Tzofie 'Tofi' Markos' POV

Upper-class Resident of the Capitol

"The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places."
-Ernest Hemingway

"Forget it, you're fired!" I shout at the Gamemaker, arms spread open and my neck twitching in anger of his oblivious idea. Does he have any idea how much money it would cost to process such a disaster? Panem has only given me a limit on this year's Games; yes, even the Gamemakers have limits. I learned that the hard way, and let me tell you, the hard way is never fun.

The man I just yelled at stands till, paralyzed with confusion and eerie disappointment. Honestly, shameful people always need to take a hint. I point my index finger to the double-doors outside the Meeting room, and he follows my directions. His blond tufts of hair follow him as he gaits to the automatic doors, as they open as he enters, and shuts it behind him.

I sigh and stand up, calling every twenty of them their attention in the dully-lighted meeting room. I pick up a clipboard with all the Gamemaker's names, information and statistics on their previous Games.

"Alright," I mutter, "Does anyone know who's name that man was?"

A woman with a shaking figure hesitantly raises her manicured hand, and I nod at her firmly, ready to cross out whichever name. Her hand falls down to her side, "Carlos... Zanoli! Yeah, Carlos Zanoli."

I scan to the bottom of the list and mark out his name. I cannot afford to have brainless people run the lives of the teenagers from the Districts. Who would rehire me? Pft, rehire. If I fail these expectations of the president, the least they would do is execute me. Don't even get me started on what they would do if I spent over the limit; no more then half a billion dollars should be spent this year. Do you know what kind of pressure that applies on me? Hopefully there'll be plenty of citizens that'll pay for spots on the chariot rides; I'll probably have to bump of the price to get a ticket. Ugh, getting sidetracked. My first Games was awful; I let a fourteen-year-old boy from Three win last year. My gosh; who would let that happen? Hopefully, second time's a charm. Hopefully.

"Everyone!" I command, "The Games are approximately about nine months away, and as you know building the arena is a long process that takes about half-a-year. Notice I said about. I looked at my statistics and on the fifth Games, it took a little more then a year to create their arena, and it was awful. So... I'm giving you an assignment. So far I haven't been able to come up with anything for the plot line. At-least one idea for this year's arena in the next two days, incase my brain goes dead and I develop some kind of disease that makes me dumb as a kindergartner playing soccer.. If you come up with more, I shall maybe add a few more dollars to your paycheck. Understood?"

"Yes Miss Markos!" everyone says, their expressions telling the truth. This creates some relief inside of me.

I nod, smirking, "Dismissed!" everyone immediately disperses from the meeting room back to who knows where, and I see the girl from earlier. I narrow my eyes; when you see a problem it's best to take care of it right away. "Except for you." I say, gripping on her sleeve. She winces in contact.

The woman whips around and I finally get a good look at her. She kind-of has a blond bob for her hair, and huge brown eyes outlined with eyeliner and mascara. Her cheeks are painted with a light blue blush and she has sky-blue lipstick, a black bow tugging at her neck. Someone could easily strangle her with it, I take note, but I'll confront it later as it's not important and I'm busy after this.

I start circling around the woman, observing her every move. She struggles to keep a straight composure, and her eyes are giving away her anxiety as they dart around most likely begging for an excuse. She applied quite a lot of concealer, and awfully too, so I'm going to guess she woke up late and rushed her way to work. Hm, don't know if I can risk a late person, but she'll do.

"What is your name?" I ask, stopping my at my heels and wait for an answer.

She gulps down air, trying to remain unnoticed, "Darcy Willow. Did I do something wrong, Miss Markos?"

This should be fun. I think, smiling in the inside but keeping a professional conscience outside, "No, of course not. I can tell you've been trying so hard to keep up with work, as your dark circles are still in eyesight..."

Darcy gasps and immediately starts rubbing her eyes, her blue artificial blush being overwhelmed by a natural but crimson red. A chuckle comes from my mouth.

"My apologies, Miss Markos." she sighs, laughing, trying to lighten up the mood, "I just have two newborns at home, and it's quite the task. I guess it got away with me, huh?"

Two children... how interesting. "You have kids?"

"Why yes!" Darcy beams, her eyes sparkling. "Two boys. Twins! Their names are Landon and Prince, and they have the most adorable faces. I also have an elder daughter, Maia. My husband works early, so usually I have to prepare them for school before coming here. They're such good kids, and they have wonderful grades as well!"

Well, that was unnecessary information, I want to say, but decide firmly against that. "How old are you, Misses Willow?"

She realizes that she spoke a lot, and starts to calm a bit, "Twenty-two. Turning twenty-three this March."

