Carnage Under the Moonlight
The 93rd Hunger Games

Prologue II

Coventina Cress
District Four Victor, 92nd Hunger Games

"In books, often the bad guys have a story too, and sometimes it is just as tragic as the hero's."
-Jennifer Megan Varnadore

The cameras love me, they say. I should be proud of all I had done, they say. Anyone else would done the same thing, they say.

They speak as though I am fighting an eternal conflict with myself, but they couldn't be further from the truth. I was born for this, molded by my trainer and brought to life by my past. I may have murdered others, but it was nothing that will keep me up at night. If it wasn't me that killed them, it would have been someone else, another person's hand raised in victory, and I was not about to let that happen. I may have gone about things in an unconventional way, but I refused to think of myself as come kind of villain. No, I am more of a necessary evil. They all just want someone to blame for the death of their favorite tribute, their family member, forgetting that it could have easily been them if they had only had the balls to volunteer. Instead, they will whine and complain about my actions and cry that I didn't have to go in, as it wasn't my name that was called. Or, hell, that the boy that also volunteered with me should have been given the chance to win.

Sharing the spotlight was never my style.

My district spits at me as I walk by, seeing only the death of that boy at the hands of the pair from Seven, revenge for him knocking out a member of their alliance and leaving her to die at the hands of someone else. I understood their need to get even; hell, I was so focused on finding the boy from Six that I slaughtered his District Partner to get back at him for daring to defy me, so their needs outweighed my deflated sense of district pride.

My district doesn't deserve my pride, if I am to be honest with myself.

I wasn't always so jaded; so fake. Mother was taken from me before I had the chance to form a complete memory of her in my mind and father, he moved on a little too quickly for my taste. His new wife came with a suitcase full of entitlement from being the daughter of the former Mayor and a son, Fjord. The honeymoon period was over when I told the truth about her precious boy, but by then, my father was under her spell. So when I fought back after the third time and broke his arm in three places and left a scar on his cheek with my baby teeth, my father abandoned me on the steps of Knox Academy, ensuring my fate. Funnily enough, Fjord was the only one to visit me before I was swept off to the train, if only to try one more time before I was nothing more than a memory to him.

Peacekeepers drug him away as his blood left a trail in the Justice Center.

Part of me was always a monster, but it wasn't of my own design. Darren Knox saw what lied underneath during my second year of training and groomed me, making me his newest pet project. He told me to hide my brutality, my disgust with the world and under him, I became quite the actress. Everything was a part of the act; my giggle, my hand-picked boyfriend (a rather bullish and stupid boy by the name of Augustus Avalon), my penchant for becoming fast friends with the people around me, and it was all chosen and molded by Knox.

If he couldn't make his daughter a Victor, I was the next best thing.

From my spot on the stage, I can see her glaring daggers at me, but I just smirk in defiance. She will never know what her father and I have crafted, about the drunken nights we spent bringing this character to life. How angry he was at me for doing what I did with that boy from District Two as we frozen in the cave and how I pictured his face as I slit that boys neck. How warm his blood was on body for just a moment, before almost freezing to my skin.

The cameras loved me from that point on, they say. I should be proud to be alive, they say. The people turned on me at that moment I let Coburn Morrisey die, I say.

Rike Glasser
District Six Victor, 91st Hunger Games

Rike was happy.

He had somewhere to go now, apart from his house. The house he didn't like because it was still empty and had been like that for a long time.

It didn't matter what happened, even if he got a girlfriend or if he invited some "people" over. It stayed empty and will most likely be like that for a long time.

But now, he had somewhere to go. A mission to fulfill.

And so, he went to the orphanage of District Six. The place where he had come from before all the murder and chaos.

He didn't want to say that he liked being there, cause he didn't cause it brought him bad memory he didn't want to rely on, but he was still there. Waiting for someone.

And that someone came.

"Hi." Said Melinda. She had brown eyes and a black raven hair. She looked like a scared crow most of the time, but now she didn't for some reason. She seemed calm and sane and serene, unlike anything that had happened before. That's why Rike Glasser felt so comfortable with her. Cause she was predictable and sane, two things he really needed in people and friends.

He didn't want to say anything bad about crazy people, because they had nothing wrong. But he felt like he should avoid becoming crazy. After, that's what happened to most victors of The Hunger Games. They became unhinged.

That's what happened to Muriel after all.

"Melinda, are you sure you want to do this?" Melinda was a small child, but she sure was fierce. She knew when things were wrong and when things went south, so she did everything in her power to stop that. Rike knew that, and he admired that from her. She was still orphaned and maybe that's why she was so fierce, yes, but he admired that despite the odds, she knew how to handle herself pretty well. She was a good kid and Rike liked that.

Rike had never been a good kid. From stealing from people when he was just a small child to survive, to killing six careers with poisons in The Hunger Games, to isolating almost completely from everyone because they felt diseased. Rike didn't want to be like that anymore. He wanted to be alive and do well. To smile and happy. To be able to sleep without seeing Jackob's face shouting and screaming at him, asking him why he didn't save him as he should have.

Rike asked one more time. "Are you sure?"

Melinda looked straight at him. "Yes. Could you stop being insecure and just do it"

"Look, I might not be a good option for-"

"Oh please, please just do it."

Rike then looked at the man in front of him. The person in charge of the orphanage.

"Okay, so what are we doing?" The man asked. Rike then swallowed all guilt and self-pressure. He opened his mouth and after a few seconds he spoke.

"I want to adopt her"

Felicity Shaft
District Twelve Victor, 90th Hunger Games

Most of them only care about who I'm not.

I'm not Katniss. I'm not the Mockingjay. I'm not a rebel. I'm not going to get our district bombed into oblivion because I let people see me as a symbol.

