Aslovee Chesed loved sweet tea.

Laying in a beach chair next to the shimmering pool underneath the radiant sun, the seventeen-year-old Victor slurped through a curly straw. His other hand rested behind his head as he basked underneath the summer sky. A cricket chirped away on the tip of a plastic pine tree leaf next to him.

A golden drop fell from the brim of the glass onto his wrinkled, white t-shirt. Aslovee smoothed out the stain, adjusting the sunglasses perched on his nose. He set the cool glass on the wooden stand beside him, stretching his lean frame on the warm plastic chair. He rested his hands behind his head, ruffling his obsidian hair in the process.

The pool, not Olympic-Sized but decent, rested behind his Victors' Mansion boiled in the summer sun and sat unused for most of his stay. However, as Aslovee discovered the little pleasures of Victor life, he grew a deep affinity to swimming. Salt water created a cocoon around his body while he zoomed through the abyss like a rocket ship bouncing from star to star. Despite his short stature, he had become surprisingly good at speeding through the water like the spying jabberjays cutting through the cerulean sky above his mansion.

The emerald hedges rose around the perimeter of the backyard, protecting the pool from the view of District Nine and various reporters hoping for a glimpse or picture of the Victor. Dark astroturf poked above the surface of the uncovered portions of the area.

His dark eyes closed, he breathed in the crisp poolside air.

Aslovee Chesed loved peace. He loved silence. It meant nobody was trying to pickpocket him or kill him or something stupid like that.

So naturally, the phone rang.

Aslovee, wearing his normal frown, tilted his head towards the open bay window behind him. The phone bolted to the wall in the kitchen vibrated with urgency.

"Christian. Phone," Aslovee barked.

No response. The phone chirped.

"Christian. Answer the fucking phone."

Ring.

"You better not make me answer."

Ring.

Aslovee growled and swung himself to the edge of the chair. He shot to his feet, refined posture prepared for any action. He trudged over the smooth cobblestone massaging his feet and flicked his sunglasses onto the sod separating the poolside from the base of the house.

The Victor from District Nine had not changed much in the past year. Yes, he had grown a full two inches from his previous five-foot-two-inches frame, but if a person mentioned that to him, death would follow shortly for that sorry individual. His angular, well-defined face wore the same disinterested and flat expression in most instances. His neat, midnight black hair had grown out an inch in the back as it sashayed with every stomp he made past the row of dragon-lilies lining the brick path to his new house. His eyes, blank and as pitch black as ink, bore forward with a bored, unreadable glare.

No, he was not desensitized by Games violence nor was he under the mind spell of the Capital. General apathy and anger was just who Aslovee Chesed was in a nutshell.

Otherwise, his body had filled out from his somewhat thin frame before the Games to a muscular but not overly bulky size. He spent most of his days swimming and being forced into therapy sessions by the Rebellion. They continued to believe that he was going down the Katniss Everdeen route. Since the Rebellion was close to shambles at this point, he could care less about therapy sessions or his handlers.

Swatting away a piece of dust on his charcoal shorts, he opened the french door into the kitchen overlooking the pool. The kitchen remained immaculate as usual. Not a utensil or tool was out of place. Appliances glowed in the sunlight while the red wall phone clanged next to a portrait of a watermelon.

Aslovee, with a huff, walked over the cold, linoleum tile in the air conditioned room. Nearing the ivory marble counter, he passed the tower of apples in a stainless steel bowl in the kitchen island.

He plucked the phone off the receiver and placed it next to his ears.

He said nothing, learning from his time on the streets and in Victor life to let the person calling speak first. He never knew who was spying on him at this point.

"Is this the Victor's residence?"

Aslovee stared out at the pool, inviting him to enter it. He shook his head out of impatience. Probably just another reporter asking for some juicy interview to put in a magazine.

"Who needs to know?" He asked.

A throat cleared over the line.

"Come to your living room."

Aslovee balked at the request. He whipped his head towards the narrow hallway into the foyer. He straightened up his back further, his eyes furrowing into a glower. "The fuck are you doing in my house? Who is this?"

The line died.

Aslovee had an instinct that grew into him from his years being homeless on the streets of District Nine. They were not skills specifically for the Games, but they were skills of survival. It was a sixth sense that had tapped on his brain every time trouble found it's way in front of the short teenager. His size, his lack of book smarts, and his awkward social skills were enough excuse to pick on him. All of the attributes of a Victor: intellect, strength, speed, he learned them and abided by them his entire childhood. Starting fires. Pickpocketing rich bankers. Unlocking doors.

