Chapter 1

I'm walking down a pristine hallway within a very imposing building of the Capitol. The hall is decorated plainly, with a few portraits of presidents past every few feet and the occasional bust, but apart from those few embellishments this place is all business. There are no windows. No one outside is supposed to see what's going in here today until we're ready to tell them. The heels of my boots click loudly against the solid floor, as I make my way to the door at the far end. I'm dressed smartly, in a brilliant purple suit and my dark hair done just so. I need to make a good first impression on these people. I'm young, and they know it, and despite my new appointment to this office I doubt they'll respect me very much. My name is Felix Everton, and I was just named the newest Gamemaker.

I join a group known as the Senior Seven. These are the seven most senior Gamemakers, who actually design, oversee, and execute the Hunger Games. We make all the decisions, call all the shots, though our Head Gamemaker can overrule us all if he wants to. I think that might happen a lot with me, given my lack of experience. I'm told I'm relatively young to have received such a promotion, but clearly President Snow saw something in me or else I wouldn't be here. After the Senior Seven are the junior Gamemakers, those who actually sit at their stations during the games carrying out our decisions. It's a large group, though I have just been granted access to the smallest, most secretive, and powerful subset of it.

After what seems like a century I reach the end of the hall. There's a number pad to one side, and I punch in my six-digit access code. Smoothly, the door before me parts down the middle and allows me passage, as I take a small breath and walk across the threshold.

The room within is a stark contrast to the hallway I just left. For one, the place is packed. People walking this way and that, many of them looking harassed as they carry documents or drinks as others are giving orders. But the place has the aire of a controlled chaos; despite the finely dressed people headed every which way in various states of presentation, everyone seems to have their head about them and know exactly what they're doing. The room itself is sumptuously decorated with elegant columns, empire furnishings, and more ornate pieces of art. The space is very wide and round, divided by a barrier of frosted glass. Beyond the barrier I can see the silhouettes of people milling about, eating, and drinking.

"You look a little lost," I hear a voice come from my left.

I turn and see a woman walking towards me. Her red hair has an elaborate, sculptured look to it, and I wonder how Capitol woman always get their hair to do the things they do. She's fair skinned and dressed professionally in a green suit holding a large electronic pad in her folded arms.

"Is it obvious?" I reply, nervously. She nods. "I'm supposed to be looking for the Gamemakers," I say, withdrawing a slip of paper from my jacket pocket, "The Senior Seven, I think."

The woman chuckles to herself, though I don't know what's so funny, "You think?" she says, smilingly, "The Senior Seven are the highest ranking Gamemakers, the Head Gamemaker and his six deputies, but they don't waste their time for just anyone."

"I was sent by the President," I say, feeling a bit proud now, "I'm the new Gamemaker."

She raises her eyebrows and locks her free arm in mine, "Then let me show you to them. All the Gamemakers are out on the balcony, waiting for you, actually."

The woman begins to steer me through the crowded room, where she tells me her name is Horatia Greene. Apparently, she's the timekeeper for the games, and keeps records of the tributes as they progress in the arena, as well as being a sort of personal assistant to the Head Gamemaker. I make a crack about her last name being Greene and her suit being green, something she doesn't think is very funny. She leads me to the far end of the glass barrier where we walk through an opening and onto the balcony. The balcony is overlooking a gymnasium of sorts; the training center where the tributes had their general session earlier, though now it is empty.

At once she stops before a tall man with a pleasant face. He's also large, so much so in fact that the buttons on his purple waistcoat are straining to keep the weight back. But he sees Horatia and smiles, kissing her hand politely,

"Horatia, your beauty is always difficult to miss," says Plutarch Heavensbee.

"Whereas you are even harder to miss," she quips back, and the Gamemaker laughs, "Plutarch, this is Felix Everton. He's our new Gamemaker."

"Wonderful!" he says, shaking my hand vigorously, "We've been waiting for you!"

"Sorry about that," I reply, flexing my crushed hand, "I only just left the president's manor, and he can be very thorough when he wants to be…"

"Not to worry, Felix, not to worry," he says, airily dismissing my apologies, "Come, and let's show you to the others. Thank you, Horatia!"

