1st Hunger Games

Victor: Tiberius

Age: 17

Gender: Male

District: 2

Tiberius had been confused and (although he would never admit it) quite scared when his name had come out of that reaping bowl. Of all people, he had remained loyal to the Capitol, even serving as a Peacekeeper to help squash the rebellion in the outer districts, despite his young age. He'd assumed that he would be safe from the Games, at least for the two years he was actually eligible. The Games had been set up to punish rebels, and those who did not fight- after all, neutrality was treason. Not loyal citizens! Nevertheless, he dutifully took his place on the stage, flashing a tight smile at the cameras. He had already vowed to do whatever it took to win when his mother pulled him aside, informing him of the Capitol's motive.

"They couldn't give riches and a life of luxury to one of those rebel's brats, now, could they? No, the Capitol needs a poster boy, a true loyal citizen to make Panem see the glory of the Games. Do me proud." And with that she left him, slightly bewildered (he wasn't the brightest bulb) but eager, lusting for blood, fame and glory.

His district partner (Livia, if he remembered correctly) had cried the whole train journey, curled in a ball and shouting for her mother. Tiberius had felt a sliver of pity for her then, alone, helpless and scared. And then he remembered she was almost definitely the daughter of a rebel, and the feeling disappeared. Their escort had told them they would be fine, as long as they stuck together and fought with honour, courage and valour. As he watched Livia eating silently on the other side of the table, he swore that her death would be quick and painless.

He smiled slightly as he sat in the Viewing Room, watching the recaps of the reaping on the giant screen, secretly reassuring himself he could beat all of them easily. After all, he had trained as a Peacekeeper. He knew how to kill, whereas most of the other kids would be unprepared. He was a fighter; they were scared kids. The smile he wore slid off his face as the female from 5 was called, soon replaced by a scowl of hatred- Brites Hazaar. He knew that surname. That surname had been printed into his brain, along with the knowledge that they had killed him. It had been all over the news. How a family from the Power District- going by the name 'Hazaar'- had blown up one of the biggest factories in Panem. How over two hundred people had perished, including seven peacekeepers from District Two. How the culprits had been caught and their children sent to the local Community Home. And now the oldest had been reaped for the Games, her escort not even attempting to hide the fact it was obviously a fix.

Boy, was Tiberius going to make her suffer. He would make her scream, beg for mercy, but her fate had already been carved in stone, he would kill her. He would tell her who he was, who his brother was, and what she'd done to him. And once, through her pained whimpers of defeat, she understood what he was saying, he would make her pay. Pay with her life, for what she had done to him.

Livia knew the name too. Beside him, her small body tensed, fists curling and uncurling against the soft fabric of the couch. He stood up abruptly and stormed out of the carriage, unwilling to allow the others to glimpse him at his weakest, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

It wasn't long until the train arrived in the Capitol, greeted by hoards of (in his opinion) rather garishly dressed Capitolians, cheering and fighting to catch a glimpse of the tributes- the first ever tributes- for the Hunger Games. Tiberius plastered a smile on his face, he looked out of the train window and waved to the crowd. At his side, Livia let out a small gasp, her expression one of pure wonderment, eyes slightly glazed over.

They were given one day of training, all twenty-four tributes together. Tiberius strode in ten minutes late, only to stop short three steps into the room. He was completely taken aback by the number of tributes either crying or throwing up. Livia was standing idly at the knife station with one of the other girls, probably the girl from One, who had worn a dress at the Reaping Ceremony which could no doubt have fed a small family from Twelve for a month. Maybe longer. Pathetic, he thought, eyes skimming over his opponents.

Tiberius strutted in, heading straight for the sword station. He would have preferred a mace, but beggars can't be choosers, not that he was a 'beggar' per say. Carefully selecting a blade from the rack, he swung, slashing the training dummy and slicing it neatly in two. He was so caught up in the moment- the thrill of the attack- that he had failed to notice the deathly silence that had fallen. Even the snivelling mess that was the District Eight male had managed to temporarily compose himself. Well, compose probably wasn't the best choice of word; he was gaping, eyes bulging at the stuffing spilling out of the dummy and the sword resting in the palm of his hand. Tiberius couldn't help but smirk. He'd give them something to gawk at.