Killing.

Aslovee slid out a butcher knife from a wooden set holder on the marble counter. Stepping forward with the caution of a leopard stalking prey, he sneaked out of the kitchen and entered the hallway. His toes kissed the mahogany hardwood. The knife clenched in his fist, he rubbed his hand over the sheetrock wall next to him. The periwinkle walls were bare, no personal affects or paintings decorating them. Only the ornate diamond chandelier in the expansive foyer leading to the second floor illuminated the lobby of the mansion.

Crossing in front of the marble steps, he remained lower to the ground than usual and slid through the place like a shadow over a forest canopy.

He reached the curved doorway towards the living room. He heard breathing inside.

With a small pause, Aslovee hugged the corner, ready to strike.

He twisted himself into the room, his knife poised upward in a stabbing position. His glare steel while his body rooted itself on its pivot.

His face dropped.

Aslovee could not say he was shocked that his two accomplices from his street rat days, Isabel and Christian, were being held hostage in his living room. The brother and sister pair were never smart. He was not shocked that two guns were being jammed into the back of their heads. Even the fact that they were kidnapped, bound by rope, and forced to their knees on his pristine satin rug was not a huge concern of his.

However, Aslovee had to admit that seeing Gale Hawthorne holding two pistols at their heads was an odd sight.

"Yo, Aslovee," Christian, a man with a boyish, round face and chestnut hair said with a nervous chuckle. "Sorry I couldn't get your salad ready for lunch. I'm a little bit tied up."

"Can you be serious for one second, Christian?" Isabel said with an eye roll.

Aslovee peered at Gale. His face, sunken and scruffy, had a zany aura to it as he breathed in loud huffs. His hands trembled as the guns wavered in his grip. Deep wrinkles etched into his worn face. He was a gaunt man, the badges on his grey military jumpsuit hung precariously on his sleeves. Years of grime and dirt caked on the fabric.

"Aslovee Chesed? Victor from District Nine?" Gale croaked in a desperate voice.

Aslovee glared at the man. He lowered his knife to his hip as he took a small step forward.

Gale gulped. "You've made me a very desperate man, Aslovee. Abandoning the Rebellion. Renouncing all of the work we put into it. After all we did for you, you left us the moment things went wrong after the last Games."

Aslovee planted himself on the other side of the mahogany coffee table in the middle of the living room. On the other side, the kneeling siblings hunched on the ground in suspense. "I did what you all wanted. You fucked up with that bomb in the arena."

"You had an obligation to all of us," Gale shouted. "The Rebellion won't work without a Mockingjay."

"Then get another one," Aslovee said in an even tone. "I'm fine living here. Capitol or no Capitol. I do what I need to live, and that's it. You all had your chance to beat them, but you lost."

"No we haven't," Gale shouted. He jabbed the ends of the pistol in Christian and Isabel's heads. "And you're going to become the Mockingjay and spark this Rebellion over again."

"And if I don't?" Aslovee raised an eyebrow.

Christian coughed. "Uh...Bro, maybe you shouldn't say stuff like that with guns jammed at our heads."

Aslovee looked down towards the pair. "You want to kill them?" He said at Gale.

"If you don't comply," Gale said. "You've pressured us into this. My boss needs you."

Aslovee shrugged. "Just make sure you don't get any blood on the carpet."

"Huh?"

"What?"

Aslovee shrugged again before looking down at the siblings. "Sorry, but I'm not going to go through that Mockingjay shit again. I'm tired of helping them."

He thought back to the past year for himself. The new Rebellion, borne after Katniss Everdeen had collapsed into a nervous breakdown, allowing the Capitol to break up the previous revolution and retain control, had convinced him to aid in their pursuit of toppling the Capitol. Everything had gone well. He engrained himself into Capitol culture. He was an extremely popular Victor. His image, strong and mysterious, was far different than Katniss Everdeen's. He also had the looks, being handsome despite the fact that most people towered over him. Although, he found that the Capitol were an easy bunch to butter up anyway.

