*So after a very long break, I've decided to come back to this fandom and my goodness I have no idea how I have been away from it for so long. Here is my prologue, setting the scene for the games and to give you a taste of my style of writing. Hopefully you think my story is worthy of receiving your tributes.

My rating is T, but as a warning there will be some gritty stuff, after all it's a story about teenagers killing each other for sport. Who knows, there could even be some scenes of a more sexual nature so I guess we'll have to wait and see!

Anyway, here we go, and I hope you enjoy

Prologue

Control of the Knife

Invidius Glasswhistle

Gamemaker

The inactivity was unnerving. Of course, everything seemed to be lending itself to reinforcing my uneasiness: the chemical aroma wafting out from the hovercraft, the stifling heat of the artificial sun, the gnaw of apprehension about being summoned in the middle of the night and shipped here in the most frightfully cloak-and-dagger fashion. But it was the inactivity that I was finding the most unbearable. And I knew that I wasn't the only one. Eleven of my colleagues were stood to my left, in a rough semi-circle, all feeling the same discomfort that I was; some of the more obviously skittish amongst them were already sending nervous glances behind them into the empty space. It was another one of the reasons we were uncomfortable.

We were stood in the cornucopia grounds from the previous year's Hunger Games. The games we designed. The ideas we had once been so proud of, toasting to them over banquets in the dining hall, drinking fine vintage imported from District One especially and wagering over which tributes would be the first to fall. The same games that were now renowned throughout the Capitol as a failure. The biggest failure. For that reason, being stood in our arena was like a knife in the gut.

There had been games that were less popular among Capitolites: snowy arenas whose tributes died from hypothermia and starvation. Games with premature endings from rampart muttations. Even games with tributes so vicious that it would turn the stomach. Yet our game. Ours took the proverbial cake.

I had been a Gamemaker in the worst games ever. I scoffed quietly to myself. No, I had just been burdened with working under an incompetent fool.

We had reaped a robust pool of tributes. All competent volunteers from District One, Two and Four, with only three tributes being under sixteen in total. It was a strong gene-pool and it was bound to be bloody. And it was. At the start.

It had opened with a furious dash to the Cornucopia, the dark metal structure baking in the constant midday sun. The grass was scorched and dry, only watered with the blood of the resulting massacre. There were some horrifically violent deaths and eight of the tributes were killed in the carnage, the ratings soared and it looked to be a brilliant success. However, when the tributes spread off with or without their hauls, the problems began.

We had designed the arena to be as open as possible, with nowhere to hide and running as the only option. It was a long dry horizon as far as the eye could see, a few hills towards the edges of the arena and a feeble stream that ran in the northwest. There was no food and the stream was the only source of water, designed to flush the tributes to fight over the Cornucopia supplies. A genius hypothesis that should have resulted in a violent and savage game. That was not how it panned out.

The formidable alliance from District One, Two and Four tore itself apart after days of frustration; the other tributes remained mobile, scouting, with sight for miles in each direction. It took days to convince our oh-so-gifted Head Gamemaker to get involved, but finally, he gave the order. We wished he hadn't. He had us start a searing wildfire in the outskirts of the arena to force the tributes together. The dry grass was kindling for the flames and the winds pulled the flames like a paintbrush on a canvas. The flames moved faster than the tributes could, the majority burning to death in the inferno that was so dense our cameras couldn't focus on.

The command centre had never been so tense. Our only saving grace would have been an intense final duel between the last tributes. We didn't get that.

The final two tributes, the boy from District Ten and the Boy from District Five, were so badly burned that their skin was blistered and raw on every exposed surface, their polyester clothing melted to their flesh. Neither could stand, let alone fight. The Boy from District Ten won by default after his rival died from dehydration or his injuries; it was difficult to tell which. But even the victor wasn't in fit enough condition to do an interview until over a month after the games, and even then he looked so gaudily disfigured that he wasn't able to give much more than a few minutes on stage before he was returned to the medical centre.

A travesty didn't even begin to capture the failure of the game.

