A/N: I've always had this idea for a SYOT and really wanted to try it out, so here I go. Hopefully it will be fun to read. I plan to do all the reapings in one chapter from the perspective of the head gamemaker so I don't spend ages on the reaping. So please tell me what you think and send some tributes my way.
They found the military base far to the North of the Capitol, in a lush green meadow full of beautiful flowers. Enclosed by high grey walls topped with rusting razor wire, it looked out of place, almost alien next to the rich colours of its surroundings.
A long time ago, the base must have been impenetrable fortress, with guard towers placed at even intervals along its thick concrete wall, and gun emplacements everywhere; it could have held out against an army. But no longer.
It now lay in ruins, with its heavy steel gates rusting on their hinges, and its once mighty wall overgrown with vines. In several places, segments of the wall had utterly disintegrated, leaving nothing but piles of rubble and gaping holes. The buildings inside the compound had fared better, however, with many of them still standing despite being exposed to the elements.
There were wooden sheds with curved roofs that had once at one time or another been used to house soldiers. There was an old airstrip, lined by hangers filled with the remains of fighter jets. Dotted throughout the base were many rusting radio towers, their wires long since snapped and broken and their silver paint flaking away.
In the middle of the compound was a command centre set apart from the other buildings, an ugly square thing with peeling green paint and dirty windows. From its top floor, it provided a commanding view over the vast expanse of the surrounding base.
A strange flag fluttered at the top of the command building; one that had not been seen in over a thousand years. The flag of America. The old world symbol had defied the wars, the disasters, all the tragedies that tore the world apart and continued its lonely vigil over the ruins.
The stars and stripes carried a reminder that the old world was not truly dead.
Perhaps it is was because of this head gamemaker Lothaire Karling planned to use the base as the location of the 40th Hunger Games. From a young age he had been deeply interested with old world history, spending his time pouring over ancient books and obsessively collecting relics of the past.
Now, as he stood staring up at the flag, it was as if everything he had read about had come to life. The minute his men had told him about the base, he knew he had to see it with his own eyes. It was too good an opportunity to miss.
"This is perfect!" He thought, walking slowly over to the front of the command centre and placing his hand on the side, feeling the rough walls. This was it! Old America! He was actually touching it! He withdrew his hand and surveyed the surrounding area. He broke into a wide smile. Here it was, his masterpiece, laid out for him on a silver platter.
He walked for a while through the area, taking in the sights and stopping occasionally to search a building or to smell the air, breathing in the smell of sun-warmed stone. By the time the sun was setting, he had only managed to explore a small section of the vast complex. He was so engrossed in exploring he would have happily spend the whole night there, but the squawking of his radio pulled him back to reality.
"Mr Karling sir?" It was the voice of his assistant, Calla.
"What is it?" He snapped, irritated at being interrupted.
"Sorry, sir, but I've had a call from the President. He needs you back at the Capitol. He wants an update on the games." She said apologetically. She feared him, and with good reason. He was prone to violent outbursts.
"Fine. I'll be ten minutes." He said venomously, shoving the radio back into his pocket. He made a quick plan to find himself a less annoying assistant, and started back through the maze of military structures.
As he was making his way back to the hovercraft, his foot snagged on something, and he tripped, smashing with a clang onto the ground. He had landed on something hard and cold.
"This is made of metal. That can't be right." He thought, picking himself up dusting himself off. He had fallen onto a large circle of metal about ten meters wide. It appeared to be fixed to some sort of hinge that was attached to the ground. It looked like some sort of door.
"Is it supposed to open?" he wondered aloud. His brow furrowed in concentration, he gripped the underside of the circle and pulled upwards. Nothing happened. He tried again, with the same result.
"There must be something to open somewhere else." He mused. "But what's underneath it?"
Suddenly, it hit him. He knew exactly where the circular door lead, exactly what was hidden underground. Beneath the earth slept the spears of old America; bringers of fire and dust. The base probably housed hundreds of them, just waiting to be woken up, ready to split the Earth and fill the sky with ash and dust.
He ran as fast as he could back to the hovercraft, the plan for the arena already formed in his head. The tributes would fight here, above America. And they would awaken its nightmares.