Author's Note: Okay, guys, I still need tributes. I have less than half of what I need. If you're working on one and struggling to meet the deadline PM me and let me know so I can make an exception. Otherwise, please get all tributes in by January 31st at midnight Central time. (Okay technically, yes, February 1st) If I don't get 48 I can't move forward.

If you've already submitted, I thank you. If you've submitted more than one, feel free to submit extras. Depending on final numbers I may accept up to 2 per submitter, but am sincerely hoping to not do more than that. If you know people who haven't submitted, please let them know.

If you have questions, concerns, comments, frustrations, or amusing comments, PM me. I don't bite.

Disclaimer: I still do not own the Hunger Games

Prologue Part Three: Choices

Epucka Karam – Assistant to Brutus Laertes

It was silly to worry, at least that's what Puck told herself. Brutus had barely come to his office the last week, had seemed distracted at work in the days before, but she was certain it was nothing. After all, they had time to spare, so why shouldn't he take some time off before the crunch time of the Hunger Games. At least, that was what she told herself, what her co-workers told her.

Her hunch told her they were dead wrong.

That same hunch led her out of the office early on Friday afternoon. It was just a regular spring day in the Capitol with all of the hustle and bustle, all of the comings and goings. Puck nodded to the people she knew on the street, all together uncertain of where she was going.

She knew she'd heard Brutus mention that the Salamander was his favorite pub. It was in one of the artsier sections of the Capitol, a place she would have never ventured on her own, not now that she was an aspiring professional. She wanted to maintain her professional elusiveness, especially with the paparazzi longing for any hints of the upcoming quarter quell. Even now she traveled with her face masked.

She found the Salamander. It was so early in the day the bar was scarcely populated. She spotted Brutus immediately, in the corner with a red head.

She almost turned out when she saw him, but her concern was real. In fact, she had several concerns in regards to the quell, not the least of which had to deal with a quarter of the districts. There were several details to be ironed out and she feared with Brutus's scarcity some would be overlooked.

Just one question, she told herself. The rest can wait, but we have to continue to pluck at this little by little. Swallowing her pride and her terror of being spotted, she plodded onwards towards the back table.

"Excuse me," she said sweetly and Brutus glanced up at her. He was about to ask if he could help her then recognition dawned on him.

"What are you doing here?" he groaned.

"I do apologize for intruding, but there are some matters that we need to discuss."

"Monday," Brutus promised her, fighting to turn his attention back to the girl beside him.

"It may not be able to wait," Puck pressed.

"What is so urgent it can't wait until Monday?" Brutus demanded. "You can talk in front of her," he added, giving her permission to speak her mind. She glanced around the bar and confirmed it was empty aside from the barkeep, the redhead and Brutus.

"Iris and Leunam had some concerns." Brutus rolled his eyes.

"Whatever it is, tell them yes. They have carte blanche to do whatever they want."

"But sir you don't even know the question."

"I trust your discretion, Epucka and theirs. Now if you'll excuse me. . ."

"Excelcia also expressed some concerns," Puck stood her ground. Brutus's face fell.

"Clear out," he said to the girl, resigning himself to th conversation. "What is it?" he asked after the redhead left. He leaned towards Epucka, studying her intently. Was that fear she saw behind the older man's eyes?

"It only concerns Viggo and Riker." Epucka continued. "They're both still of reaping age, so they can't vote in the campaigns. But can they be selected as tributes again?" The look on Brutus's face confirmed that they absolutely needed to iron out some details.

Excelcia Mercilus – District Four

"Move your feet!" Excelcia hollered as she spurred with the two trainees across from her. She motioned for the third, standing apart to join in the fray, but she hesitated, just as Excelcia knew she would. Keeping her calm, Excelcia easily deflected the boy's attack, though he was taller and faster. In a moment she had him on his back, unarmed and then had a sword pointed at his partner's chest.

"Lydia, why didn't you join in?" Excelcia demanded, though she already knew the answer. "Because of you both of your friends are now dead."

"I thought I would do more harm than good," the girl stated. There was fear in her eyes, just as there almost always was when she singled out a tribute. They were all intimidated by her, all of them were.

"Maybe you would have, but now that you stand by that decision . . ." Excelcia lead. The girl caught on quickly, but not quickly enough. She raised her guard just as Excelcia thrust what would have been a killing blow if they had been using real swords.

"Now you are dead too," Excelcia said in a cold tone of voice. "That's enough for today. We'll split the three of you up tomorrow." They scampered off quickly, grateful to be out of Excelcia's watchful eye.

That was why they alternated which trainees they worked with. The first couple of years she hadn't had the privilege of a fellow trainer, so all of her trainees had been under her supervision at all times. That was how she had tutored Aufelion and, how he, in turn, had developed to her equal.

