forty-five minutes of his life. He had no idea what his stylist was doing to his face – there was a cold liquid that was applied all over his face, then another that was only applied to scars, then a third that also went all over his face, then a powder, then more powder over his scars, then a different type of power that was focused around his eyes, then a line of liquid was drawn along his eyelashes, then another powder was applied to his cheeks, then a liquid was placed on his lips…
“I feel like you’ve turned me into a girl…” he grumbled loudly once his stylist finally stepped back, letting out a satisfied sound as she surveyed her handiwork.
“I have not,” she scolded him. “I have merely accentuated the good looks that are hidden underneath those scars. If only you were from a better District I would be able to do so much more…”
“Er…thanks…” he muttered sarcastically, resisting the urge to reach up and smudge the woman’s hard work out of spite. “…are we done?”
“Yes, I’ve done all I can for the moment. I’ll have to have more time to work with you before your interview,” his stylist thankfully confirmed and Adya let out a none too discreet sigh of relief.
Well thank God that was over…
“Now we need to get you out to the chariot and figure out a way to stop you falling off during the Tribute Parade,” Willow announced, hands once again urging him up and out of the chair.
“…chariot?!”
He’d forgotten all about the fact that the parade took place on two wheeled…incredibly unstable…horse drawn…chariots.
Great.
At least they were thinking of securing him to it, he could practically see it in his mind – the horse reacting badly, the chariot shaking and him flying off much to the humiliation of his entire District.
Yeah…that would be brilliant…
“Wait! He hasn’t got his shoes on!” Kynthia cried out suddenly.
In no time at all someone had pulled socks onto both of his feet and the heavy shoes he was expected to wear were firmly laced into place.
Great.
Now it felt like his feet were made out of lead…
He hadn’t worn shoes in years!
“Hat!”
His stylists cry was the only warning he got before a hat was being pulled onto his head, a hand brushing his newly styled fringe so that it showed just enough.
Then he was being hurried out of the room, stumbling as his feet refused to move fast enough now that they were weighed down. The rough hands guided him through what felt like a maze of corridors which finally emerged into another large room, this one busy with layers and layers of noise.
“Finally!” Hixas cried out as they came to a sudden halt. “I was just about to send someone to fetch you…oh!”
Adya felt a trembling hand slip into his own.
Una.
“Well, I must say I’m impressed…” Hixas announced. “You’ve manage to make him look almost good!”
“Such a charmer…” Adya muttered.
“I’m still waiting for that opportune moment,” Una muttered beside him, holding onto his hand tightly.
“I’ve managed to find a strap that we can secure across the back of the chariot,” an unfamiliar male voice announced. “It won’t look good but it should stop any embarrassing incidents.”
“Right, you two – up onto the chariot,” Hixas ordered.
“So…how stupid do we look?” Adya asked softly as Una helped him to climb up into their chariot, guiding one of his hands to the edge whilst holding on tightly to the other. “…’cause I gotta tell you I feel pretty stupid…”
“Let’s just say that at this particular moment in time you are lucky to be blind,” Una muttered, her voice tense with obvious embarrassment.
“That bad, huh?”
“Uh…yeah.”
Adya let out an undignified yelp, clinging to the side of the chariot as the horses shifted restlessly, tossing their heads and stamping their hooves.
Near by someone let out a cruel bark of laughter.
The chariot shook again as someone attached something to the back of it, tugging on whatever it was to check that it was firmly attached.
Judging by the series of violent shakes it was.
“Hey…you ok?” Una asked softly as he stumbled into her.
“N-No…” he stuttered weakly, accidentally squeezing her hand in his death grip. “I don’t like this…it doesn’t feel safe…”
“It’s fine…” Una murmured reassuringly, rubbing her free hand up and down his arm. “Once you get used to it you’ll feel safer, I’m sure.”
“What do you think?” a male voice asked. “That should do the trick.”
“I suppose it’ll do,” Hixas answered sounding less than pleased as he continued to grumble loudly. “This is so humiliating – none of the other Districts are using a safety strap on their chariots…”
“You can hold my hand during the Parade if it’ll make you feel better…”
“Thanks. I–”
“You will not hold her hand during the Parade! Ugh! Do you want everyone to think your weak? Or worse – a coward?” Hixas demanded angrily.
Their joined hands were violently ripped apart and Adya found his hand being pulled forwards to hold onto the chariot.
“You will hold on with this hand and wave to the crowds with the other,” he ordered firmly, pulling the other hand away from the chariots side. “Understood?”
“Er…yes…” Adya mumbled.
“You will both wave and you will both smile and you will not embarrass me…or more importantly you’re District.”
A fanfare sounded.
“Ladies and Gentlemen! Please give a warm welcome to the Tributes of the 74^th annual Hunger Games!”

A/N This chapter turned out to be way longer than I originally planned – LOL! Comments and suggestions are more than welcomed, they’re encouraged!
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No One Knows Who I Am