The Head Gamemaker was… Retired, almost immediately after the conclusion. But we knew what that really meant. It was a complete failure and it was regarded in such an overwhelmingly negative light that people expected a riot in the Capitol itself; luckily Capitol Couture magazine played up the new wave of reds, oranges and yellows in the fashion for the next few months, to try and gain some sort of satisfaction over watching a games where eight tributes burned to death. Yet it was a harshly talked about topic, so much so that the usual tourism trips to the arena to re-capture the games didn't even occur. Nobody was interested in watching a wildfire.

The amount of re-runs of other year's games became so frequent that I felt shame to even leave my house. They went back to other years where the tributes died one at a time in dramatic ways, girls being thrown into muttation hordes, boys being gutted in ferocious duels. Things that made the blood pump more than watching tributes burn and scream in agony. We were all regarded as an embarrassment. Nobody wanted to hear my story.

And that was why it boded so ill that we were stood back in the arena that we worked so hard to create, stood in the centre of the ashy ground that had been the deathbed of twenty-three tributes, whose remnants were probably still underfoot. The summon; to meet the new Head Gamemaker.

Before the hovercraft arrived, we had all timidly discussed who it could have been, but it was a closely-guarded secret amongst the Capitol, which was noticeably off-key. Usually it was announced months in advance followed by parties and formals. This time it was rumour and whisper. The most wide-spread story was that it had been the President themselves who had appointed the figure, and that it was one of his closest aids, but nobody could be sure about who would be stepping off to greet them. There were tens of thousands of people who would have killed for the job. It was the job to have, if you did it right.

If not… Well it wasn't a job many people had stepped down from.

I felt my mind wandering before the metaling clunking sound of shoes tapping on the floor of the hovercraft perked up, all twelve of us noticeably standing to attention as though it were an automatic reaction, a few of us exchanging furtive glances in preparation. I nervously tucked up the small strand of dark blue hair that had come loose up behind my ear, taking a deep breath and trying not to cough at the chemical scent that hit me as I did so. The wait was agonising and my trembling hands threatened to tear themselves off, the sound of anything other than the clapping of footwear making my breath halt, my lungs screaming with pain as I braced for what I was about to see.

Long shoes came into view first, absurdly long that even the most fashion-centric Capitolite would struggle to wear, yet the figure walked easily in them, long sinewy legs coming into sight, before a large peplum skirt emerged, made of a jagged juxtaposition between emerald green, earthy brown and dark purple colours, with sharp angles that made it dizzying to behold.

I wasn't naïve enough to assume that because there was a skirt it meant that the Head Gamemaker was a woman, but the skirt told me enough. Gamemakers as a rule tended to be less gaudily dressed than most, this figure had clearly either broken the rule, or they weren't a Gamemaker at all, someone new brought into the mix. The next clue confirmed the latter.

A sleek metal staff swung down onto the floor and tapped as she walked, the bodice of her dress even more eccentric than the peplum, with the same three colours moving as if some form of optical illusion, dizzying to behold and maddening to try and understand how exactly the garment had been assembled. Then her face came into view, her alabaster skin whiter than a clean blanket of snow, her eye shadow a toxic purple with vibrant green flecks at the edges, her billowing hair long and ethereal, floating almost like smoke behind her as she finished descending from the hovercraft, a collected smile on her lips.

It took all of my efforts to repress the firm scowl that began a skirmish at the corner of my mouth, my held breath coming out as a twisted wheeze. I recognised her, we all did, anybody would. She was the Madame Editor of Capitol Couture, a hit figure in the Capitol who was almost universally adored and those few who didn't kept quiet about it… She had a close affiliation with the President and that was no doubt the reason that she had been appointed as the Head Gamemaker; she knew nothing of gamemaking, muttations, cinematography… She created the new fashion trends, but she did nothing else. She was a pawn, a pet to be fed the President's instructions and to act as was commanded.

Lucretia Cachexia, Head Gamemaker. It was a scandal.

