Prologue I

Seneca Crane, 16

Capitol Citizen & Gamemaker Intern

Seneca's boot tapped erratically on the carpeted floor of the car as he scrubbed furiously at his cheek. If even the tiniest smudge of his mother's fluorescent lipstick was visible on his cheek, he'd be the laughingstock of the Gamemaker interns.

The car stopped in front of the large white tower that every ambitious child held in the highest regard. For years, Seneca would stare at the glass roof as it flashed in the sunlight, and imagine himself inside.

But for now, he was merely an intern. An assistant. He'd make no money, but the experience would be worth it. Seneca followed a small group of girls into the building, drinking in the white marble floors and crystal chandeliers.

The foyer was luxurious, but it's design was not what he expected. It seemed old, and almost regal, like the palaces he sometimes saw in history books.

A tall woman approached the group. Her eyes were dark purple and her pupils were slit, like a snake's. It immediately sent a shiver down Seneca's spine.

"Listen up!" she snapped, and the gaggle of chatty interns fell silent. She smirked, showing off blindingly-white teeth, and raked her gaze over each and every teenager.

"As you know, this is a tremendous opportunity," she said smoothly, the smirk never leaving her face. "But it is also a battle. A test. Only a few of you will succeed. Those who rise to the top will be even rarer. So if you are afraid, leave now. The success of the Capitol, the glory of the Games, cannot rest on the shoulders of a coward."

Again, her cold eyes dragged across the faces. Nobody moved. Seneca barely breathed. Finally, she turned on her heel and marched across the room, beckoning the group with her finger.

Seneca hurried after her, pushing between two girls to be closer to the front of the pack. He reached the elevator just as the tall woman did, and she regarded him with a cold look. He squared his shoulders and met her gaze without flinching.

The elevator was large enough for the whole group, and it flew to the top floor in a heartbeat. Everyone struggled to the front, desperate to see the control room, but only a long hallway greeted them. There were a few sighs of disappointment, and Seneca struggled to restrain his own.

But the tall woman just seemed amused, and ushered the crowd down the hall. When they turned a corner, Seneca's eyes widened. Gamemakers!

Some of the greats stood before him, and Seneca's eyes widened. He had to fight hard to keep his jaw from dropping.

Orlando Ragir stood at the front of the group, his fiery orange suit demanding all the attention. But Nefertiti Bazaar was an elegant shadow behind him, piercing yellow eyes locked on the group. Orlando was famous in the technological world. He was the man to perfect the tracking system, including a tracking device that could register a tribute's heart rate, oxygen levels, and much, much more.

But Nefertiti, oh Nefertiti. She'd flown to stardom after the 50th Hunger Games. The Poison Paradise was solely her idea, and many thought she'd become Head Gamemaker before Phoenix Creed chose to retire on his own. Their rivalry was legendary.

Seneca would have laughed at the girl next to him as she dropped into a curtsey if he wasn't so out of breath from standing in the same room as the greats. In his daze, Seneca barely noticed that the interns were being sorted into groups. He was too busy forming a memorable introduction in his head. Fawning over Nefertiti wouldn't earn her respect. She'd see him as an immature groupie and he'd never stand a chance.

But from what he knew of Orlando, stroking his ego could be a good way in. Seneca cleared his throat and raised his head, only to see a woman in a frilly pink blouse staring at him. "Honey?" she said, her voice sugary-sweet. "Do you want to skip the tour? You look a bit pale…"

"No!" Seneca gasped, looking around wildly. He'd been left with three other girls who were all standing together and giggling. His cheeks flushed, but he squared his shoulders and looked the woman in the eye. "I'd love to accompany you."

But as the group navigated the pristine white halls, Seneca's excitement drained away, like blood from the slit throat of a fallen tribute. He quickly learned that the woman guiding them was Coco Lang, the twin sister of District 1's escort, and that she was in charge of the stylists. She'd coordinate material shipments and oversee the prep teams, determining they were skilled enough to perform properly. Her specialty was fashion.

