Only Time Will Tell: The First Centennial Chapter 1: The Quell, a hunger games fanfic

Tyranny Bomber, 17
District One Standard Female

"No volunteers will be allowed!"

"They're going to adjust the age range! To only younger kids."

"No, to only old people."

"They're only going to reap those who have never taken tesserae."

"They're only going to reap those who have taken tesserae at least seven times!"

"Only girls!"

"Only boys!"

"Only non-binary people!"

"No supplies!"

"No sponsors!"

"No Victor!"

Tyranny Bomber couldn't help but roll her eyes as she listened to the incessant chatter of the girls walking behind her. This kind of speculation really didn't do anybody any good. Anyone affected by a particular Quell twist would only get more anxious every time that that particular twist was mentioned, and someone who might benefit by a particular Quell twist would only be devastated if that turned out not to be the case. More importantly, though, Tyranny was not paying attention to the rumors because the Quell twist didn't really matter for her.

Unlike District Two, District One did not shy away from sending a seventeen-year-old into the Arena if they were determined to be the best in their gender bracket. And an unfortunate combination of injuries, severe illnesses, and a weak year to begin with had set Tyranny up as a very good candidate, if not the likely candidate, to enter the Games for the Fourth Quell. (Well, at least among the trainees in her Academy, the central Academy in One.) If for some reason the Quell twist messed with her eligibility, she would almost definitely be the volunteer for the 101st Games.

At least, that was how her brothers explained things to her. As far as Tyranny was concerned, she wanted nothing more than the challenge that competing in a Quarter Quell would pose. As much as Tyranny tried to keep her anger at bay, and as much as the realist in her didn't want to admit it, any Quell twist that would cause her to not get the opportunity to fight in it would probably mean that the next person against whom she fought in training would not emerge unscathed.

Finally, Tyranny arrived at her house. She opened the door and closed it behind her, then took a deep breath, absorbing the smells of dinner cooking and the muffled sounds of fighting from the floor below. "I'm home!"

"How was training?" called her father from another room.

"Good. Not much different than any other day." Tyranny joined her father in the kitchen and grabbed an apple off the counter.

"Have they started doing sparring practice?"

"Not quite yet. They say after the Quell announcement they'll begin to prep us for the selection process. We'll still have a good six months."

"Fair. Do me a favor and pass me the salt?"

"Yep. How long until dinner?"

"Maybe 25 minutes. We're going to have to eat kinda quickly before the Quell announcement."

"Cool. I'm going to head downstairs and get another workout in."

"Just don't hurt yourself," Dred called after his daughter. "The boys are wrestling downstairs!" But Tyranny was already halfway down to the gym the Bombers had in their basement. The Bombers weren't particularly wealthy; they were solidly middle class, if not near the end of the middle class, by District One's standard, but they had enough to turn the basement into a home gym for the kids to work out in when they weren't training.

When she got to the bottom of the stairs, she almost ran into two very large men wrestling each other: her older brothers, Grant and Sean. The third, weaker brother, Nolan, stood to the side, watching the much larger men fight. "Hey, T!" called Nolan. "How was training?"

"Good. Shot winner."

"That would be me," crowed Sean as he slammed Grant onto the mat. "You're gonna have to do better if you want to get into the Peacekeeper Academy, baby bro."

"Hey! First of all, I'm nineteen, only like three years younger than you. And second, I don't think you really need wrestling in the Peacekeeper Academy entrance exam."

"Well, if you do, you're screwed."

"How do you know?" Grant replied mockingly.

"I teach kids how to wrestle."

"So what?"

"Hey, hey, calm down. That wasn't that far off of a fight, Grant. You held your own really nicely with Sean. Just remember that losing your center of gravity is the worst thing that can happen. I think that's why you lost; when you leaned forward at the end there, Sean was able to get under you, knock you off balance, and then pin you. Keep your guard up with that."

"I still don't understand why you don't want to be an Academy trainer, Nolan," Tyranny remarked as she put on her helmet for the fight.

