Omega Riley, 27.
Victor of the 200th Hunger Games.
February 24th, 210 ADD.
Walking through the ruins of what was once his home District, Omega couldn't help but think about what could've been.
District 2 could've won the 207th Hunger Games. They could've ended the dry spell of Victors. They could've continued functioning as normal, competing with 1 and 4 as always.
But that was not to be.
No, what was to be was their demise. The death of a third of their population, no legitimate volunteers for two years running.
The iron District had fallen far from their former glory deep into the pits of despair and ruin. But that would change. This year was the year things began to turn around. This was the year they once again reclaimed their throne. But the revival of District 2 wouldn't get done with him sitting around on his ass being useless. Dragging himself to his feet, Omega looked around the cluttered office surrounding him, papers and notebooks and books scattered haphazardly around him making the already cramped office seem even smaller and more claustrophobic than it was to begin with.
Omega didn't know what he'd expected when he took over as the head of training. He'd seen what it'd done to his predecessor; yes, the official cause of death was the virus, but everyone who was anyone knew Achilles Kingston died from stress. He'd overworked himself for the sake of the Academies, and he'd paid the ultimate price.
That would not be Omega's fate though. He would be sure of it.
Making his way to the large wooden desk nearby he couldn't help but think of what was to come. They'd be choosing their volunteers in the upcoming weeks and they had to make it count. Sliding into the chair behind the desk - one far too big for him, one not meant for him - Omega felt his mind wandering.
Could he be the one to fill the gaping hole which was left to him? Could he be the one to stitch what remained back together and could he hold those stitches closed?
Would he be enough?
The phone on the desk before Omega rang, startling him out of his thoughts. Who could be calling at this hour, he wondered, as his eyes passed over the watch at his wrist. Just as he thought, it was late, oh so late. But that did not surprise him; he'd been here hour after hour past midnight so often - too often. And whoever was calling him would only keep him longer. Omega debated ignoring the call, just wanting to finish reading over the few papers he had left and go home. But his curiosity got the better of him; he was not an easy man to get a hold of, and whoever it was must be important.
And so, he picked up the phone and brought it to his ear.
"Hello?" Omega asked, the words falling from his lips on an instinctual whim.
"Mr. Riley?" A high, unfamiliar voice responded. It was strange; usually the only people who had this number were those he knew, and Omegacertainly did not recognize this voice. A thought crept into the back of his mind, planting a seed of blossoming paranoia which would only grow as the woman continued speaking.
"Is this Mr. Riley?"
"Uh- yes that's me. What do you want?"
"If you would please check the door, there's someone who would like to speak to you." Before Omega could get another word out, there was a click, signifying that the line was closed.
The door. Who could possibly want to speak with him? Was someone here to attack him? Kill him even? He was, quite frankly, sick and tired of people trying to kill him. He was a Victor! He was supposed to live a cushy life of luxury with no thought towards how he could possibly end up dying next. He signed up for the Hunger Games, yes, but they didn't tell you what would come after. Even if you won, your life was not guaranteed to be safe.
Even if you won, you would not return the same.
Grabbing a small knife from the table nearby, Omega stood and made his way to the door across the office from him. As his weak hand grabbed the doorknob, he gripped the weapon tightly with his strong hand. And with that he opened the door, heart pounding in his chest.
What met him on the other side was not surprising. Two figures stood before him, faces obscured by the dark shadows of the dimly lit hallway around them. Omega was ready to move at the drop of a hat before the right-hand person stepped forward into the light.
It was President Snow.
The sight of her startled him as he backed up, tripping and falling backwards over a nearby pile of books. The President pressed onwards, walking further into the office as the figure behind her followed. It was a Peacekeeper - or, at the very least, someone who looked like one. The armour was Peacekeeper-like in nature, although rather than the usual white, the figure was clad in ebony black. Omega had heard rumours of who this new elite fighter was and what their purpose was, but he didn't know anything for sure. There were only rumours and whispers.
"Omega, please compose yourself. It's just me," President Snow said, an amused undertone to her voice as she looked down on him sprawled on the floor. Rubbing the back of his head, Omega dragged himself to his feet, picking up the small dagger, just to discard it on a nearby table.
"What are you doing here? And who the hell is that?" Omega grumbled, gesturing to the nearby Peacekeeper. Snow looked to her bodyguard before shaking her head slightly.
"Nevermind who he is, he's here to protect me," Snow said. "You can go wait outside." With those words, the strange Peacekeeper nodded curtly before stepping out into the hall.