Plutarch gives Horatia a peck on the cheek and she gives me a look that seems to say, "Good luck." I follow Plutarch through the balcony and roving avoxes carrying trays of food and drink. Plutarch grabs a pair of gilded goblets and hands one to me. I think it's strange to see people drinking so early in the day, but again, the Gamemakers have a reputation for making their lives as easy as possible. Besides, now that I'm one of them there's no reason I shouldn't enjoy a few creature comforts as well. I accept the glass of deep red liquid and take a sip. I expected something bitter, something that burned the entire way down, but it was actually very enjoyable. The drink was chilled and a bit sweet, something that I could see myself continuing to drink long after the games pass.

We come to a halt near the middle of the group. In the center of the balcony there are three men drinking and having an intense conversation. One of them is sitting in a high-backed chair with dark hair, a stern gaze, and an ornately trimmed beard. He, of course, was Seneca Crane, Head Gamemaker and a man who needed no introduction. However, that didn't stop Plutarch. Nothing, it seemed, ever stopped Plutarch.

"Seneca, Nero, Caligula, this here is Felix Everton," Plutarch began, introducing me to the two Gamemakers, "He's going to be our new colleague."

"Felix," Seneca says to me, taking my hand in his and piercing me with that hard stare of his, "Glad you could make it."

"Yeah, I was held up at the President's Manor—"

"I am disinterested in the details of your inadequacies," Nero interjects, taking a drink from his goblet, and I catch sight of his hands. Living in the Capitol, one gets used to the various kinds of surgical enhancements people do to themselves. Nero was no exception: his hands had been completely changed to resemble some kind of hybrid between alligator claws and eagle talons. They were cold and gray, and his fingers were without nails. Rather, the fingers themselves came to dangerous looking points all on their own, "It makes no difference," he continues, "At least now we can get this over with."

The third man introduced himself as Caligula Tripplehorn, who at one point was a peacekeeper in his youth. He kept the peace in districts Four, Eight, Nine, and Eleven, and retired the service a lieutenant colonel. Standing a full head and shoulders over all of us, he bears the look of a bodybuilder gone slightly to seed. He was offered a position of Gamemaker as a reward for his service, and I wonder to myself how one makes the transition from peacekeeper to Gamemaker, "Felix, welcome!" comes his booming voice as he claps me on the shoulder, "I hope this won't be too boring for you."

"Not too boring," came a voice from behind.

I turn around to see a pair of women walking toward us, dressed in purple like the rest of us. The first had dark hair with purple highlights with a severe looking face. I could tell that at one point she had to have been gorgeous, but age had faded that beauty, with the lines of her face accentuating her black lips and smoke-like eyes. The other looked quite the opposite. She was a blonde bombshell if there ever was one, with a thick plait of golden hair that nearly fell to the floor. Her face was soft and her hands finely manicured. Her eyes, though, betrayed a golden sparkle, as her irises had been replaced with golden disks.

"How could we ever?" Plutarch asked, rhetorically, giving each of the new arrivals a gentle kiss on the hand, "Ladies, permit me to introduce Felix Everton, the new Gamemaker. Felix, these visions are Valentina Ravenwood and Cornelia Swann."

"It is not often we have the pleasure of such a handsome and stylishly dressed Gamemaker," the dark haired Valentina said, with the slightest and most playful of winks.

"Pfft, Handsome," Cornelia scoffed, appraising me like I was some kind of dangerous insect, "We ask for a Gamemaker and they send us a child."

"Now, Cornelia, he can't be that much younger than you," Valentina said, still keeping her covetous eyes on me, "How old are you, Mr. Everton?"

"Twenty-seven," I replied, taking a drink so as not to meet Valentina's eyes.

"And he's very fortunate to have been named Gamemaker so young," Plutarch said, looking over his shoulder, "Oho! And it gets better!"

No, it wasn't talking about me that made Plutarch sound so happy. At that moment, a pair of avoxes had stepped onto the balcony carrying a suckling pig on a sterling silver tray. They laid the massive and sweet-smelling boar on a table near the back of the balcony, and Plutarch was first to fill an empty plate.

"Alright, enough waiting," Seneca declared, "Are we ready?" He turned to face me, and I nodded feebly as I downed what was left in my goblet. A roving Avox stepped up at once and collected my empty glass before handing me another, and Seneca resumed his attention to the massive gymnasium below, "Excellent. Pay attention, Felix. The career tributes are always the ones to watch."

