(A/N) Hey everyone! Was recently re-reading the Hunger Games, and watching the Avengers, and had the apparently not that original idea of what if the two came together? What if, instead of being the heroes of humanity, the heroes of the Avengers had to fight for their own individual survival, with some of the more memorable villains thrown into the mix.

How would the Hunger Games change the Avengers, and when it comes down to it, who would win? And so I've begun writing this fanfiction, where the Avengers will be forced to face off against one another, and where the odds can only ever be in one person's favour, in the end.

You, the reader, can have a direct impact in this story if you so wish. I'll be accepting ideas on which Avengers (and villains) should be from which districts, although I can't guarantee that I'll go with those offered. Also, the characters that receive the most interest, whether through chapter views, being mentioned in reviews or PM's, will last longer than those that there is little interest in.

I aim to please my audience, after all.

So without further ado, here's the prologue to this fanfic, setting the tone for things to come. You will not be prepared for this. No one will.

Prologue

Director Nick Fury

The manservant opened the door, beckoning the dark-skinned man forward with a daintily gloved hand. "The President will see you know, Director Fury," he murmured, his eyes not quite meeting the Director's, but instead staring at a point somewhere above his left shoulder.

Fury strode past him, through the threshold, into a huge room bedecked with trophies from past Hunger Games. To his left, mounted on the wall, lay the spear used by Odin to kill the last remaining Career in the very first Games. Next to it lay the helmet gifted Eric Lensherr by a sponsor, which saved his life after taking a mace to the head. The dual katanas of Wade Wilson, the knives of the Wolverine, the suit of armour that had been forged by Obadiah Stane…everywhere that Fury turned lay a clue pointing to the owner's obsession with the Hunger Games.

Unsurprised, Fury scarcely gave the room a second glance, long accustomed to his employer's obsessions. Indeed, it was an obsession that he shared too, why else would he have accepted this role as the Director of the Hunger Games. There was something about the Games, the sheer, final brutality of it, which drew Fury towards it like a moth to a flame.

Few people in the Capitol understood death and loss like he had, for he had served in the Peacekeepers for the past thirty-five years, throughout the Dark Days and the years of imposed peace that had followed it. During this time he had lost an eye, seen friends and family die before his eyes, buried a child, killed and killed until he had lost track of the number of people whose lives he had ended. After all, it hadn't only been the districts that had suffered during the rebellion. All for the man that was now standing before him.

All for President Thanos.

The President stood out on a balcony at the end of the room, a huge black cloak billowing from his shoulders, staring out onto the city beneath him. His huge frame trembled as he gripped the railings of the balcony, not focusing on anything, not even noticing the man behind him.

Director Fury took a moment before coughing gently, standing to attention as the President spun around, glaring at him with eyes red from lack of sleep, before his features softened slightly as he realised who was standing before him.

"Ah, Director Fury," he murmured, in a voice as soft as the silk manufactured in District Eight. "Good of you to be so…punctual."

Fury only inclined his head, his one good eye remaining fixed on Thonos, his mouth fixed into a slight smile. "When the President of all of Marvel demands that you appear before him, only a fool would be late."

"And you are no fool," Thanos finished for him, nodding slowly to himself. He walked over to a huge desk, and sat down in a similarly proportioned armchair, resting his left hand against his temple, the hand that was permanently glad in a solid-gold gauntlet, the so-called "Infinity Gauntlet", the emblem of the Presidency of Marvel. "I hope that preparations for this year's Games are commencing according to schedule?" he gently asked, the question clearly present in his voice.

Director Fury nodded. "I've hired several new Gamemakers, ridding myself of the deadweight Dugan had acquired during his spell as Director. We have already begun development on the site planned for the Arena, and our labs are already at work devising some of the most…challenging mutts to date. I feel confident that, this year, our audiences will see a show that will go down as the most-successful Hunger Games to date."

Thanos nodded, lowering his gauntlet-encased hand to gently stroke his short beard, a thoughtful look settling over his features. "You wouldn't be the first Director to claim this, Nicholas, and I do hate being let down, as your predecessor would tell you."

Fury had to exercise all of his self-restraint in order not to flinch at this statement. Timothy Dugan had been a decent Peacekeeper, fighting alongside Fury during the Dark Days, but sadly, only a mediocre Director. Regardless, he deserved a better end than what he received, and Fury had no intentions of ending up the same way. "Of course not, sir. However, I must declare my utmost confidence in my team, and the plans we have for this year. We understand that previous years have been too short, too quick, too…merciful. This year's tributes aren't going to know what's hit them. It will be a year unlike anything you've seen before."

President Thanos continued staring at him, ceaselessly stroking his chin absent-mindedly. "If anyone can pull this off, it's you Nicholas, I have no doubt. But what about the tributes? How can you ensure that they will be up to the gargantuan task of entertaining our vast audience?"

