A/N: Hi! This is a repost of an old SYOT of mine that got deleted recently. I will be keeping all of the same characters and the plot will remain the same. Thanks so much for reading! ~ Lily
Disclaimer: I own nothing. If I did, then I would be filthy rich and I would be busy chowing down on my lifetime supply of chocolate instead of writing fanfiction.
Hope- The 18th Hunger Games
Prologue
Ambrosius Tax smiled a cold, deadly smile. His dark eyes flashed in satisfaction as, after a final stroke, he laid his pen down and gazed at the plans for the 18th arena he had created. He would, of course, have to make modifications after learning the identities of the 24 tributes that would be thrust into it. Their weaknesses were simply tools that he could use for the entertainment of the Capitol: assets he did not intend to waste.
He rose from his chair, gathering his papers and locking them in a sliding panel inside his desk. The plans for each arena were top secret information, known only to himself, his fellow Game Makers, and President Ezekiel Snow. Indeed, the Game-Making Centre was hidden deep under the Capitol- below even the passages where the city workers labored. They couldn't risk the plans for the Games being released. This would give potential tributes some warning about what they could be facing and, in turn, it would give them hope. And hope simply could not exist. Not after the Dark Days.
Ambrosius could remember the war against the districts as if it had ended the day before instead of 18 years previously. He had been Snow's right-hand man, brought up to the position not by his wealth, but by his objective understanding of human nature. He knew about the emotions that controlled those around him, though he had never felt them himself, and so he knew how to manipulate them. It had been he who had suggested the obliteration of District 13 as a way to frighten the other districts into surrendering. Its smoldering remains continued to keep any hope for the citizens of the districts at bay.
Hope. Yes, this, he thought, was the secret to power. When the districts had rebelled, they had thought that they stood a chance at winning and overturning the Capitol. And they nearly did just that. But once the Capitol had finally gained the upper hand and decimated District 13, they lost their will to fight. President Snow had agreed that there was a need to prevent the districts from ever finding their cursed hope again, and so Ambrosius had created the Hunger Games.
They were perfect. Memories and sights of their fellows fighting to the death served as a constant reminder of the Capitol's power to the citizens of the districts. Rewarding the winner's district with a year's supply of food created a rivalry between the districts that almost nothing else could. And most importantly, by murdering children, the Capitol would touch each of Panem's generation with the same horror that their forefathers had felt, watching their friends die in battle.
But it had been 18 years since the Capitol had regained dominion over the districts. There were still seven years until the first Quell, and the previous year's desert had left far too many tributes dying tedious deaths from dehydration. This year, the games would be exciting. Ambrosius would make sure of that.