"Because I'm half the size of most of them. Plus, I'm capable of better things."

"Yeah, yeah. Nobody values smarts here. They value your ability to fight and your ability to place a jewel in a necklace."

"You never know. Things might change."

"When pigs fly."

"Come on. Let's see what you've got."

Tyranny took her place on the mat and got into her wrestling stance, squaring up against her oldest brother. "Ready?" said Grant, pulling out his stopwatch. "And… go!"

Instantly, Tyranny shifted her stance to keep her center of gravity as low to the ground as possible. Having fought Sean before, Tyranny knew that he tended to go in for her stomach first, so by grounding herself, she hoped to be able to stave off that initial attack, which would give her a really secure status going into her brother's second attack. Sure enough, Sean lowered his upper body and went for Tyranny's center section. Tyranny felt the impact of Sean's body on hers; she was muscular, but not of a particularly big build, so it took a lot of effort to not fall over as the muscular frame of her trainer brother slammed into her. Fortunately, Tyranny managed to hold on for enough time to regain her balance, then wrapped her hands around her brother's neck and brought her knee up towards his junk. While Sean must have been expecting such an attack, it caused him to let his guard down for a moment, just enough time to give Tyranny the upper hand. She swiftly brought him into a chokehold, then took him down to the mat.

"And that's match. Well done, Tyranny. But keep in mind that, in the Games, the odds are good that a simple kick to the nuts won't be quite as effective. Fight or flight instincts do weird things to people. You might not have the height advantage on most other tributes, but there are other ways to take advantage of your five-foot-five stature. And Sean, you don't need to let her win. She may be the baby, but she can hold her own. We won't always be there to protect her."

"Fine. Let's go again," said Tyranny. "I can take a challenge."

After a few more wrestling matches, the sound of Dred's voice filtered down into the basement. "Bomber squad! Dinner, and quick! The Quell announcement is in fifteen minutes!"

At the speed of light, the four siblings raced up the stage and met their parents in the kitchen. After scarfing down a quick dinner, they gathered in front of their television. Tyranny felt the tension that suddenly appeared in the room; while District One was fairly well situated to protect its untrained citizens from most Quell twists, and while being in the Games was considered an honor, who knew how the twist could mess with the Games? Anything was on the table. And that was petrifying.

Dred turned on the television, which displayed the seal of the Capitol, glistening in gold. After a few moments, the anthem played, and the logo dissolved, giving way to a stage constructed in front of the Training Center. Standing at the podium, gripping on rather strongly, was the elderly President Snow; next to him was a little girl who bore a strange resemblance to President Snow, wearing a white dress and holding a plain wooden box. "How old do you think he is now?" Grant asked.

"At least ninety," Tyranny replied. "Probably older."

"Good evening, Panem," President Snow announced, in his feeble, elderly voice, a shell of the booming, powerful voice he had once upon a time. "It is my pleasure tonight to announce the twist for this year's Hunger Games, the Fourth Quarter Quell! We are excited to have reached this milestone, and to see what this year's Games have in store!"

After reading the traditional speech, reminding the districts of the Dark Days and the Treaty of Treason, President Snow read aloud the three previous Quell twists.

"On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it.

"On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes.

"On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the youngest and the oldest played a role in the rebellion, only children of the ages of 19 and 11 were eligible to be reaped.

"And now we honor our fourth Quarter Quell." President Snow beckoned to the little girl, who looked up at the old man with glistening, excited eyes. Carefully, the president reached over, opened the box, and pulled out a yellowed envelope. As if he knew that the whole nation was watching with bated breath, every person worried about what was written on that card, Snow slowly slid open the envelope and eased the card out. It took him a moment to read over the card, which only made Tyranny's heart beat faster. After what seemed like an eternity, Snow nodded with understanding once again and began to speak.

