Hello, and welcome to the second prologue.

Thanks to Dumbo123, Mystical Pine Forest, xQueen-Of-Applesx, Kitty, Tom, 20, Aspen, xxbookwormmockingjayxx, Jalen, Sarah, Technicolour Raincoat, Alec, EverlastingImpression, Pebble7879, Sophia, writer12122121, youngpatriot, Jms2, Foaly, TWGnome, Remus, Light Blue Light, Nate, Cloe, Metallic Shadow10, Salt the snail, Meg, and Author of Ice and Fire for all of their support and reviewing!

During Seeping Wounds, I occasionally answered some reviews, and I want to do it here too, so expect a message in your inbox at some point. I love to engage with my readers, but please let me know if I pester you!

ALSO, CAN I JUST SAY THIS: Please check out BamItsTyler, he's a good egg and a great writer so I'd recommend that you check out his stuff.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena I have created.

"Ideas pull the trigger, but instinct loads the gun." ~Don Marquis

Luca Fawkes, Twenty-Five, Head Gamemaker

With a single shot, my world descends into ringing silence.

Shea Thyle's body lies motionless on the floor to my right, tear-tracks still staining her cheeks and her hair covered in blood. The bullet landed right between her eyes, a perfect shot by her trained assassin. It probably went out the back of her skull, too. Her eyes are still purple, wide, and cold, absent from the warmth that was once held there.

No! Please no!

Her cries of terror ring through my head as I stare down at the woman's corpse. I'm shocked. I'm shaken. I never thought that the President was ruthless enough to kill someone so seemingly sweet, but he proved me wrong. He killed Shea as easily as he killed Debra Miles, my predecessor.

Now, I have to act like Snow's arrogant little puppet. I have to smirk and laugh at the children I kill, instead of feeling for them. I have to pretend that there's nothing in this world I care about. I have to put on my mask of arrogance and parade around, hiding my real self, my real thoughts and feelings.

Of course, I like the Hunger Games. I've grown up with them, and I've enjoyed watching them. However, after a year of killing tributes, I've realised that I've grown a little more attached to them than I expected. The fact that their lives are in my hands; it gives me a sense of responsibility. It gives me a sense of reason. It gives me an emotion.

That emotion is fear.

Last year, I didn't do so well. The President was impressed with the arena, especially with the cliff stumps piled high and shining white in the rain. He was entertained, even from the way the mud squelched underfoot and the flowers bloomed. But he didn't like the pace of the Games. A death every day obviously didn't seem like the desired kill streak. I admit I was reluctant to kill them off. I fell in love with who they were, and how much they wanted to get back home. As a result, my family could have paid the price. Kile, my brother, could have been killed, and my Mother…she's worse off as it is. The President threatened me with his pictures and his Games last year. Like a snake, he'll swallow my family whole if I step out of line.

But even now I realise that I must remain neutral. I must close my blinds and lock my doors, backing into the deep recesses of my being to hide away from the world outside. I must paint my walls with the cruel fascination I should have with the Games, while I hide in the cellar, feeling waves of guilt with each death I orchestrate. A liking for the Games is still there. It always has been, and always will be. Yet, at the same time, I will feel for each child as they fall.

The President tuts and shakes his head.

"Oh, Miss Thyle…" he muses. "Don't take it personally. You're one of the many weeds that I must uproot."

He nods to the Peacekeeper who shot the poor girl, and the man drags the body out of the room, leaving me alone with the President.

"Will that be all?" he questions.

The president looks tired and aged. He's eighty-nine now, with years of lines carved into his face. He's like a clay model, his face misshapen and skin saggy, dotted with the purpled spots of old age. I would have thought that he would be on the way out soon, but of course, I forget Capitol technology. It's the reason he's aged well. It's the reason he can still walk with ease and not flinch at the sound of a gunshot. I know for a fact that he'll still be around for a few more years.

"Yes, President Snow," I say. "I have an appointment with my Mother."

"I thought you didn't care much for her, Luca?"

I force a smile.

"She begged me to," I huff. "I guess I might as well humour her, the old bitch."

The President laughs, clapping his hands.

"Your attitude is quite the thing, Mr Fawkes," he smiles. "I shall be in touch with you soon."

I flash my smirk at him.

"I'll be waiting."

I exit the room, leaving President Snow with his bloodstained carpet and his own company. As soon as the door snaps shut, my smile drops. I rub my head, trying to reach the pain that eludes me. Damn headaches. I don't need them right now, especially when I'm sorting out arena errors. I need a big thing this year, and the President said that the arena will be perfect for hyping up the Games again, providing that my plans are successful.

As I navigate my way throughout the house, something catches my eye.

Its blood, Shea's most likely, staining the carpet from where her body was dragged away. I'm sure the President will get it replaced. Near the blood are a pile of her clothes, and her shoes, even complete with the purple coat with glass buttons. My stomach churns. The way they deal with bodies sickens me beyond words.

Part of me has an urge to reach out and take a glass button from the dead girl's coat. It's an odd thought, but there's this strange and overwhelming desire to remember Shea in some way, even if it is in the form of a measly glass button. I never knew the girl but the reason she died was unnecessarily harsh. My eyes flick up and down the corridor, much like the tail of a cat. Nobody's here yet. All I have to do is take one.

I search for my knife. I always carry one with me, just in case anything gets ugly, but I have a habit of putting it in a different place every time, leaving me to scramble for it. After finding my knife, I reach down and slice the thread holding the button to the coat. The blade grins wickedly, and the glass button replies with a curious glow, letting small rainbows fly from the light it refracts.

With the small glass button in my hand and my knife in the other, I stand up. My eyes feel dry, probably from my golden contacts. I forgot to change them this morning. I still haven't mastered Capitol fashions, really. Sliding the knife and the button into the pocket of my blazer, I stride down the hallway.

I need to get out of here.

My shoes clunk as they hit each step, and I can feel the button and the knife rubbing against my ribs as I move. My mind is on the button, fixated on the only memory of a woman I didn't know. Her face is still there, stored away in my thoughts. I know that I will never forget her. The expression of sorrow and anguish is enough to brand me for life, a mental scar and a harsh reminder of the brutality that really lies beneath the President's kind demeanour. I'm comforted by one thought.

At least someone will remember her.

And that someone is me.

Alright, well this was an introduction to Luca, our Head Gamemaker! Luca, as well as other characters from Seeping Wounds, will be making a reappearance throughout this verse. This is the story where a lot of the main foundation for the subplot will take place, so expect to meet a few original characters as we move ahead.

On that note, I'll leave you with an old author's note! Expect to see these until around Chapter 8-10ish.

Keep on submitting! We have about two weeks before the deadline closes (August 31st), so anyone who hasn't submitted yet might want to send in their tribute soon. I'm in need of females, please, preferably from District Six through Twelve! That would be most appreciated :)

I hope the summer is going well for you. I have been through a rough couple of weeks, but I'm feeling a lot happier right now. I should be able to close submissions and start doing the third prologue and the blog as soon as the deadline arrives.

And last but not least, Sophia (aka nevergone4ever) has her birthday today! Happy Birthday to you ^.^

See you in a bit!
Over and out!
~Mental