Atelina Vanguard

Head Gamemaker

15 October, Year 168

I'm not going to lie. This year, my team kind of sucks.

Well, Taro's there, I guess. He's my boyfriend, so I shouldn't be too hard on him. But honestly, for all his team building skills, he's not too creative. Which is probably why I got the Head Gamemaker position over him.

His friend North has hair that would fit an angsty teenager. He is the only person I know who would rock frosted tips after Year 145. He works, I guess, but often is distracted by Sailor. God, Sailor's annoying. Then there's my childhood friend Patrick, who Sailor drags in with him. And Ristretto, with a stupid name and stupider ideas. I guess Orchid's okay, she's just too much of a mouse to make her ideas heard.

And don't get me started on the others…

Last year was, well, meh. Boring, Predictable. District Seven guy with an axe, some District Two arsehole with a sword straight-up cutting him open, all that jazz. Alliance betrayal. The cameras love that. It's an open secret that Two train. And One. And Seven too, but the half-tribute probably didn't show up to any lessons. I've been told it's pretty chill over there. Well, as chill as an district breeding axe-murderers can be.

I used to think that the Games were pretty cool. Like, a spectacle. A travelling carnival. The few friends I had threw raucous parties during the Bloodbaths. I always attended, of course. I did always think the Games were interesting. So there I was, on the fast-track to becoming the youngest Head Gamemaker in fifty years.

And now I'm here. Twenty three years old, and freaking screwed. My team's young too. And the stylists and mentors and escorts. The government's younger too. Emble herself is only forty. It's the Rise Of The Youth, according to an analyst I'm not a fan of. The elderly are dying faster, and for some reason the generation of our parents produced a metric fuckton of kids. We're taking over. And maybe that's a good thing.

Well, it would be better if I wasn't on the brink of being the youngest executed Head Gamemaker. Maybe that's just me.

But I'm not here to dwell on the past. I'm here to fix my future. I don't think my team realises it, but the death toll for the Games can exceed twenty-three. Emble is fairly chill, compared to say, Snow from a century ago. That's probably why my head's still attached to my body.

And despite their shitty work ethics, I don't want my team to die. Like, obviously I don't want Taro dead, or his throat ripped out. I think Sailor's kind of into Orchid, and besides, he's fun to hang out with sometimes. Etty is basically the Games barista, so we can't kill him. And Patrick and North are my bros. I don't want any of them gone. I wish I could say the same about their work.

My phone is buzzing. It's Emble. It has to be Emble. She cancelled our usual Gamemaker-President meeting today for whatever reason. Knowing her, probably waxing poetic on the past or something equally pretentious. But now she's calling me.

This can't be good.

Obviously, she has a different opinion on this situation. She's inspired, she says, rejuvenated. Excited. She explains her plan at length to me, starting with the arena idea. I can feel my face growing more and more red. Oh no. This is bad. This is really bad. I cannot do this.

And she keeps going. She has a firm idea of what should be in the Cornucopia, what has to be in the arena. Maybe she should be the Head Gamemaker and execute herself if she screws up.

Fuck, I'm going to die.

"I trust you will help me make Panem sing again? This means a lot to me, as you know."

"Uh, yeah, that's great and all, but Madam President?"

"Yes?"

"I'm tone deaf."

Misty Semaphore

Victor of the 163rd Hunger Games

16 February, Year 169

Another year, another batch of tributes. Yay me.

Of course, I'm being a bit of a hypocrite. I did volunteer once. And yes, I did hack three kids apart. But I prefer not to think about that.

Antheia Sinclair, the leader of sorts of the Four victors, always calls us to her house for lemonade a month before the Games. Hers is widely regarded the best in the Victor's Village. It was the house that Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta, and even longer ago Abbey Cloud. It was natural that Anthy got that house. The Capitol News Network played clips of her best moments for a solid month after her victory. I only got, like, a day.

But that's off topic. Antheia Sinclair invites us to her house for lemonade every year, we stuff our faces with cookies too, and all is good until Keto spikes the lemonade. Well, it's not just that. It's never just that, is it? We speak about the best two our Academy has to offer, and how they'll fare. And maybe use Anthy's contacts a little too recklessly.

Four's been doing pretty well lately, so there are eight of us Four victors in Anthy's backyard, swinging on her seemingly infinite porch swings. Annanova Peters is a Three victor, but she tags along to most of these lemonade outings because she's good friends with Anthy. Plus we all know her tributes are never threats. Anna herself was the only tribute in a long while to conform to that "smart robot girl" stereotype.

"What's taking Anthy so long?" inquires Avalon. She has a point. Our head victor's been in the kitchen for a long time.

"This was taking Anthy so long," interrupts the legend herself, gesturing to a bowl of bright pink juice. "Pink lemonade?"

All I can think of is when she slashed the Seven boy, pants soaked to the knees, and his blood ran into the river.

The lemonade is particularly delicious though. For all her gruesome kills, Anthy's known as basically the DIY Housewife of the Victors. Except she's single.

"Well, the Academy candidates are looking pretty good this year," she starts, "So we're going to need to assign mentors. Due to some new rule or other, their identities are confidential until nine o'clock Reaping day. Ava, since you only won recently, you'll be out of the running to mentor the girl."

She honestly looks relieved. Ava isn't one of the more bloodthirsty victors.

"So, Misty, you're going to have to mentor the girl. I'll supervise, of course."

Somehow, I'm not surprised. Anthy seems to have stepped back from mentoring as of late. Plus Minna is pregnant, so it would just be kind of mean to have her mentor.

It's kind of mean to put kids into the Hunger Games, but here we are.

That still doesn't mean I'm happy about it. Usually our guys are capable enough to not break down in tears after volunteering or heading into the first day. But I am going to have to field a shitload of phone calls. I'll barely get any sleep in the Capitol. And I'm going to have nightmares about this mystery girl for years to come if she doesn't succeed.

"I'm mentoring too," adds Anna from the floor. She lowers her voice. "Not that it helps. I'm trying my best to get permission for an Academy…"

The garden falls silent. Even Keto stops talking.

"Trained tributes know what they're getting into. I don't want to watch any more little kids die."

Aaaand here's another prologue.

I'll probably post a few more just for exposition and fun stuff like that before we get to the reapings. I've received four forms already and they're looking pretty awesome! Keep the submissions coming! Some males and NB characters would be nice to have.

i promise the actual tribute chapters will be longer i'm so sorry

-Reed