A/N: Brynn Pleione had an idea similar to this (and I'm sure this has been done countless other times as well,) where the games are recreated, but I decided to put my own little spin on it.
Background: A century has passed since the time of the Mockingjay, but not all is how she left it. Gale Hawthorne, driven mad by ambition strove to become President of Panem. As soon as he came into power he reinstated the Districts, as well as the games, because he felt that was the only way order could truly be achieved. All thirteen districts were returned to their respective areas, and the ones Hawthorne felt a special allegiance to, 3 and 12, he gave slightly better conditions, the wealth from which was basically used to bring in many forms of clean-up crews, as all of Panem was being hit with severe economical problems.
Which is where PHAs (People of Higher Access) come in, people so good at their fields of work that they're sent to many other Districts in order to perform their jobs for the masses, or at least the people who can afford their care. Each PHA has at least one Shield, a person who has been sold by their parents into the Camps and brutally trained to fight to the death and comply to any given order. An inhibitor chip is wired into their skulls to do all bidding of their PHA and to protect said PHA from all harm, dying for that person if necessary.
Rated T to be safe, due to violence and darker themes.
Disclaimer: The Hunger Games do not belong to me.
XXX Prologue XXX
As I ducked through the iron, oblong doorway I wondered what it would actually be like to live in District 3. Underneath the Capitol-supplied spray tan I was actually quite pale, so I figured I wouldn't look much different from the frail, ivory-skinned citizens I saw hunkered over cast-iron tables in almost every building. I supposed I would also have acquired 3-ish mannerisms, such as how they all tinkered with whatever was currently in their hands.
But then again, I mused as I stood over the crippled, wheezing figure trembling on the surgical steel table, If I were a 3 I'd probably wind up like her.
The table was the only piece of furniture in the gleaming metal room, so my Shield and the little rat-like man who'd lead us in here stood awkwardly around my patient and me. I glanced up to my Shield, who was already pulling out the necessary supplies. Wordlessly he handed me a syringe and several bottles I'd previously color coded for him. Children from the Camps never received educations, so I knew he couldn't read.
After I filled my syringe with all levels of necessary chemicals, I carefully slid the fine needle point into the female's forearm.
And then her trembling stopped, and the agonized features of her face slowly turned, freezing themselves into something quite peaceful.
A/N: Really short, I know, but I've always liked slimmer prologues. Please review!