There was a parade that night. Each district had a carriage, and they were driven through the streets of the Capitol. The costumes were designed to reflect the district industries- Tiberius was dressed as a Roman Emperor, in something his stylist described as a toga, laced with gold and a crown of laurel leaves adorning his head. Livia stood beside him, her dress a beautiful, flowing purple streaked with red, her crown of flowers resting against her dark hair. She reached out and grabbed his hand, and for once he didn't shake it off. She would most likely be dead tomorrow anyway.

He couldn't sleep that night. He wasn't scared- at least that's what he kept telling himself. He could hear Livia's muffled sobs from the room next to his, and there was nothing he to stop the constant trembling of his body. It seemed like he had only just shut his eyes when his escort shook him awake.

The arena that year was a colosseum, small and confined, the floor a pale dusty white- to make the blood more visible. The weapons were piled in the centre, around a giant golden horn, and the audience was seated around the edge of the arena.

Tiberius took a quick glance at his fellow tributes- step 1, always assess your enemies. He could just see Livia, who was half hidden by the tail of the excessively large horn. And, to his surprise, she wasn't crying. She didn't even look sad; her face was determined and, strangely, he found himself hoping he wouldn't have to be the one to kill her. He found himself hoping somebody else would first.

Brites Hazaar stood three spaces to his left, her eyes set straight ahead. He followed her gaze and noted that her gaze was fixed on a sickle, which was obviously her preferred weapon of choice. He let his gaze wander, and his heart skipped a beat when he spotted a mace. It was at the edge of the pile, closest to him. It was almost as if the Gamemakers had put it there on purpose.

"Welcome, welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen, to the very first Annual Hunger Games!" came the booming voice of the President, "In mere hours, 23 of these Tributes will have fallen, one of them will have triumphed, and will be bathed in riches and glory. However, first they must prove their worth. Let the countdown for the Games… BEGIN!"

From somewhere in the stands, a countdown from sixty began. Soon it became a chant, echoing through the crowd as more and more bloodthirsty Capitolians joined in. Oh God, Tiberius thought, here we go.

Fifty, forty nine, forty eight… Tiberius took a deep breath and flexed his muscles, doing his best to look threatening. There was no risk. He could easily outrun these kids- most of them were crying anyway- but he knew Brites was both dangerous and fast and that if couldn't beat her to the horn (or at least to the mace) his chances of winning could be seriously compromised.

Thirty six, thirty five, thirty four… He looked across the arena and caught Livia's eye. She gave him a timid smile, and he sent a small one back. Her posture was confident to the point of cockiness, but her eyes, even from a distance, showed immeasurable fear. She was obviously trying out a tactic their escort had told them about- appear self-assured because everyone will go for the weak ones first. But in his opinion, she was doing a pretty terrible job of it.

Seventeen, sixteen, fifteen… He wondered what would happen to him if he stepped off his pedestal too early. No one had really been clear about that. Perhaps there were mines under the ground that would blow him sky high. He almost laughed- then again, maybe he should suggest it if- when- he got out of the arena.

Three, two, one… A gong sounded from the other side of the arena. Tiberius flew off his pedestal, and landed on the ground with a thud, allowing both the momentum and adrenaline to carry him forward as he sprinted toward the horn. Most tributes hadn't moved, he noticed, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Brites mere seconds behind him.

He skidded to a halt and picked up two maces, feeling instantly safer once they were in his hand. Brites had already armed herself with a sickle, and by the time Tiberius turned to face her, she was putting a knife in her belt. He braced himself for the battle that was sure to come, but was surprised when she said-

"I'll stay here and watch the tail. You go and guard the mouth." It took him a moment to realise she was talking about the horn. He looked at her, confused, until it hit him that, just like she was the only thing standing in the way of him going home, he was all that stopped her doing the same. And, if it was just him alone, he wouldn't be so much of a threat. He hesitated for only a second, before nodding and running around to the opening of the horn. It was one of those escape plans which could keep you alive about thirty minutes longer.

For ten long minutes no one moved. Brites stayed by the tail, Tiberius remained at the mouth, and not one tribute stepped off their pedestal. The crowd was growing evermore restless. People were screaming, hissing and yelling at the tributes, urging them to actually do something. Just one, Tiberius thought. Just one tribute to set all the others off. In the end, it was the boy from Four who broke first.