Perhaps that was why the trainees felt more comfortable with him, someone who had risen through the ranks, someone like them. They were always more at ease when it was him sparring with him. Even Viggo, for all of his familiarity with Excelcia through her friendship with his mother, had been more comfortable fighting with Aufelion. His brother, on the other hand, he had nearly taken Excelcia out a couple of times. He had never been one to be intimidated.

But Viggo, Excelcia reflected. What was he up to now? He himself was sparring with a group of three in the corner of the training center. It almost looked like a dance, it was so swift, so coordinated. All three, some of her best fighters, were working together, trying to take Viggo down, but he was fending off all of them. Excelcia beamed in pride. This was why he had won the Games.

"He's almost as good as Sean, isn't he?" Aufelion commented, dashing over to Excelcia's side. He too had finished up for the day.

"He's better. Sean didn't make it out."

"That doesn't mean Viggo's better," Aufelion stated in the tone of voice that made Excelcia certain he was beating around the bush. He wanted her to go fishing for his meaning.

"You know I detest when you do that," she growled, staring Aufelion down.

"Remind me of the rules for this quell," Aufelion pried as one of the trainees, finally tiring, dropped their guard.

"No!" Viggo snapped, slashing at the air. "This is a test of endurance as well as strength. You've got to make it through. Don't let your allies down."

"He's going to make an exceptional trainer," Excelcia stated. "He gets to the point."

"So am I," Aufelion cornered her and his glare matched hers.

"The tributes are voted in by their districts. Anyone who is eligible for the reapings can campaign. On Reaping day there will be a vote and that's it."

"Does anyone who is eligible include victors of reaping age?" Aufelion asked, his voice low and earnest.

"God no," Excelcia gasped, finally catching Aufelion's drift. "He wouldn't. There are so many other trainees who are suited for the task. He's already proven his worth. He won!"

"I know. I know," Aufelion assured her in whispers. "But you don't know what it's like for him." He glanced over his shoulder just to make sure Viggo was still occupied.

"His mother says he's recovered fine. He just gets angry," Excelcia argued.

"I'm sure that's exactly what she says," Aufelion retorted. "But his mother's the problem." Aufelion turned as though he was going to leave it at that. "You know what I overheard her saying. She said she wished that Sean and Viggo had switched places. She wished Viggo to had died so Sean could have lived. The games didn't drive Viggo crazy, they drove his mother crazy."

"Did he tell you this?" Excelcia demanded.

"No. His father did. Viggo hasn't said a word about it." Aufelion paused again. "Just make sure he doesn't go back in." Aufelion whispered. "For all of our sakes."

Steric Tarthan – District 10 Mentor

"This quarter quell is stupid," Steric said for the millionth time since it was announced. No one was really listening to her anymore, not her three friends who were in a drunken stupor around her, not the bartender and certainly not any of District Ten's regular citizens.

"Seriously. They expect people to take time to campaign for votes. As if it's a good thing. Two and Four, okay, maybe with the psych jobs they have there, but anywhere else forget it. I swear, if I see anyone campaigning here I'll ship them to the loony bin!"

The odd part was she was still sober. It was around nine in the morning, but the barkeep had stayed open for her. Hung over, certainly, but she was sober, unlike her three indisposed friends.

"I still can't believe I pulled an all-nighter, Clark," Steric exclaimed. "What is it, Saturday?"

"Sunday," Clark corrected her.

"Well, these three are late for work. I think they've got the Sunday shift. Who am I to wake them, though? The world's professional killer, that's who." Steric laughed. She considered waking them for a moment, but apparently decided against it. "I'm off home." She tipped Clark generously, then took to the streets towards the victor's village.

"Pardon me, miss!" an insistent voice interrupted her as she made her way home. Steric paused. No one ever called her miss. Heck, few enough people ever talked to her she wasn't sure the voice belonged to.

Sure enough, though when she stopped she felt a firm hand on her shoulder. She turned to see a youth nearly her height with a wide grin.

"You're Steric Tarthan!" He exclaimed. "I didn't think I'd get so lucky. I'm Felix Graham and I'm campaigning for the Hunger Games."

Steric burst out laughing convinced she'd misheard or was just awaking from a dream.

"Have I said something funny?" the boy asked.

"I'm sorry, I must have heard you say you were campaigning for the Hunger Games."

"You heard right," the boy insisted and the earnest in his voice convinced Steric she was, in fact, not dreaming. She bit her lip, forced herself to stop laughing and looked him in the eye to size him up a bit.

He looked to be about as old as she had been when she volunteered, just around 18. He was thin, but not scrawny and looked to be in good shape. He was certainly outspoken.

Steric sighed. She was thinking the way she always had to for a month of the year; sizing up the competition and her own tributes. She did whatever she could to keep from making that her way of life.

"Why?" Steric asked simply. The boy looked at her, completely baffled.

"Well, someone has to. They need a boy and a girl and this year I'm campaigning."

"No." Steric replied. "That's not a reason."