"On this, the hundredth anniversary of the Hunger Games, we mark the anniversary not by a Quarter Quell but by a Centennial Commemoration. Each Centennial Commemoration should serve to remind the districts of the previous hundred years of Games, as a reminder to the rebels to learn from their past mistakes, lest the same destruction of the Dark Days be wrought onto Panem once more. Additionally, to give the districts a small reward for honoring the system of the Games for a hundred years, the tributes of these Centennial Commemorations should have a significantly higher chance of returning home alive than they would in another Games.

"For this first Centennial commemoration, each district will be required to send in twice as many tributes, in homage to the Second Quell. Two of these tributes will, as always, be randomly drawn from those children between the ages of twelve and eighteen. The other two tributes will represent one of the previous Quarter Quells. Four districts, randomly chosen, will send a pair of eleven-year-olds, and four will send a pair of nineteen-year-olds, as an homage to the Third Quell. And the last four districts will send a pair of elected tributes between the ages of twelve and eighteen, in homage to the First Quell. It is up to the Gamemakers how exactly to increase the odds of survival for the tributes of these Games."

President Snow looked up from the card. "Well, won't these make for an exciting Games! We will take a short break and return in a moment to randomly draw which districts will send in which set of Quell tributes."

As the seal of the Capitol returned, Tyranny breathed out a huge sigh of relief. The Quell twist really wouldn't affect her. In fact, it might have even been a good thing. Now the odds of her entering the Arena could be twice as high if her district sent in elected tributes, and her odds of returning home would be higher as well.

The other tributes would have to watch out. Tyranny had these Games in the bag.

Moss Darya, 19
District Seven Quell Male

The whistle blew, signaling the end of the workday in Seven. Moss Darya threw down his ax and wiped the sweat off of his brow. Having just aged out of the Reaping, he still wasn't quite used to working these fuller shifts and spending fourteen-hour days chopping down trees. But Moss was comforted by the fact that he got to work outside, among the trees. There was something about getting to spend so much of his time outside, around the beauty of the wood, that made work feel a little bit less like work.

Moss followed the horde of lumberjacks to the pay station, where he waited in line to receive his paycheck. As he waited, he felt someone come up beside him. "Hi, Moss."

"Oh, hey, Brock. How goes?"

"It goes. I'm beat."

"Me too."

"Getting along well with the guys on your crew?"

"Yeah," Moss said. "They're all cutting much faster than I am though."

"You'll get there," Brock assured his younger friend. "It takes time to build up strength. That's why they put new workers on crews with some more experienced workers, to make sure that each crew stays at quota."

"Ah."

They paused. Moss could hear the sound of a breeze rustling through the leaves of the trees above him.

"What's on your mind?"

"I don't know. I'm worried about the Quell twist."

"Ah. Yeah. I'm worried too. I think everyone is."

"Because last year they showed us that they can change the age range. So what's to stop them from doing it again?"

"Yeah. Yeah. It's scary. The things we can't control are the scariest."

"Exactly."

The two fell silent again. Moss heard the breeze again; it sounded almost more sinister this time, like it was coming for him.

"Hey. We're all gonna be OK. I promise."

"I hope so, Brock. I hope so."

By this point, the men had reached the front of the line. Moss gave his employee card to the pay station worker, who scanned it on a reader, then counted out some coins and handed them to Moss. "Next." She repeated the process with Brock, then the two men began their walk home together, as they did every day. Normally, Moss enjoyed talking with Brock on those walks, but there wasn't much to say today; it was as if a cloud covered the whole district, every single person gripped by the fear of the impending announcement. The Capitol had already changed the age range once. They could easily change it to something even worse, like only the elderly, or only children. There was no limit to the Capitol's cruelty, which was completely terrifying.

When they reached their homes, Moss gave Brock a small wave goodbye, which Brock returned by placing a comforting hand on Moss's shoulder. The two shared the moment and let it sit for a while, before parting and returning to their homes.

As soon as Moss opened the door, he was greeted by his little brother, Toby, who gave Moss a big bear hug, just as he did every day. "You're home! I always get worried you'll get hurt when you leave for work."