"Now…" She began, and from her tone I knew that she wasn't going to introduce herself. In a way I preferred that. We knew who she was, she knew that we knew. I wouldn't have expected her to cut out a long haughty introduction, it was the only compliment I could find to give her. "First of all, I would just like to convey my deepest condolences for dragging you all the way out here on such short notice; I can only imagine how inconvenient it must be." Her tone wasn't apologetic in the slightest; she had another agenda with her words, I suddenly realised how hot I was, how anxious. How angry.

"However, I thought it would be greatly beneficial for all of you to return here, to re-witness the final moment of these games…" She flicked a switch on the hand-held device she was holding, suddenly bringing the area around them to life with a great sea of fire, two burned and blistering male bodies hunched on the floor between her and us. She let the image stay for a few minutes, whilst we uncomfortably listened to the groans of agony from the tributes, before the re-creation sparked out of life as quickly as it had started. I found myself tugging at the neck of my shirt, feeling a hot flush spread over my body just like the wildfire that had blazed across the arena. She was tormenting us. I felt my teeth grind against each other.

"Tragic." She dismissively muttered. "Simply tragic, do you not think?" Her question was rhetorical, but it angered me nonetheless. "That such a promising candidate for Head Gamemaker, would commit himself to such a catastrophic endeavour…" She paced as she pondered, her metal staff, an object as slim and elegant as the woman herself, tapping dutifully against the floor in between her bird like steps, most likely to support her walking in her enormous heeled shoes. Her arrogance was making me seethe.

"But one has to wonder…" Her sudden pause set me on edge, her stop and elegant turn on the spot, her exceptionally long eyelashes beating like a butterfly's wings as she scanned from one end of the line to the other. "How such an obvious flaw managed to escape the eyes of not only the Head Gamemaker, but of his twelve associates as well." The demure smile that had been on her face the whole time suddenly dissolved into a thin frown. "That makes me begin to question your loyalties… And even wose, your competence."

My breath hitched again, not just from anger but also from fear now. She had just made a very clear threat. I felt the fight or flight instinct fluttering through my brain, but I remained rooted to the spot. I hated to admit it, but this woman had a lot of power. I couldn't risk antagonising her in the slightest. But I would have gladly ripped out her throat.

"But…" Her smile began to twitch back at the corners of her mouth. She was toying with us. "I am not an unreasonable woman. And I am more than happy to give you all a chance to prove your loyalties to me, after all, you all worked so very hard for your commissions; it would be ashamed to lose you all…" Her voice was unreadable, other than a hint of excitement that set my nerves on fire. My edginess only increased as she drew back towards the hovercraft, turning back to face us after putting a few more metres between us. She was treating us like District peasants; a wide birth to stop us from infecting her with imperfection. My palms seared from the pain of my nails digging into them, and I felt the wet warmth of blood dripping through my fingers.

"You'll find the Cornucopia well stocked…" She teased, her face politely blank, unflinching as the rest of us were taken by surprise.

A wall of flames erupted in a circle around our line, spanning from the back of the Cornucopia round the sides and finishing a few meters short of the Hovercraft on either side. The heat only broiled more over my already burning body, making me stagger backwards. These were no illusion.

"Happy Hunger Games…" She announced cordially, bringing up the holo-pad clutched in her free hand as if to take notes of what she was about to witness. "And may the odds be ever in your favour."

Lucretia Cachexia

Head Gamemaker

I enjoyed the transition of emotion the most, it was not only a spectacle, but thoroughly amusing. Watching the movement of confusion ripple across their dreary expressions, twisting into a masque of shock, then horror soon after that. Then fixing on anger, fury, wrath. They exchanged glances with such burning rage, as if trying to wager if it was a joke or whether it was not, whether they should rush at me or follow my instruction. As deliciously intense as I found their dilemma, I decided that they needed a little nudge in the right direction.

There was a small protrusion on the side of my staff, which to most onlookers was simply a stylized addition to bring out a little edge in the item. The reality was that as I pressed my finger onto the well concealed button, it slid ninety degrees backwards until the length of the aforementioned protrusion was pressed flush against the staff, revealing a trigger-like enhancement. At the same time, the complex inner-workings of the metal pulled back, the multifaceted arrangements of diamond studs at the top of the metal re-arranged it into four strong limbs that revealed vicious bladed edges, with the very top of the staff twisted open, revealing a small spiked dart inside the head.

