"Life is a beautiful journey, full of joy and pain
You never know when it will end, don't let a moment pass in vain…
In the whole ruckus of life, nothing had I gained,
I just wanted freedom, no more did I wanted to be chained…"

Mehek Bassi


Prologue 2

Quill Daemeon, The Capitol, 2 months before the 13th Games

Mr. Daemeon walked with deliberate measured steps towards the tall white doors that stretched towards an intricately decorated ceiling. His soft footfalls did not betray the nervousness that made his stomach sink down and his throat dry up. He was, after all, two minutes late to his meeting with the President of Panem. Two minutes that could mean the difference between life and death, on a bad day. Today wasn't a bad day, Mr. Daemeon reminded himself. Today was a day of celebration, the day the Capitol was liberated and the day when the first Games had been implemented.

Before he even came on board as a freshly-out-of-college assistant to the Games Design team, an executive decision had been made to push back the Games two months. Something about ratings being higher if this kind of entertainment was televised in the summer months, where both kids and adults alike would take vacation. Everyone seemed to be in a more bloodthirsty mood in the summer, it seemed. Mr. Daemeon wouldn't be the one to disagree with that.

He knocked on the door, which opened abruptly. A ghostly figure inside the brightly lit room quickly let go of the door handle and retreated in a corner as quickly as it appeared in front of him. The idea of Avoxes never sat well with Mr. Daemeon, but their use was two-fold: punishment and free labor. As much as he loathed to admit it, the idea made sense.

"Come in, Quill, come on in," a deep voice further in beckoned him inside the office. The Presidential office. As if by reflex, Mr. Daemeon quickly ran a hand through his black hair and entered. President Antonius Daemeon sat in his practical but comfortable work chair, leaning towards the left side and eyeing the still-open door.

"How are the state of affairs for the Games?" the President casually asked the man who, minutes before, had commandeered absolute respect from his subordinate Gamemakers. The one who previously had been quasi-unanimously known as Mr. Daemeon was now only Quill, laid bare before the President's piercing yet calm gaze. Quill locked the door meticulously and walked up a mere few feet behind the President's chair.

"Everything is going according to plan, Mr. President, I am personally overseeing the Design team to be sure the work is completed within the next month. We will have one entire month for testing and optimization."

The President chuckled at that and stood up. He lifted his hand and dropped it affectionately on Mr. Daemeon's shoulder, bringing the younger man closer.

"Quill, you gotta relax a little bit. I know I'm President, but I'm also your uncle. Breathe a little, don't be so formal."

Mr. Daemeon managed a small smile while relaxing his composure slightly.

"Sorry, I apologize, I'm just a little…worried, it's nothing."

The President smiled again and walked to the beautiful large window that overlooked the spacious gardens where workers were slaving away to keep the grass green and perfectly trimmed.

"You remind me so much of Kiara, you walk like her, you have her temperament…Quill, you need to take it easy, once in a while." He paused, as though consumed with a sudden unpleasant thought and turned around to inspect a military report from the peacekeeping force stationed in District 12. From this angle, Quill admired how imposing he looked.

The President was a broad-shouldered tall man, with a muscular build that hinted at his previous military service. His clean-shaven head glistened in the light coming from the window, catching slightly on the scar that extended from his left temple to the occipital portion of his skull. His bushy eyebrows were expressive enough, lacking however the severity that marred the expression of his predecessors. A lot of people had underestimated his iron will and ability to sacrifice hordes of citizens to achieve his goal, due to his friendly disposition. He was, after all, just a charismatic man who liked order. He was also the man that led the Capitol to victory, putting an end to the rebellion of the districts in an almost-savage display of violence. He was elected by the Capitol people, after the interim President formally requested a candidate step forward to take control of the country in the midst of the worst hunger crisis of the past century. He knew how to charm and rule people, and in Panem's case, he was the man for the job of leading a country that had just emerged from the ashes of a rotten civilization.

In Quill's case, President Anthonius Daemeon had been known as 'uncle' for most of his life. Very few people knew this, and Mr. Daemeon would bring this secret to his grave, but President Antonius Daemeon had once been Any, his mother Kiara's younger stubborn brother. Kiara and Any were inseparable as children, and throughout their adult life. At least that's what Quill's mother had told him. To the President, Mr. Daemeon melted away and all that was left was Quill whom he had taught to be creative, to be successful, to be understanding, efficient and merciless when need be. To Mr. Daemeon, he saw his role model for whom he held only juvenile adoration and veneration throughout his first two decades of life. To think of it, Mr. Daemeon could count on one hand the number of people that called him Quill. His uncle, who happened to be the most powerful man in Panem, was one of them. Milo, the newcomer that had quickly grown on him was another. He reminded Mr. Daemeon of himself which is why they got along so well. Cyrellia and Jazz too, his partners in crime in the Gamemaker control center and Pax, his best friend and lover who he swore he wouldn't ever let near the others. Finally, his mother Kiara, who died 4 years ago. That was it. Those were the people who cared deeply about him, whether they showed it or not.