"Indeed. One, Two, and Four look promising, as always," Cornelia said, taking a seat.

"There's a quick little girl from District Five that I like," Nero said, taking another glass from an avox, "Clever too."

"You would like the smart ones," Valentina said to Nero, teasingly, "Intellect will always lose out to strength in the arena."

"Strength of another kind," Nero replies, helping Cornelia into her seat and taking his own, "Outfoxing someone can be just as valuable as facing them head on."

"Couldn't agree more! Brains can get you far in the arena." Plutarch said, sitting down with a plate of food.

"Brute strength tends to get you just as far, Plutarch," Caligula says, sitting down with a plate of food as well.

"A good balance of both might be better," I say as I also take a seat. Caligula throws me a sideways glance.

Seneca nods to someone off in the distance whom I could not quite make out, as though it were some kind of signal. In a moment, a loud tone sounds throughout the gym, a pair of doors open, and in walks the first tribute from District 1. He was tall, brown haired, and remarkably well built for a kid his age, though as Valentina might point out, he didn't look so much younger than myself. I withdraw a touchscreen device from my jacket pocket, click a few times and open the dossiers I was given of all twenty four tributes. Marvel is this one's name, and with a shrewd look about him he begins to deftly display his talents at a variety of stations. He was good, very good. But this was to be expected from a career tribute. His female counterpart was no different. She even drew a gasp from Cornelia. When Cato, the male tribute from District 2 came out, Valentina immediately perked up. I got the distinct sense that her…appetite was one that skewed young and was not easily sated. Nero looked calm and cool the entire time, taking the occasional drink, though I could sense his mind moving a mile a minute.

As the tributes came and went, the attention of the Gamemakers started to wane, considerably so after the District 4 tributes had their go. Though, to be fair, few tributes after District 4 could display anything worth noting. There was that clever and fast girl from District 5 Nero had mentioned, and an agile little jumper from District 11, but even then these girls were not very remarkable outside their sprightly talents.

By the time the male tribute from District 12 entered, I was the only person on the balcony paying even the slightest bit of attention. Every other Gamemaker, Seneca and Nero included, had stopped caring. Plutarch had busied himself with the suckling pig, now serving his fourth helping of the seasoned pork, while Valentina and Cornelia gossiped quietly in a corner near Plutarch.

Peeta was the name of the boy from District 12, or so my palm device informed me. He busied himself in the camouflage station, displaying a noteworthy ability to blend into the background flawlessly. This could be an adept defense mechanism if he survived later into the games, but since he did not even attempt at offense combat stations, I wrote him off as someone who would most likely die at the Cornucopia. Now, with only the girl from District 12 left, I was looking forward to this long exercise to finish.

She was a slight, vulnerable looking girl, from whom I did not expect anything spectacular. If her male counterpart was any indication, her display here would be dull to the point of agony. I saw her go to the archery station, and she quite easily hit each and every target with a dead bulls-eye. It was an impressive display, especially from someone from District 12, but arrows take time to fire, and I highly doubt that in the heat of hand-to-hand combat, her arrows will be of much use. So, making my final note I clicked off my device and picked up another drink from one of the roving Avoxes, joining Nero and Seneca in conversation.

Then, a few things happened in very quick succession. There was a sharp intake of breath down below in the gymnasium, a high-pitched whistling sound was heard cutting through the air, and in the flash of an instant I saw an arrow fly into the balcony and piercing the apple within the mouth of the pig. Such was the force of the arrow that it knocked Plutarch off-balance, and he fell backwards onto the table, collapsing it and making a mess all over himself.

Valentina and Cornelia both shriek. Nero looks scandalized, crushing the glass he was holding in his powerful hands. If he could, I think Caligula would have vaulted over the balcony and attacked her. I turned to look at the girl who let loose her arrow, and narrowed my gaze. Slowly, all the Gamemakers regained themselves and looked down at her, at this girl who did nothing but stare defiantly back. There was such a fire in that stare of hers that I thought it almost indecent to meet her eyes. I was suddenly very afraid for this little girl.

Her name was Katniss Everdeen.