It was a noiseless transition from an elegant and envied walking aid, to a deadly weapon, and the Gamemakers in front of me reflected that keenly. I slipped my finger onto the trigger and swung it up in a graceful arc, bringing it up and levelling it out with the temple of a female Gamemaker who's washed out expression looked so thoroughly dismal that I could not possibly imagine having her on my team. Image is everything.

I pulled the trigger without hesitation, the thin dart from the tip shooting out and whistling through the air for no longer than a fraction of a second. It thudded into her temple and the impact took her to the floor, a cannon sounding in a most adorably ironic fashion that I couldn't help but smile at.

There was a split second moment of shock, before they got the hint.

Ten of the eleven remaining candidates turned and scrambled over the dry ground, pushing and shoving each other viciously now that it was life-or-death. I would have found their desperation fascinating, now that their survival instinct was kicking in, but I had to focus my main attentions on the one who stayed behind, the largest male amongst them who was practically foaming at the mouth. It was dreadfully uncouth.

He charged at me, but I had no bother to complain. I let the pad slip to the floor as I took a firmer grip on my staff, swinging it at an underarm angle so that the bladed end smashed into his jaw at fourty-five degrees. The momentum of the attack sent the blades ripping through the skin of his cheek and shattering his jawbone, continuing until it found its mark and did the same damage to his upper jaw, sending the weapon crashing out of his head and his limp corpse flopping to the side like a ragdoll, the bloodspray traveling with him. Away from me.

The cannon sounded instantly, giving me a chance to lower down and pick up my pad, clicking my fingers for one of my Avoxes to come and clean by bloodied staff, whilst I narrowed my eyes to continue observing the spectacle before me.

Unlike the traditional games, all of the Gamemakers had reached the cornucopia at the same time, scrambling for weapons like outliers fighting over a food package. I raised a gloved hand to my mouth and let out a small, shallow giggle. Their ability was laughable; there had been thirteen year-olds in the Games with more spunk than what I was witnessing. There absolute rage seemed to just about make-up for it, but it still would have made a poor showing.

Better than what they had created, mind.

Cannons began sounding as clumsily wielded swords clashed against bone, blood spray decorating their formal outfits with a dash of colour as screams began filling the space between cannons. Daggers tore through cartilage and slit tendons with grotesque snapping, spears struck through abdomens sending bile and gore to the dry grass like spaying confetti.

I couldn't even take minor notes, but my pad was still useful. When it was tributes fighting, I had stakes on it. The Victor was important and everything anybody did in that arena was somewhat significant. The bloody fighting and inelegant screaming of a few washed out Gamemakers was notably less important. Important.

My thought process reminded me to check the new range of boutique looks that had come in especially for the game celebrations. I really needed to have a few new dresses made; after all, I was two of the most important people in the capitol. I flipped through the pages that my stylist had highlighted for me, grimacing as a few fragments of teeth clattered against the metal of the hovercraft above me. Not only that, but the screaming and yowling was somewhat distracting, occasionally piquing my interest just enough for me to look up and watch one of the Gamemakers beat another to death with a metal water canteen, denting the metal as much as she caved in his skull.

So violent. I chuckled, taking a deep breath, tainted with a strange artificial smell, before getting back to my pad.

I was trying to decide between a full skirt, or a short skirt with a long train, when the display informed me that ten of the Gamemakers were now deceased. I couldn't help the corner of my mouth turning up in a smile. I glanced up, saving the page on the pad for now, ready to witness the intense duel between my potential assistants.

Of course, assistant was a loose word. More of a living reminder of how dangerous it was to talk down to me, whom I would occasionally allow to speak.

The woman was darker skinned, holding an axe with a slightly bloody spattering to it, her knuckles were white from the strength of her grip and her dress was somewhat bloodied. The male had dark blue hair and his white asymmetric shirt was bloodstained to the extreme, his hand holding a viciously pointed dagger in a firm grip, trembling a little from apprehension and from the gashing wound in his leg. His golden honey eyes and her olive coloured ones both mad with frenzy.