Mr. Daemeon nodded, acknowledging the President's statement, sat down in the chair adjacent to the President's and took out his holopad. The lights flicked to life, projecting a multitude of plans, schemes and drafts on the oak desk. There was still a lot of work to be done, but the President was in a good mood today, and Mr. Daemeon was out of his mind if he was going to let such an opportunity slip through his fingers.


The Head Gamemaker left the President's office, smiling softly, an anecdote or another on his lips. The smile melted away as soon as he turned the corner, his breathing evening out and his hands turning into fists as he quickened his step.

These meetings were always… a mixed bag, to say the least. They made Mr. Daemeon so painful aware of the nepotism which contributed to his ascension to the position of Head Gamemaker. They made him even more aware of his powerlessness to take control of his life, as though his trachea was constantly crushed underneath his uncle's foot. He loved his uncle, he thought. He had to love him, since he was his only family left after his mother decided to get herself killed while picking a fight she couldn't win. It wasn't his uncle's fault per say. But it might have been, an insistent voice insidiously whispered somewhere deep in his brain, as he hurried through the corridors, picked up his black coat and practically ran to the sleek black car waiting for him outside the Presidential Palace.

He couldn't keep thinking like that. He owed his uncle everything. He wasn't stupid enough to think that he had achieved the pinnacle of his career at the mere age of thirty-three due to skill alone. It wasn't just chance. Neither were the unlucky "coincidences" that had crippled his family and his friends, any time someone so much as thought of treason against his uncle. Some days, when he was alone in his apartment, he imagined that everything that befell him had been his own doing. It couldn't all be his uncle's doing. But it might have been, after all. Mr. Daemeon shook his head as his ride sped across the clean highway. He had to stop, he couldn't afford to think this way now, not with the deadline approaching, not when his team needed him at his best.

The President had been pleased with the arena, commenting on the originality and the unpredictability factors that Mr. Daemeon was careful to account for, ever since the disastrous Games from 4 years ago. However, his nephew's nervousness had clearly irked him. Mr. Daemeon knew that because he had commented on it a couple of times, mentioning Kiara one time too many for it to be an accident. Mr. Daemeon knew his uncle was sizing him up, testing him whether he was good enough for the job. The President wanted to make sure, after all, that his nephew wouldn't make the same mistake as his predecessor, it happened every year. This year is different though, a tiny voice reminded Mr. Daemeon.

If Cyrellia knew, she would definitely say that "some sketchy bullshit was afoot" and for once, Mr. Daemeon couldn't agree more. For the first time in months, he wanted nothing more than to talk to his old friend, ask for her advice, as brutal and honest as it often could be. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he was being watched more than ever; his movements at work monitored to an extent they hadn't been before the 3rd anniversary of his mother's death. Deep down, Mr. Daemeon knew his mother had been responsible for something unspeakable, something treasonous. Something serious enough that it had been hushed up immediately, and she had been found dead, disfigured beyond belief, allegedly raped and killed by the gang members that his uncle made haste to execute publicly. Mr. Daemeon had even half-believed it, until a year later, when the Secret Service had barged into his office one busy day, requested his signature for consent of investigation and confiscated all his mother's belongings. Once again, Mr. Daemeon wasn't stupid. He had known something was wrong, but his mother never told him what exactly she had gotten involved in. He wanted to tell Cyrellia or Pax or anyone, he wanted to figure it out, but he couldn't and how fucking frustrating did that get sometimes?

All he knew was that one day she was Head Gamemaker, running the show and, he was a junior Games' designer with some talent and some guts to follow through some pretty questionable projects. He was comfortable where he was, he had befriended Jazz and Cyrellia. Next thing he knew, his mother was dead, the Games were less than a month away, most of the Games funds had been embezzled for god-knows-what purposes, and he was promoted to Head Gamemaker.

He just about had three stress aneurysms that day alone. He remembered vaguely the sleepless nights, the frantic panicking with Cyrellia scrambling together a barely-thought-out plan. It was a haze now, and it had been a haze then, when the entire arena had collapsed in on itself, leaving them with the most expensive Games in history, a run time of three minutes and twenty-eight seconds, twenty-three teenagers dead from the debris and a mentally handicapped and traumatized Victor to boot. Despite the haze, he vividly remembered the 28 people he had been in charge of, of whom only Cyrellia and Jazz remained. The rest were dead somewhere, paying for someone else's grave mistake. His mistake, down the line. He remembered best of all the choking feeling of absolute despair and confusion.

To be quite honest this time around, his uncle's prying and the ever-restricting invisible noose around his neck felt pretty much the same. That was just the Games getting to him, he thought.