Director Fury shifted uncomfortably, shrugging slightly. "I'm sure that you're aware, sir, that, no matter how we present it to the districts, these Reapings have never been at random. We have our tributes picked, and they'll be up to the challenge, I promise you."

The other man smiled, showing a row of pristine teeth, standing up and walking over to Fury, clapping a massive hand on his shoulder. "I believe you, Director Fury. I am glad to see that we finally have a director who's up to this task. I know you won't let me down."

He walked away, back out onto the balcony, dismissing Fury with a simple wave of his hand. The Director let out a brief sigh of relief, and strode out of the President's office, barging past the affronted doorman without an apology or even an acknowledgement. He was met with sympathetic gazes by the dozens of men and women who had lined up outside the President's quarters, each waiting on an appointment with Thanos, each dreading the upcoming meeting with a passion outmatched only by the person standing in front of them.

When Nick Fury made it outside, into the cold air of a winter's night in the Capitol, he finally allowed himself to breathe in deeply, dispelling the emotions that were boiling inside of him. Every citizen of Marvel knew that their president was insane, but unfortunately his position of power made himself untouchable. At the very least, his paranoia and madness was held at bay during the Hunger Games, a time when every Capitolian could breathe a small sigh of relief, and gain a month or two of respite while their President was occupied with the district's children's battle to the death.

It had all begun almost thirty years ago, when the districts had stood up and openly challenged the authority of the Capitol. While, in the end, the Capitol had won the war, its president had never quite managed to shake off the conviction that assassins lurked at every corner, that all of his advisors were plotting behind his back.

Timothy Dugan hadn't been the first to be executed, and Fury highly doubted that he would be the last. At least for old "Dum Dum" it hadn't been for treason, sedition, assassination attempts or plots, theft or attempted blackmail, but instead was simply down to the fact that he was no longer able to keep Thanos interested in the Hunger Games, a crime worse than treason in the eyes of Marvel's president.

But Fury wouldn't be going the same way. He had brought in several protégées of his, most notably Maria Hill and Phil Coulson, both of whom served under him during his time as a Colonel in the Peacekeepers. They had impressed him with their plans and ability to read characters, and he knew that the Capitol would remember these Games.

It was a delicate balance though, that needed to be held. These Games would need to run longer than normal, as President Thanos had already made his displeasure both heard and felt about the short length of the past few Hunger Games. Yet they would also have to maintain his attention, keep him occupied with the drama unfurling in the Arena.

As a result, he and his fellow Gamemakers had spent months scouting out potential tributes, planning ways to keep these games as interesting and unpredictable as possible. No that they were moving into the final few weeks of preparations, Nick Fury was of the belief that there was nothing more he could have done in for this year's Games.

He would just have to hope that President Thanos was of the same opinion, and allowed him to keep his head.

A beeping noise suddenly rang out, and Nick Fury cursed, wondering what was important enough that he needed to be contacted this time. He raised a hand to his ear, activating his earpiece. "Miss Hill, I assume you have something to report, and, trust me, this better be something big?"

Maria could scarcely fail to notice the tone in her superior's voice and she quickly replied, her voice sounded odd over Fury's connection. "The Arena has been declared fit for use, sir, and we've sent in the construction teams. However, the science team reported that a small section of the proposed site contained a high level of gamma-radiation, a potential hazard should any tributes wander into it."

Director Fury paused for a moment to consider the problem. After all, it wouldn't do if their future Victor died soon after winning due to radiation poisoning. That certainly wouldn't go down well with President Thanos.

"Arrange for it to be cordoned off, nothing too heavy, perhaps slap on some warning signs," he finally said, his expression grim. "If any tributes are dumb enough to wander in after that, well, they're probably too dumb to win in the first place."

"Of course, Director, I will instruct them to do so immediately," she paused then, something that she rarely did, before hesitantly, almost tenderly asking: "Did your meeting with the President go well, sir?"

Fury snorted, rolling his eyes. "I don't think that's any of your business, Miss Hill. But, for your information, it went as well as it could have. At the very least, we have six months to show our dear President Thanos that we're the only people able to produce a viable Hunger Games. Tell Coulson I'll want to talk to him when I return. We need to start finalizing our selection of tributes. I've already informed the president that we have our selection ready."

"Understood sir," she replied, and with a click, was gone.

Fury stood there, at the entrance to the Presidential Palace, his breathe coming out in billowing clouds. He sighed one last time, pulling his trench-coat into a more comfortable position before striding off into the night, soon lost in the thin-layer of mist that lay around this sector of the Capitol, one thought in his head.

No one would be prepared for this year's Games, not the districts, not the Capitol, not even Thanos himself.