They almost looked like game rattled tributes. Teenagers who had been fighting for their lives for three could have fooled anybody.

Of course, normally in the position they had been in, even the most savage of Capitolites would never have behaved in such a bloodthirsty manner. I however, wasn't a novice in manipulation. In the social spires of the Capitol it was a compulsory skill. Of course, emotional manipulation took time, bribes and promise; it required trust or mutual beneficiary. It was tedious, and unbearable in a short-term situation. I found, that in these situations, and countless others, chemical manipulation was far more effective.

I had installed small capsules along the outside of the hovercraft to emit a neuro-chemical stimulant to put both the prefrontal cortex and amygdala into states of hyperarousal. Of course I had taken the antidote for it, as had my Avoxes, but my dear Gamemakers had not.

At least their lack of talent was made up for by their chemically manipulated brains.

He made the first move, scrambling to puncture her torso, the edge of his honed blade glinting from the blood slick it was coated in. She was quicker-on-her-feet and sidestepped him, growling like an animal so loud that I could hear her clearly, her counter-attack poorly timed, but enough to graze the skin on his arm. It was his stagger that allowed her to deliver a menacing follow-through.

Her axe-blade cut through the air silently before it smashed into the side of his face, slicing his azure hair and smashing through his eye-socket with a bloodspray that was only eclipsed by the anguished yowl he followed with, all of course drowned out by the most sickening of crunches.

I couldn't help but be a little impressed. Not by the woman's swing, after all that was the work of my chemical compositions, and the roar she let out was positively barbaric. The impressive article was that there was no cannon sound after his fall, his screaming agony making my breath hitch. Witnessing it live was much more of a spectacle than seeing it from the comfort of the Capitol, even if they were only failed Gamemakers. With tributes it would be so much more… Stimulating.

The woman staggered after the axe broke through the wound, but she recovered quickly and made a move to imbed it in his skull. Swinging it above her head in preparation to split his head in two like she was crushing a melon, drops of blood and strings of gore still clinging to the end of the blade as it trembled with adrenaline.

But he was faster.

He shot up like a serpent with the knife in his hand sliding into her throat with ease, cutting off her frenzied snarl and replacing it with a strangled croak, the knife wound bubbling over with a pink-tinged froth. She flinched violently, coughing up a slurry of blood as the axe fell from her hands and solidly thudded against the floor, swiftly followed by her convulsing body.

Boom.

I sighed with pleasure, clapping my gloved hands together softly as two medics jogged out of the hovercraft almost instantly, moving briskly to the wounded man, whom was still writhing in both chemical anger and physical agony. A small syringe containing the antidote to the chemical imbalance was plunged into his neck first, almost instantly taking affect as his wild eye suddenly blinked through with a burst of clarity.

His sudden howling was, unwelcome.

"Do take care of him…" I told the medics strictly as they moved him onto a stretcher. "I'm looking forward to having him by my side." I neglected to add that without his right eye, he would be an even more impressive scarecrow to help others to fall into line. "His opinions on my game plans and arena design will be most appreciated." I easily lied.

I couldn't help but smile with anticipation as his panicked eye locked with mine. He feared me. It was an overwhelming sensation. I reminded him of his place one final time, as his stretcher disappeared into the hovercraft.

"My games, will not be failures…"

*I hope you enjoyed what you've read so far, but I can only write more when I get some beautiful characters to work with, my SYOT submission form is on my profile so please fill it in and return it in a PM, not in a review. There are also a couple of guidelines to give you clues as to what I am aiming for.

On that note, reviews are gold so if you've got anything to say, please say it. Good or bad I appreciate feedback, criticism and compliments of course :P

I don't have much else to say this time, but all of the slots are still open for now and I'll update the list on my profile as I make my choices. I cannot promise how long the next update is, as that all depends on your-beautiful-selves.

Thank you all, and may the odds be ever in your favour.

Thomas xx