"Hi, Toby. How was school today?"

"It was good. We're starting to learn how to identify types of trees! I'm doing a project on oak trees."

"What do you have to do?"

"I have to bring in leaves from the tree and a branch if I can, and talk about how oak trees grow best."

"Hm. Maybe I can see if I can get you a branch tomorrow at work."

"That would be great! You're the best big brother."

Moss smiled. Every day, he counted his blessings that he got to be the big brother to Toby. The boy was sweet, caring, considerate, and just an all-around great kid who would someday grow up to be a fantastic young adult. Moss would do anything to protect his brother. Unfortunately, he couldn't protect Toby from the most dangerous thing in Panem: the Hunger Games. The thought of his brother being forced to fight to the death petrified Moss. He couldn't bear the thought of losing Toby. Even though he was thankful to age out of the Reapings, something in Moss's heart told him that he would give safety up in a heartbeat if it meant keeping Toby safe.

Moss ruffled the hair on Toby's head, then went into the boys' room to take a quick nap before the reading of the card that night. Even though his body felt like it weighed a ton, Moss couldn't quite fall asleep. His mind was racing with possibilities for the upcoming Quell twist, his heart was pounding out of his chest, and the pit in his stomach was growing every day. After trying and failing to sleep for an hour, Moss gave up and rejoined his family in the main area of their house, finding that his father had returned from work. Mortin Darya worked at a factory that processed the cut down trees and turned them into logs and other wood things. It was one of the few things he could do; after his wife passed away in childbirth with Toby, he had lost motivation to do many things, so he wasn't nearly strong enough to be a lumberjack like other men his age.

"Hi, Dad," Moss greeted his father, who was cooking dinner on the stove.

"Hello, son. How was work?"

"Good. I think I'm getting a bit stronger every day. How was yours?"

"Good. Not much different than usual."

"Well, at least that means no accidents."

"True."

Mortin returned to his pan on the stove. He wasn't a talkative man before his wife's death, so especially on a nerve-wracking day like the day of the Quell announcement, Moss knew that making small talk with his father wasn't going to happen. The two instead continued to go about their business, Mortin making dinner and Moss sitting at the table to help Toby with his math homework. Moss didn't really remember how to approach complex fractions, and he couldn't comprehend why Toby would need to know about them, but he tried his best to help however he could. When dinner was ready, the two boys put away Toby's schoolbooks and laid out the three old plates the Daryas owned. But before they could sit down to eat, they heard the sound of the anthem playing.

"Oh, I guess I mistimed that. I guess we can eat while we watch the announcement." The three shifted their chairs around the table so that they could all see the old, small television screen perched on a small side table across the room.

The picture on screen shifted to be of Snow and a small girl holding a wooden box. "Good evening, Panem," Snow began. "It is my pleasure tonight to announce the twist for this year's Hunger Games, the Fourth Quarter Quell! We are excited to have reached this milestone, and to see what this year's Games have in store!" Moss felt the bile creep up in his throat when he saw Snow appear; this was the man responsible for the deaths of so, so, so many children with no punishment of any kind. How could he speak so jovially, and how could the Capitol actually be applauding him?

Snow then progressed into discussing the Dark Days and the Treaty of Treason, which Moss tuned out as he did every year. When he finished, Snow reviewed the three previous Quell twists, then reached towards the girl, opened the box, and pulled out the envelope that would determine the fate of the entire country of Panem. He took his sweet time opening the envelope, then reveled in the anxiety that surrounded him as he reviewed the words on the card. Moss's stomach was now doing full-on flip flops. Finally, he began to speak.

Moss put down his fork. Suddenly, he wasn't very hungry anymore. He somewhat registered that Snow was taking a short commercial break, but couldn't really process anything, his mind beginning to spiral into a worst-case scenario. What if he and Toby were both Reaped? What if they both died? How would that affect their father? Moss wasn't even really processing the part about how there was a greater chance of survival, because really, what did it matter? It just gave the Careers greater license to work together, making it more likely that they would survive, leaving the rest of the districts devastated and decimated.