He leapt off his pedestal, his district partner screaming his name, and ran at full speed towards the horn. He went straight for a knife, and clutching it, he turned towards the other tributes. Tiberius gritted his teeth and stepped forwards. He coughed slightly, gaining the boy's attention, who realised what was about to happen just half a second two late. The mace glinted in the sun as it whipped through the air, knocking the poor boy's head clean off his shoulders. Shock registered in his eyes for the briefest moment before his head fell and skidded across the arena, stopping at the feet of the boy from Eight. Tiberius remembered him from training- he had been a sobbing mess and looked two seconds away from fainting. The audience was silent for a second, before erupting into cheers.

Miles away, in District Four, a woman choked back a sob as she tied a simple noose in a length of rope with her quick, deft fingers. Tears were streaming down her face, eyes fixed on her son's lifeless form displayed on the screen in her house. The boy from Four went down in history as Hunger Games Death #0001.

One down, twenty two to go, Tiberius thought grimly as he wiped the blood off his mace, and, just as he had hoped, the boy's death caused the reality of the situation to sink in. Almost simultaneously, half the tributes jumped off their pedestals, all making the mad dash to the horn. He could hear Brites cynical laughter behind him, but she didn't matter. All that mattered was that he killed, he killed, he killed. He killed the girl from Six, the boy from Ten, the pair from Seven.

He found the boy from Eight hiding behind a stack of knives. His tear-stained face was twisted with fear and his hands were scrabbling for a knife, a sword, anything to protect himself. Dropping his blood coated mace, he lunged for the boy, grabbing around the throat and pulling him up. Tiberius shoved him against the side of the horn and started to squeeze. Eight's face began to go blue, then purple, and then an odd shade of black. His features were contorted, and Tiberius knew the boy couldn't last much longer. That's why it came as such a shock when the boy managed to lean forward and bite him. His teeth were surprisingly sharp, and cut through the first few layers of skin. Tiberius pulled the boy's head forward and smashed it back, his skull crumpling, his body going instantly numb.

Wiping his hands, he looked around, counting. Five of them left. No, six, that girl was still moving. He walked over to her (District Nine, he thought, although it was a little hard to read the number emblazed on her front, mainly because it was coated in a thick layer of blood).

"Please, please don't hurt me," she whimpered, sobbing. He smiled sadly.

"I'm getting tired, and there's still another four left to kill." And with that, he plunged a knife from a nearby pile straight into her heart, ending her life instantly.

Just five of them left. Four more kills. Two were on Brites' side- he'd let her take them. One was on his side, still shaking on her pedestal. He ran to the mouth of the horn, and carefully selected a knife with a long, silver blade. He tested its weight in his hand, before holding it up and, with a swift flick of his wrist, he let it fly. It buried itself in the girl's chest, who stared at in shock for a while, before toppling backwards off her pedestal.

"Oi, Two!" A shout came from behind him. Here we are. The final battle. He slowly made his way around the horn, kicking aside the bodies of his victims. Brites came into view, her blonde hair stained bright scarlet by the blood of her victims. He took in the corpses around her. Not as many as he had taken down, but still quite impressive. His eyes caught sight of a small body with dark hair, and he clutched his mace tighter.

"You killed Livia," he stated bluntly.

"Yes," Her answer was cold and mocking. "Don't tell me you cared for her, Two?"

"No," He shook himself. "No."

"Well, come on them, let's end this." She pounced at him, but Tiberius was bigger, stronger and marginally faster. Metal clashed on metal as they fought.

"You can't win this, District Two," She panted, out of breath.

"Oh yeah?" He taunted her, jumping just in range of her sword before dancing back again. "I've got twelve kills up my sleeve, what have you got?"

"I just want to go home," He was startled by the tears glistening in her eyes.

"You and me both, Five," He whispered. And then he charged at her, picking her up and slamming her against the walls of the horn. Surprised by his brute strength, she dropped her weapon. "You and me both."

His mace came down on her head, once, twice, three times before she finally fell limp and he picked her lifeless body and tossed it aside.

The crowd went ballistic, the commentator sounded ecstatic.

"Congratulations to the Victor of the first ever Hunger Games, Tiberius Trinket, of District Two!"

He had done it.

One hour and thirty seven minutes.

Thirteen kills.

He had won.

AN: Any reviews would be really appreciated! Please don't flame, but constructive criticism would be really helpful. Also, for anyone who spotted the link with Effie, all will be explained in later chapters.