Yes, I'm a Victor, but not one who's going to lead a revolt. I'm someone who will play my part, take my winnings, and live the rest of my life in peace. I'll mentor my two tributes, try my hardest to help them win, and try not to take it too hard when they don't. That's my job. That's what they care about.

Can't really blame them for that, I suppose. That's all I would care about, too, if I was in their shoes. I lost my parents in the rebellion – a stupid, pointless rebellion that left us even worse off than when we started. They never had a chance, and they should have known it. Deep down, they probably did know it; they just didn't want to believe it.

That's what my grandpa says, at least. I was too little to really understand what was going on. My father was killed when District Twelve was bombed. I escaped with my mother and grandfather, but my mother volunteered as a medic for the rebels and got caught in the crossfire. By the time people started being shipped back to District Twelve to rebuild, nearly everyone had lost someone.

All in all, I didn't have it too bad. My grandfather's a good man. He took care of me, and if the Games were good for one thing, it's that they gave me the opportunity to return the favor. He can grow old in peace now, without having to worry about where our next meal is coming from or whether we'll have a bed to sleep in. I can care for him the way he did his best to care for me.

But even he couldn't protect me from the Games.

I was seventeen when I was reaped, but I'd already spent years working in the mines. Used to be, you had to be eighteen to start, but the rebellion left us short on workers. Probably better that it worked out that way – for me, at least. It meant I had a chance in the Games. As it turns out, a chance was all it took.

It wasn't anything spectacular – not as far as the Capitol was concerned. I didn't have any tricks up my sleeve. I didn't rake in the sponsors. I was just willing to fight. I held on just a little longer than the last boy I faced in the finale. Maybe I just got lucky – lucky that I was the one who had enough strength left for a killing blow.

Strength, determination, luck … I don't know. Probably all three, in one way or another. I made it. I won. I survived.

Now I just have to not screw it up.

Arsenius Huron, 38
Master of Ceremonies

Arsenius scowls as Gamemaker Riesia Plaice rambles on about her ideas for next year's arena. He has an interview to get to, and can't wait around for Plaice's ramblings about how exciting an archipelago of islands will be for the arena. It won't be, anyways. Plaice has always been old-fashioned, nothing like her sister Giselda, a master when it came to designing and building arenas. Riesa just wants to get on the Inner Circle, as Arsenius knows very well.

It's an obvious fact that the two are competing, trying to see who can be the better child. Giselda, who is on the Inner Circle of the Gamemaking team, is in the lead. And for good reason, too. It was her that suggested this year's top-secret arena that had only been told to Augustina, Arsenius, and the rest of the Inner Circle.

This year's games would be gruesomely violent, and Arsenius was happy to say that he would be narrating every step of the way.

"And that sums up my argument that for the 94th Annual Hunger Games, the islands will provide the perfect conditions for the best Games - even better than this year's," Riesia concludes. "I will be happy to take questions."

Arsenius scowls. She acts as if she knows this year's arena. Usually Arsenius could keep his calm, and very well, too, but Riesia was the definition of bitch in Arsenius' dictionary. In everything, too, from the fake voice she uses to her ever-changing hair color. Today it's bubblegum pink, tightly curled and matching her lipstick. Of course, there's nothing wrong with using makeup. But when it's matched with Riesia's know-everything attitude and fake voice, it becomes the tipping point.

Giselda raises her hand. She's obviously had a rough morning, her eyes are lined with bags and a bruise is forming on her cheek. "This is all very well, but haven't you forgotten how disastrously the last arena with poisonous animals went? Your poisonous fish could be used...inappropriately. Would you really want another Rike Glasser added to your name, Riesia?" Giselda lingered on the word inappropriately, and made sure to emphasize everything that suggested her sister's mistakes.

"We don't have to include the poisonous fish, then. I'll take them out."

Arsenius scowls. Does Riesia really think that her mistakes can be fixed that easily? Obviously Giselda has the same thought, as her smirk only grows. It's one of the things about Giselda that makes her even better at her job - her quick wit and ability to detect the smallest of errors, growing them out. Two qualities that Arsenius values, the two most important qualities in a job of political power such as everyone in this room's. Two qualities that he'll be damned if he doesn't have.

Riesia obviously noticed it too, and she opens her mouth to speak again. "Well, we—"

"I'm sorry, but a few of our members have to leave now, Ms. Plaice," cuts in Augustina. "We can continue this tomorrow. However, our Inner Gamemakers and Master of Ceremonies have places to be."

Giselda seems satisfied with this ending. Tucking a strand of knotted hair behind her ear, she picks up her folders. Arsenius, the Head Gamemaker and the other Inners follow her. At the door, they turn left while Arsenius makes a sharp left and soon after he's looking at the daylight outside the Gamemaking Headquarters. A limousine is waiting for him, and after stepping in and shutting the door, Arsenius is ready for the interview.

Once the Training Center comes into sight, Arsenius is greeted by the face of his prep team ("we were told not to do too much, it's just a casual interview, after all") and their efforts into his interview appearance. After five minutes of being unnecessarily pampered, it's time. Arsenius Huron will capture all of Panem once again.

"Hello everyone, and welcome back to the Training Center! With the Hunger Games coming up"—cheers erupted from practically everyone—"We've brought here a favorite victor of many, Coventina Cress!" The blonde walked onstage, smiling at Arsenius. He wasn't sure why, but there was something about her that he felt he could connect to.

Well. He did know.

It was that fire to keep going, that driving goal that nobody's perfect, but you should sure as hell try. It was the learning to conceal everything, to hide yourself under a mask of weakness. And then, when the time was right, strike.

His time wasn't right yet, but when it was he would strike. Oh yes, he would strike hard. Leave a mark.

Arsenuis Huron was his name. And it was a name that would go down in history.

Let the 93rd Hunger Games begin.