Either way, he was almost home, and tonight was no time for brooding. Tonight, he had plans with Pax who he hadn't seen ever since the younger man began his surgical shifts a week ago at the Fallen Heroes Hospital, an old relic of a health center that had become a makeshift clinic during the Dark Days, but since then had become a huge surgical facility.

Pax was arguably the best person in the whole world. He certainly was in Mr. Daemeon's eyes. Pax was a registered nurse, a bright young man with a dashing rueful smile and the most brilliant sense of humour. But it was his absolutely unyielding drive to do good, his kindness and his selflessness that made Mr. Daemeon's heart ache with love. Because it was love, Mr. Daemeon thought, true love.

Mr. Daemeon opened the door and tried to wipe off the look of helplessness off his features, running a hand through his hair out of habit. Pax's apartment was small and homely, with a faint burnt smell escaping the kitchen.

"Hey babe, I'm so happy you're home! You're going to go crazy when you see what I got you."

Pax's voice exuded happiness and optimism and everything Mr. Daemeon strived to feel.

"Hey Pax," Mr. Daemeon called from the hallway, hastily taking off his lacquered shoes and taking off his jacket.

Pax's face popped out behind the wall, his smile lighting up the room as his eyes sparkled mischievously.

"Hey Quill!"

For the second time today, Mr. Daemeon melted away and what was left was just Quill, exhausted and desperate for any form of affection that didn't come with a price tag. Contrarily to everyone else, with Pax it was simple. The young man sat on the couch of their small and tasteful apartment, beckoned him quickly to sit. He put one hand on his lap, the other resolutely hidden behind him. Quill sat and stared at him, taking him in.

"You really do need a break Quill, you look awful," Pax mused as he sat closer and patted Quill on the leg. Quill acquiesced. Maybe when these Games were over. Maybe there was a way to just take Pax and run far away from this life, as far away as possible.

"Look what I got us," Pax continued, and Quill just wanted to hug him and kiss him and stay like this forever. Pax opened his hand, revealing a small rectangular box. Quill's heart sped up. He opened it, revealing a pair of tickets, a ring and a really atrocious-looking cookie. A ring?

"I know what you're going to say, but before you do, I didn't waste my month's pay on these tickets," Pax hastily said while looking a little guilty, as Quill looked at him with near-panic in his eyes.

Quill was about to interject that this was totally NOT what he was most concerned about, there was a fucking ring in there, and then Pax got on his knee and put his hand on Quill's and shit hit the fan.

"Quill, calm the fuck down, I really want to marry you."

And that was it. What the fuck was happening, Quill's brain was misfiring signals and just. What the fuck was going on. Who the fuck proposed with tickets for an expensive-ass exclusive Capitol Lightnings vs. Panem Golems game as a backup option? Why the fuck was there a cookie?

In the back of his mind, he knew his uncle would find out about Pax. That was the scariest thought of them all, and he had about a thousand of them whirring through his poor brain at that very instant. Quill was already monitored at work and at his own apartment, but at least Pax wasn't. He had kept Pax safe. He had taken such precautions to only meet at Pax's place, kept him out of the public eye. Marriage was…something else completely. They'd have to be registered officially. Pax would be used as a bargaining chip whenever he had a slip up or another and that wasn't something he was ready to commit to. He couldn't do that to Pax.

But frankly, Pax didn't give two shits about what he could and couldn't do.
"So, you ready for this Lightnings game or what?" Pax quipped, slipping the ring on Quill's finger and totally ignoring his now-fiancé's stunned silence, knowing full-well the answer was a yes, even if Quill was clearly losing his shit at the moment. He was certain the idea would grow on him.

Pax patted him on the leg and as an afterthought, and added cheekily "You better appreciate this fucking cookie, I almost died in my attempts to bake so unless I get a full-on essay about how good it is, I'm retracting everything I've said to you this evening and kicking you out of the apartment."

Quill laughed, nodded and bit the icing-coated cookie with the words "Let's get married" smeared on top of it in a messy and sloppy manner.

"I'd love to marry you." A shitstorm might be coming his way, but right now he was happy and that was it. Sometimes it really was that simple.


NOTES: I hope you enjoyed the second prologue chapter! This one dives into the mind of the one and only Head Gamemaker Quill Daemeon, who's having a rough time but also an awesome time because that's just how the Daemeon's roll. He's a neurotic mess, a pretty closed-off guy but he's trying his best okay?

Jokes aside, I would love to hear anyone's opinion on this. A review would mean the world to me. Let me know: what character do you identify with most so far? What kind of improvements would you like to see? Is the Quill/Pax ship sailing on the clearest seas or is it too sickly-sweet to your taste?

Next chapter will be a sneak-peek into the world of Victors we have so far, so I can't wait for that! Send tributes my way please please pretty please, the form is up on my profile and I would love to get to know your kiddos before I send them off into the Games. I promise I'll be nice (crosses fingers).

Peace and love.