"But the Capitol said we're to campaign and there will be a vote."

"You're half right. There will be a vote. But the vote is only to take the place of the reapings. It's not a popularity contest, not something you want, you understand. Because if you win the campaign, if you get the most votes, which, I bet you will since you're the only brute I've seen crazy enough to do this, then you get to go die. Yes, die. Even if you win you die, because you leave so much of yourself in there you're never the same person again. And only one of those campaigners, all the boys and girls in all the districts, who thought they wanted this, only one of them comes out. So I'm asking you again. Why you? Why do you want to be that person?"

The boy was silent, his dark eyes searching Steric's face for an answer. She really doubted he would find it there, but she had all of the time in the world. If it would save his life he was more than welcome to try.

As his silence drew on Steric felt the need to pry, the need to understand this person who stood before her, still with a choice.

"How old are you, Felix?"

"Eighteen," he answered. Good, a simple enough question. Now she could build from there.

"Your last year that you could be reaped," Steric observed. "Now tell me, Felix. Do you have brothers or sisters, anyone that you're worried might end up in the arena?"

"No, ma'am. I'm an only child." His eyes followed her still. He was grasping what she was saying, but hadn't arrived at the point yet, the point she believed was fairly obvious.

"Is there any reason you should be sent into the arena?"

"I can handle it."

"No!" Steric declared and the boy stepped back at her intensity. "No, the answer to that is no. There is no reason you should be sent into the arena. I will not vote for you for several reasons. The first being you don't have the foggiest idea what you're getting into and once you do you will not want to be there. Believe me. Second, you're the only child your parents have. All of their hopes and dreams rest on you. You can't ask me to help in taking that away from them. And yes, you're right, because of the way our government is set up, someone has to go. No one deserves to, but two people have to. I'm going to do my best to make sure my vote isn't the final say, that whoever's name I write does not end up in there."

Steric, assuming she had made her point and considering the conversation over turned her back on the boy with a smile. His campaign would end and there would be peace in District ten at least for a little while longer.

"But you did it," Felix challenged her and she paused. "You volunteered your last year. You took someone' s place, risked your life for hers. Can you tell me why? Was your reason any better than mine?"

Still smiling, Steric turned back to the boy. She hadn't driven her point home, apparently, but this time she would.

"I'm no role model and I'm no hero," Steric began. "You're right, I volunteered for a girl who wouldn't have lasted a day in the Games because I had a better chance. I saw it as justice and I got lucky. I had what it takes to kill, to make it out, to put my life above everyone else's. I may have valued the life of the girl I saved, but what about the girls I killed, the children I killed? And on top of that, what about the children I continue killing? I've had to help many of them who didn't have a chance. Because I took on that burden for that one girl, I've failed at helping several. Do you remember the girl in the 18th games?" Steric cornered him and the boy shook his head. "Of course you wouldn't. She died the first day. She was the very first kill. She was terrified of everything and I do mean everything. She never stood a chance and yet I had to help her. Then there are those who might make it through, but would need a miracle. The hopeless ones are almost better because when there is hope it hurts more when hope is extinguished. So don't you tell me you're prepared to kill and be killed because of all of the tributes I have mentored or seen you would be the first. If it's true, don't tell me, show me. Strike me down right here." Steric held out the knife she always carried on her person.

"You're not serious."

"I dare you," she whispered. "Strike me down. Or at least give it your best shot. I won't go down easy, but the closest peacekeepers are passed out at the bar and they know me well. They'll confirm your story, that I was asking for it."

The boy took the knife and for a moment Steric thought he might make a move. She smirked and braced for whatever was to come.

Instead of a blow, the words she had been waiting for came.

"I won't campaign anymore," the boy said, handing the knife back to her.

"Make sure you tell your parents that," Steric told him. "They'll be relieved. Now run along home."

Steric watched as the boy turned around, wondering if she had just saved his life.

Aeden Sanderling – District 7

He wouldn't do it, Aeden thought again as he glanced up at the calendar on his wall. The days until reaping day had been passing quickly, far too quickly for him. The closer it came, the more difficult it became to even get out of bed, to even think about anything else.

They were going to force him to choose, to write someone's name, to nominate someone for death.

He sighed again, pushing his increasingly long hair back again and trying to escape. But there was no escape, not here in his house, not into the vast abyss of his past, nor into his imagination. Everywhere he looked he saw the desperation in his district, in his country.

Jonas had told him this was justice, that they could pick an equipped tribute, maybe even someone who would campaign. Jonas, undoubtedly, even believed it. That was part of the reason Aeden had secluded himself in his house; Jonas couldn't preach to him there.

No, this was best, hiding here in the shadows, in the darkness, until the terrible day came. At least here he only had himself as a judge, only his own mind could condemn him.

He lay back again, his eyes closed, trying to lose himself in thought. At last sleep overtook him and his mind was cleared, if only for a little longer.