The plan was to convince the President to allow for a Hunger Games that tested out the new interstellar travel equipment the Rebellion had developed. With a successful games, the Rebellion could prove that interdimensional travel was possible and transport themselves to another dimension away from the Capitol forever.

Aslovee thought it was the dumbest idea ever. All of the Rebellion's plans to enlist him as the new Mockingjay had gone downhill fast. Yes, Aslovee admitted he could have gone along with some of their stupid propos and commercials to win people over. However, the last Games ended with all the Tributes dying in the Rebellion's experiment in interdimensional travel.

The Rebellion fell apart fast afterwards. The Head Gamemaker was imprisoned in some black site. Some of the Rebellion's bases were found and raided. President Kirkland had grown paranoid and fired half of his cabinet. Aslovee had to endure hours of interrogation, but after holding firm by shouting his innocence, the Capitol realized he was not under the Rebellion control. He was just a pissed-off Victor who wanted to be left alone.

Aslovee rolled his eyes and sighed. The universe simply did not want to leave him alone.

Gale cocked back the pistol, his finger twitching by the trigger.

"If you don't come with us now, they're dead."

Aslovee waved at them. "Bye."

Christian gasped. Isabel fumed. "You bastard," She shouted. "After all we did for you on the streets."

Aslovee flickered his gaze towards Gale, who looked down in disdain at the hand he was forced to deal with.

"I'm sorry," Gale said in a soft tone. "But I need to get back to my Katniss. I need to find a way to make her right again. So she's not locked in that asylum forever. The only way is to get out of th-."

Zip.

Undoubtedly, Gale's monologue was wrought with emotional overtones and metaphors about the harsh realities of life. Had the knife not lodged itself into his chest, he would surely have finished waxing poetic about reuniting with his beloved Katniss. He also would not have dropped the guns and collapsed to the ground, a dark stain spreading over his chest area.

Gasping for air, he clutched the knife, trying to yank it out of his body. His face twisted into suffering as his throat gurgled out crimson blood.

Aslovee would like to say he had a badass moment and flung the knife into Gale's throat, but he looked down at his hand to make sure. His two middle fingers pinched the leather handle of the butcher knife within his grip. It was not him.

With the knife still in his hands, he turned around and saw the person who saved Christian and Isabel.

"Kim?"

A blonde girl, timid and pale, froze herself in the throwing position that was making Gale Hawthorne writhe on the ground. Her face was contorted with confusion. She gasped for air, the tight pink dress on her constricting her airflow from the traumatic event. Her grass-green eyes flickered around in fear as the room stared at her.

Kim. Aslovee's liason for the Rebellion. The girl from the Capitol who gave him the secret messages and reported his every move to the Rebellion.

And she just stabbed Gale Hawthorne. One of the leaders of said Rebellion.

"I...I just panicked," She whispered.

Aslovee sighed. "Don't worry."

"He was crazy." Christian said, smiling at the girl.

"And talked too much," Isabel said with another eye roll. "By the way, if Kim hadn't come to save us, would you have done anything?" she looked at Aslovee.

"Sure," Aslovee said.

"Really convincing."

Aslovee walked past the still bound siblings. He hovered over Gale, who was bleeding out on the floor. He struggled to get a grip on the knife handle, now covered in blood. He gasped for air like a fish hopping on a deck by a lake. It was a gross image.

It also meant that the Rebellion was not going to be a big fan of him anymore.

Great. Now both the Rebellion and the Capitol hated him.

Aslovee sighed. "Damn it. I have to clean the carpet now."

Come one! Come all! I am trying my hand yet again at an SYOT! It's the 78th Hunger Games, and you just read the prologue.

This is the third in a series I started three years ago. First, it was Odyssey of the Stars. That was the one our precious midget Victor, Aslovee Chesed, one. Then, there was Doors of Perception, which just ended with every tribute dying (you'll get it when you read). So this si dealing with the fallout for that and bringing people up to speed.

You don't have to, but I would be thrilled if you reviewed and read those. You can gain sponsor points for it.

So welcome to my third SYOT! Application is in my bio and pasted here!

The sponsor point system will be revealed shortly. However, I just want good, well thought out tributes with interesting histories and personalities! It is not first come, first serve. My favorite tributes will make it in.

So tell me what you thought of this prologue! Any thoughts about how this will change the Games? Like our Victor? Dislike? Let me know!

Thank you so much! Let's do this thing!