"Well..." I mutter. "That's grand." Really? They gave me a woman that's in her early twenties, married, and has three children at home? Don't they realize that she's going to have to help me kill twenty-three kids? My goodness... sometimes I think that the higher authorities have no brains. They should have let me chosen the staff, but no.

"Okay. You are excused." I say, "But if you're wondering why I wanted to talk to you, it's because I have high expectations of my Gamemakers, and so far you're not reaching them. No more stuttering, understood? You should be looked up upon in Panem as a Gamemaker, not the opposite. Don't mess this up for me," I say.

Her soul seems crushed from my comment, but she nods and murmurs a Good-night before chasing herself outside, leaving me alone. I collapse onto my chair, kicking my head back and resting a bit. I do deserve a break; being Head Gamemaker equals a heck lot of paperwork. It's an honor, of course, but sometimes there's that thought if I really want to do this for the rest of my life.

Alright, back to arena ideas. I need something that can pull me back up from my first year. It was the most boring arena ever, I realize now. A dull-looking forest with a desert on the outskirts and mutts forming at the night. The thing that makes it stand out? Absolutely nothing.

I have nine months... what can I do in nine months? If I get the arena confirmed by tomorrow, and get some sponsors for advertising, I might just make it. Taking a red pen from my drawer, I grab a sheet of paper and start to brainstorm until I can't feel my fingers anymore.

"Ughhhh."

I drag myself across the Rassurant Hotel, the bubbling excitement of the Capitol shimmering around me, talking about the latest trends and fashions. This is all we do until Hunger Games season comes around, which usually is the main topic each and every year. Something else to keep me up at night; knowing that I'm in charge of them and that millions of eyes will be locked into my work. It must be sensational, outstanding, a brilliant piece of art.

Walking up to the elevator, I stumble on my way there and mentally curse in my head. Would they want the Head Gamemaker tripping on her heels? Snap out of it Tofi!

"Top floor." I command to the speaker, and then I'm lifted off my toes at a breath-taking speed. The red numbers that linger above the door tick rapidly, 623...664... 700.

It comes to a halt an the doors smoothly open, bringing me the sight of the stretching hallway with a long well-knit red carpet which extends until the end of the hall, before taking a sharp curve and making a quick circle until extending to the next hall. Basically it's supposed to look like an endless loop, but anyone with a brain can clearly tell against it. Unless they have the brain of a dead slug, that is. Then maybe not. Maybe.

My feet carry me to my room number, Z116, as I pull out the card in my pocket and scan it against the scanner. It shimmers a green light until the doors slide open, letting me in to my hotel room. The hotel rooms are circular, like a rotunda shaped room, which mean they have no corners and the windows are curved and built into the walls. If I walk up to one, I get a fantastic view of the whole Capitol, as I am at a gut-churning height. There's tall skyscrapers, blinking billboard and the sound of citizens squealing and talking to each-other. Classical musicians play in the background and people try to get back home to see the latest updates and brand new news in their TVs. These hotels really do give me a good view. Of course, they're also a bit more expensive then the average ones here, but hey, it'll do. Besides, I used my own money, not the money donated to me for the Games. I'm an independent woman, I can make my own living without the Games. I don't need anyone to carry me around like a helpless Princess Peach.

Shutting the door behind me, I take off my heels and walk step-by-step to the desk that was provided along with the hotel. Placing my paper-filled folder down, I scan through it carefully being careful not to let anything important dart out of eyesight. Nope, nothing that needs immediate attention. Now, back to the arena as a basic.

I need something... extravagant, you know? It's a decade of deaths, so surely this must be some sort of landmark for the Capitol. And in my power... I feel so invincible, even though there's a lot of boundaries I am not eligible to surpass.

Picking up a red pen, I scribble on the piece of paper to get the fine ink present. Then, sighing, I start letting my brain roll. First off, I title the paper.

Arena Ideas & Draft-

Think, Tzofie. Unique. Exciting. Unreal. Unreal... that word somewhat captivates me. I'm not sure why, it just does. Unreal...

How about multiple arenas...?

... Genius.

Who said I couldn't? I don't think I'll need the other ideas from my excuse of a staff anymore.

Now, this is where the real idea comes to life. For the rest of the night, I spend my time letting my ideas soar, determined to make a living nightmare into reality, and onto national television. So far, I know that these Games are going to be... well, different for a start. The corners of my lips curve upwards. By the time the tributes get into this arena, they'll already be broken.

"In the ruins of a place once known as North America lies the nation of Panem, a shining Capitol surrounded by twelve outlying districts. The Capitol is harsh and cruel and keeps the districts in line by forcing them all to send one boy and one girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen to participate in the annual Hunger Games, a fight to the death on live TV."

"Winning means fame and fortune. Losing means certain death..."

Let the Hunger Games begin.