Omega shakily made his way to his desk. What could the President possibly want from him now? He didn't think he'd done anything wrong, but as he slid behind his desk, he couldn't help but think that that was certainly a possibility.
"So, what are you here to talk to me about?" Omega asked, folding his hands on the table before him to hide the slight tremors running through them.
"I'm here to deliver you some news, and ah, this," Snow said, sliding a manilla file across the desk to him. Omega took it in his hands, flipping it open. For the first time that night, what met his eyes did not surprise him.
"You caught him?" Omega muttered, gesturing to the picture of the man - no he was only 17, the boy before him. Reign Legatus, leader of the Cohort, the group that had seized control of District 2 and its Tombs for three years. Omega knew him well, as he was the one who was appointed to negotiate with their leader. It wasn't by choice - there were probably dozens of people better to talk than him - but it was what the young leader had requested. He didn't know why Reign had requested to talk to him in particular, but Omega had obliged with no questions but curiosities just the same.
And so Omega would negotiate. Not just negotiate but talk, and over the years he'd gotten to know the boy. He'd known Reign's grandmother, Lavina Legatus, as she'd been the one to mentor Omega through his Games. With time, he'd managed to talk the rebel leader down, and Omega convinced the Capitol to supply the remaining inhabitants of the District with the needed supplies, food, water and when it was ready the vaccine for the virus. The last he'd heard, the Peacekeepers had captured most of the rebels, but they were still tracking down the last few. And now, it seemed as though they had them all. It was over.
District 2 could really start to rebuild now.
"Yes, we did," President Snow replied. "The boy requested to be made a Peacekeeper, but due to his crimes, we can't allow that."
"So what are you gonna do with him?" Omega inquired. He figured he would be killed for his crimes or something of that sort. It wasn't like you just presided over an entire District for three years, killing hundreds upon hundreds of Peacekeepers, without any consequences. They had to make an example of those who went against the system, and if that meant killing those who went against them, then so be it.
"Next year, when he turns 18, he'll be sent into the Hunger Games. And you'll be the one to mentor him."
"You want me to mentor him?" Omega asked, his jaw practically on the floor. He knew he was a decent mentor, but there were better in District 2 than him, Victors who were older, wiser, more experienced.
"Well, yes. You're the only one who's managed to actually get through to him," Snow replied, raising an eyebrow. "Is there anything wrong with that?"
"Well, no, but is he even trained? If not there's no hope for him," Omega muttered, placing his head in his hands. Of course he would get stuck with this responsibility. He hadn't even managed to bring home a single victor and now he was the one who had to mentor the leader of the opposing movement as he went into the Games. Omega doubted Reign would make it out, given the Capitol's vendetta against him, and that would only stain his reputation more. Could he do anything right? It sure didn't seem like it. No matter what he did, it would end in nothing but pain and ruin for those he was supposed to take care of, for the tributes he was supposed to bring home.
He was nothing but a failure to those he swore to protect.
"He might be, he might not be; that's for you to find out. He put up a damn good fight against the guys we sent after him," Snow replied, leaning back in her seat. That was hardly fair to District 2; they expected warriors, those who had a chance at winning. District 2 had become a complete and utter joke, not to be taken seriously. If they sent someone completely untrained into the Arena, they would only come across as more foolish than before.
"So you want me to train him and get him ready for the Games in a year?" Omega asked, standing and beginning to pace behind his desk.
"Yes, precisely. If anyone can do it, it's you," Snow said, her eyes meeting his. At this moment Omega realized something. This was not a request; she was not here to ask him to train Reign.
This was a demand.
"Okay. I'll do my best," Omega replied, holding his hand out. The President took it, shaking it firmly, then turned on her heels and left.
Omega felt strange as he watched President Snow leave his office. It had been a strange day, after all, but it had also been a strange month and an even stranger few years. But soon that strange feeling gave way to a drive and determination that had been building in Omega, who was ready to do his due duty to District 2. It might have been his fault that Two was in the situation they were in, but he would be the one to fix it.
This would be his year. Their year.
The year District 2 reclaimed their iron throne.
Hmm so that's neat I guess. Prologue 3 and all. I really hate AN's so I'm simply going to keep this short.
This is the final prologue! Last one baby! And so that means I need your children so I can write Intros and shit. So for all my Discord peeps who know whats good, please have your kids in by the 10th of February! That would be very nice, thank you.
Anyways I guess the next chapter will be District 1 intros? Thats pretty poggers if you ask me.
-Phobie.