"Moss, are you OK?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine, Toby."

"OK. Snow is about to Pick districts."

But it wasn't Snow on screen. It was a woman, much younger than Snow, with ruby red hair and bright green eyes that Moss could somehow make out through the small, blurry screen. "Good evening, everybody. My grandfather, President Snow, has asked me, in his place, to randomly select which districts will send in which tributes. As you can see, I have here a Bingo spinner that contains one ball representing each district. I will spin it and allow all of the balls to escape and line up in order. The first four balls to fall out will be the districts that will elect their tributes, the second four will send in eleven-year-olds, and the last four will send in nineteen-year-olds."

Ruby began to spin the handle connected to the metal, cage-like ball, causing the golden balls inside to spin around. Over the next few minutes, the balls fell, one by one, through a hole, rolling into a metal trough of sorts. It took longer than Moss expected, which was not particularly comforting given the circumstances. Once all twelve balls were lined up, Ruby spun them so she could see the number on each ball.

"The districts that will elect their tributes are… District Nine… District Six… District One… and District Ten.

"The districts that will send in eleven-year-olds are… District Two… District Eleven… District Eight… and District Four.

"And finally, District Twelve, District Three, District Five, and District Seven will send in nineteen-year-olds." With a look of discomfort on her face, Ruby hurriedly lifted up the trough and slid the balls into a bucket that was waiting for her. She began to talk again, but Moss was not hearing a single word that came out. The edges of his vision began to blur. He had just aged out of the Reaping; how and why was he now eligible again? Sure, the odds of him escaping the Arena might be higher if he did have to enter the Games, but not having a chance at being Reaped was far preferable to having names in that godforsaken Reaping bowl. And the thought of Mortin losing both of his sons in one year was overwhelmingly awful.

There was one bright side to all this. If Toby was Reaped, Moss would be able to protect him.

I know, I know, I have another SYOT active right now. But in a potentially futile attempt to keep IDIDE2 as positive and not angsty as I can, I need an outlet for angst. Enter: this story.

Longtime readers of my work may have heard me refer to Only Time Will Tell as… well, not very good. It was my first SYOT way back in the day – I started it almost eight years ago now – and it's basically a clusterf*ck of every possible twist you can throw into a story in a way that makes negative sense. Unfortunately for my perfectionist brain, when I started Make Me a Match, I elected to build it off of OTWT, possibly the weakest possible foundation on which to base the story. I have progressively gotten more and more frustrated by that weakness when I figured out a way to fix my own mistakes. So here we are!

This story is going to work a little differently than other SYOTs, mostly because I already have the Victors chosen. You might know who they are if you've read my other stories, but please don't reveal them; I want it to be a surprise! Instead, you are submitting a tribute for the chance to be a survivor. More information will be forthcoming throughout the story on how that happens, but you may be able to guess based on the form.

This is also going to be a partial. I'm going to be filling about half the slots with my own tributes, which is to say tributes from the original OTWT that I liked writing the first time and am excited to write again. The other half will be open for submission! There are a few of mine that I'm willing to move around if need be, which are marked by an asterisk on my profile. Any tribute can escape the Arena, except for the Victors and a few other exceptions.

Another important thing about this story is that I'm not going to be tracking POVs or tracking word counts or anything of the sort. Whether my tribute or another person's, I'm going to write the POVs that I feel will fit in the best with the story at the length that I feel is appropriate. Please don't feel bad if your tribute doesn't take on the biggest role in the story or doesn't get POVs; I'm going to do my best to feature each character at least once but I am really writing this story for myself.

Anyway, all that being said, subs are open! I'll have the form, the submission list, and any additional info on my profile, as well as needs. I'm going to leave them open for at least a month, but I'm not sure exactly how long. There's no submission limit, so feel free to sub however many you'd like! I can't wait to see what you create!

Yours,

Goldie031