Seneca's thoughts meandered through different exciting scenarios. Standing in the Control Room, instructing his team to release a deadly mutt. Timing sponsor gifts and picking the perfect camera angle to capture a grisly death.

But even that became tiring, and he found himself repeatedly checking his watch. Anger was quickly replacing his boredom, and his violent fantasies came back in full force. However, it was Coco who starred in the role of a dying tribute.

Coco turned to the group and clapped her hands, her pink lips stretching so wide it nearly made Seneca cringe. How was her face not splitting at the seams?

"Now, I need everyone to be very quiet. We'll be passing the Head Gamemaker's personal office, and he's working very hard." Seneca's eyes flicked to the large doorway to their left, and he slowed his steps. As Coco and the girls rounded a corner, Seneca paused. Their footsteps retreated quickly, and once the hallway was silent, he knocked lightly on the door.

It flew open immediately, and Seneca almost tumbled through. The room was dark. The only source of light was a large glass tank full of luminescent white animals. They pulsated oddly, and for a moment, Seneca couldn't keep his eyes off of them. But then someone cleared their throat.

When he locked eyes with Head Gamemaker Phoenix Creed, his blood ran cold. The man was terrifying, with his striking silver eyes, thickly-braided red hair, and sharp black piercings studded in his ears, eyebrows, lips, and nose.

"Who the hell are you?" he growled, and his voice was gravel and smoke and sandpaper all rolled into one. Seneca flinched and staggered back, but Creed was suddenly there, his giant hand iron on Seneca's shoulder.

"Seneca Crane, sir," he stammered. His mouth was dry, and he had to swallow before he could speak again. "I'm an intern. I'm so sorry to disturb you… I was curious… I can leave now."

But to Seneca's surprise, Creed didn't let go of him. He just grunted and lowered his head so they were eye-to-eye.

"You were curious, eh?" he grumbled. And then he laughed and clapped Seneca's shoulder. "I like that. Seeking out new information is a sign of intelligence. And marching into the lion's den is a sign of bravery."

"I thought it was a sign of foolishness," Seneca stammered. His brain was struggling to comprehend that Creed wasn't angry with him.

The Head Gamemaker laughed again, and the rough grate of it must have been painful, because he grunted and took a large sip of something from the glass on his desk.

"You'd be surprised about how often they go hand in hand. Now come. Sit. I want to speak with you."

He approached the sleek black chair and gingerly sat. The door slid shut at the press of a button, and Seneca was left with just the darkness, the pulsating creatures, and Phoenix Creed himself.

Alright, so... welcome to From the Ashes We Rise (aka FtAWR)! It's only going to be a partial SYOT because I want to flesh out every character as much as I can. I'm going to accept one tribute for each District, and I'll make the other ones. Only submitted tributes will be given POVs.

I'll put the rules down below, but they'll be on my profile as well, along with the submission form and tribute list.

RULES

1. This SYOT is generally first come/first serve. If I have an issue with a character, I'll talk to you about it and see if we can compromise.

2. I will accept a maximum of two tributes per submitter, since I'm only accepting 12 tributes. Reservations are allowed, but only for one tribute at a time. They'll be reserved for four days. But if you need an extension, ask! I don't bite! (But I do write about teenagers being killed…)

3. When you submit your tribute, PLEASE title your PM this way: D12F: Katniss Everdeen (but obviously, you should use your tribute's own district, name and gender). It makes life so much easier for me!

4. This rule is sort of weird, but please just roll with it. A typical SYOT has 12 tributes of each gender, I'd like to keep the gender ratio fairly even. 5/7 is the largest difference I'll take. 4/8 just feels too big. (That being said, tributes of any gender are fine. Just know that they will be reaped based on their sex at birth. But I promise their preferred pronouns will always be used outside of that one scene.)

5. Please try to leave a review once in a while. I understand how chaotic things are right now, but it's nice to know people are reading. And I want to make sure I'm doing your characters justice.

Have a nice day, be kind to each other, and never stop reading!

- Fiona