"You look at risk and try to estimate its weight; however, I have a scale."

Felix Junius, 39

Head Gamemaker

BOOM.

Cranola from Eleven stood there, wide-eyed and scared, staring down the massive queen. She had already survived for twenty-one days, and her biggest competitor had just died. Now, she only had to face one more person—the weak-looking boy from Six.

Her legs trembled in fear as she advanced upon the boy, who had finished the challenge mere minutes before her, minutes that seemed like an eternity. The apprehension was clear on her face. How strong is this boy, to survive twenty-one days of fighting and of terror?

She was about to find out. They stared each other down, crude knives in hand. Six was the first to move, raising the shiv to throw. His stance was off, and Felix saw that Cranola knew it as well. She easily sidestepped and threw her own, striking Six straight in the chest and running away.

Hours later, a boom sounded, and it never failed to raise Felix's heart rate every time. Who was it, Cranola, dead via mutts, or the Six boy, bled out?

Trumpets sounded for the victorious being.

"Congratulations to the victor of the fifty-sixth Hunger Games, Cranola Birch from District Eleven!"

The replay went over Felix's holographic screen. It was the sixteenth time he watched it, and he got that warm fuzzy feeling every time at the end, after the suspense had cleared. The feeling of success.

She was out of the arena, safe and sound. She was the Victor, and his massive bets, held under a fake name, would be safe. And no one had noticed, not even the President, who was known to have a knack for such observing the tiny details and putting them together. He was so sure that President Regalus had realized what he was doing when the finale between the final three was a human game of chess, one of strategy and definitely not one that benefited the favorite—Mason Tus from District Two.

And Cranola had beaten the physically disadvantaged Miketon Blanks, of District Six, for the title of Victor. Sighing in relaxation, finally relieved from all the stress that came from the risks of gambling, he reclined his leather chair back and fell asleep gracelessly, body wore down with fatigue.

Therefore, though he would have startled, activating, from the base of his recliner, the automatic safe and grabbed his gun as the intruder slipped inside his room, he didn't; merely grumbling something incoherent.

But through the depths of the murky haze of sleep, Felix was punctured by a shard, interrupting the peaceful utopia of calm he had created for himself.

"Go away..." he murmured.

"Felix, there is a very important issue that we absolutely need to address," came the response. The voice sounded familiar, almost, and he recognized that, even surrounded by his clouds of drowsiness. It almost sounded like the voice secondary to his own, the one that breathed down his neck everyday during the time of the Hunger Games and months before as well, dry, low, and darkly amused. The one he feared and...

With a jolt, he woke up, certain it was a dream, a nightmare. But President Regalus stood before him, silvery revolver in one hand, taser in the other. The same warm fuzzy feeling overcame him, but it was now one of fear, not happiness. He froze—Felix had always imagined this moment, staring down the President, but he now realized that his imaginary scene was much different than the real thing.

Trying to reflexively bluff his way out of the situation, he asked, with his casual air, still blinking away the lingering strands of sleep, "Good afternoon, how are you today?" His body felt heavy, too heavy, to even bend down to reach his gun; this was his only chance, and he had to execute it well.

But President Regalus laughed, one of that familiar cold amusement that always revolved around him, and Felix felt another spike of fear. Internally, he kicked himself for taking the large risk, but though it was stupid, he knew he couldn't stop, anyway.

"Perhaps the mention of gambling would spark a few brain cells?"

He knew. Felix still wasn't sure why this surprised him this much—to make a clean getaway from basically sabotaging the President was unheard of, ever. But still, his family, his wife and two daughters, depended on him. And they had told him, weeks before, to quit gambling, as he had laughed and said that they wouldn't get any money, otherwise. Waves of guilt washed over him as President Regalus raised his gun.

"I'll make it quick. You have no necessary information relevant to me."

That was a blessing, at least, he thought as the bullet entered his chest, piercing heart immediately.

It was like falling asleep, but this time, he fell deeper into the chasm. And never climbed out.

A/N: Hey everyone, Tigress here, and I'm starting my first SYOT. The prologue's short because, well, it's a prologue—I'll have some more out soon as well.

Through this SYOT, I really hope to grow as a writer and I can only do that if people submit! I won't be taking reservations, sorry, but I will be giving you until May 21st, 8:00 AM, Pacific Time. Please, no submissions via review; those will be deleted, as I'm pretty sure that they're against the rules.

Also, please elaborate and be detailed. Give me a full sense of their character! More rules/the FAQ and the form will be on my profile. I get that I'm being sorta strict about this, but I really want to finish this, and I can only do that if you follow them :)

More prologues to come, along with the arena reveal.

EDIT: Apparently, it's against the fanfiction rules to have song lyrics. So to compensate, I'll just make up some sort of quote for each person that takes the place of what a song lyric is supposed to do—give the audience a taste of the character. But it's my own, so I'm allowed to use it, and insert a "representative song" section for each character at the end.

Veni, vidi, vici,

Tigress