Garrick Marsden, President of Panem

In my hand I held the document that would change the political landscape of Panem forevermore. For years a power struggle reined the land, and the Districts fought for their 'freedom'. They fought in vain, and now their crimes will come to light: To contest the supremacy of the Capitol. An unforgivable offence, an offence I have deemed treason. Their punishment outlined in the aptly named 'Treaty of Treason', The Hunger Games will haunt the Districts.

Corrine and I, we've manufactured a political weapon. A weapon more effective than anything exploited during 'The Dark Days'. This is our, as the Capitol's, insurance policy. A preventative measure, ensuring that history will never repeat itself: The Hunger Games have one purpose. A purpose I, and my most trusted counsel, believe it will fulfil. Crushing the fragile remnants of hope the Districts so desperately cling to, while fertilizing the seeds of grief, pain and sorrow that will blossom throughout Panem.

Today is a blessed day for the Capitol. No, it is 'the' Blessed Day. For the time has arrived, a time where the Hunger Games will no longer be contained to clandestine meetings and rushed conversations. They are coming. After today, they will no longer be hidden in the shadows. They will be brought into the spotlight, where they belong: They will mark the beginning of a new age in Panem. Where the Districts will atone for the sins of their forefathers in the most 'appropriate' way possible.

The velvet folder clasped in my hands appears to vibrate in my hand, as though the contents are anticipating the moment that they are laid out for the whole of Panem to see. I caress the rigid spine of the folder with my forefinger, my mind whirling with the numerous developments I'd witnessed in preparation for today: The excitement glistening in Corrine's cerulean eyes as she gave me a tour of her 'Command Centre'. The unadulterated bliss that enveloped her as we witnessed the destruction the mutations she had manufactured in preparation for the Games. The tinkling soprano of her laugh as Avoxes were torn to pieces by the 'mutts'.

Six weeks. In only six weeks, we had nurtured the Hunger Games from an idea into the imminent doom it represents for the Districts. The Arena's construction had reached completion only days ago, the 'Tribute Tower' was fully refurbished and the finest Head Hunters in the Capitol were able to assemble a team of 'Escorts' and interim 'Mentors'. Corrine had assembled a rigid training regime for when the tributes arrived in the Capitol; and I was concluding negotiations with an assortment of media and public relation servicemen to assemble an itinerary concerning the 'public showcasing' of tributes prior to entering the Arena.

Colour me astounded, but I thought this was an impossible feat. But Corrine and I, we have done it. We're now ready to make the announcement that will shake Panem to its very core. In one month from today, the very day that will mark the third month since the Capitol emerged victorious from the War, the Hunger Games will begin. And it all begins tonight.

Hunger Games: Questions Answered

-a sit down meeting with newly appointed 'HEAD GAMEMAKER', Corrine Snow

-Sofia Cortez

Sat in one of the spacious laboratories of CapiCorp, opposite one of the most powerful women in Panem. Biochemical engineer, turned mastermind of a social revolution. She's beautiful, she's intelligent and she is here to answer the questions I've compiled since President Holden Marsden's flawless address only days ago.

So, Corrine. The President himself has declared that you are true genius behind the Hunger Games. What do you have to say to that?

Well credit is given where credit is due Ms. Cortez, the concept was something I'd been thinking of for a while. But it was a truly collaborative process between the President and myself, we both have roles to fill. I know very little about how to brand the concept as 'entertainment'; rather I have been working on developing suitable mutations, and an Arena where the tributes will compete. I feel it necessary to reassure anyone who may be reading this transcript: The training provided has been tailored to help the tributes assimilate into whichever environment the Arena will simulate.

Is there anything you can tell us about the Arena? What the Capitol could be expected to see?

No Comment. I'm not at liberties to discuss the Arena at all. It's confidential and I wouldn't want to ruin it for the viewers. I can, however, say that I have been working alongside the finest scientist to ensure that everything is of undeniable quality and will enrich the viewing experience for all.

Corrine then requested a few moments to take a call, afterwards she said she would need to head to the laboratories for some last minute checks and such. She used a lot of scientific terminology, but she has agreed to answer two more questions.

So how will the tributes be selected? And have we, as the Capitol, taken any precautions to ensure that everyone in the designated demographic is available for selection? And how do you intend to stop identity theft?

It is a very simple process. Using the latest census and the post-war registry: A list of names has been compiled and there will be numerous Peacekeepers going to take a blood sample and imputing it with the corresponding name to a database I've developed. As for the selection, or 'Reaping' as the President has taken to calling it, is a very simple process: All the names of the male tributes in one bowl, the females in another: The D.L.O (District Liaison Officer) will choose the names from the bowls.

It truly is simple. So my final question: President Marsden made numerous allusions to the Capitol's involvement in the Hunger Games. Could you elaborate?

Yes, the Capitol will be able to sponsor tributes who they feel would make suitable Victors. It is as simple as that, that is why Holden decided to have the tributes participate in a Parade, have their skills judged and show their character via interview. Any more information from that aspect of the Games will be addressed in a press release closer to the time.

Corrine then excused herself, and the interview came to an end. Capitol, keep your eyes open for the expected press releases. And remember: Happy Hunger Games, and May the Odds be ever in your favour.

Selena Crane, Assistant to the Head-Gamemaker, Capitol Citizen

One would think as a woman of science, more accurately experimental science, I would be used to 'explosions'. But nothing could prepare me for the explosion of colour that is assaulting my corneas at this current time. Couple this kaleidoscope of hues with the cacophony of sounds that are seconds away from making my ears bleed, and you would be right to assume that I'd rather be anywhere but here.

I was raised in the Capitol, I worked tirelessly alongside the greatest minds during the 'Dark Days' and witnessed things that would make those with the strongest constitutions lose their stomachs, but nothing could prepare me for what I'm facing right now. Twelve colourful imbeciles that are far too familiar with the body modification surgery office, and have a loathsome habit of speaking with an over-exaggerated intonation in a pale imitation of pre-Panem aristocracy.

Snippets of their conversation are enough to make me want to repeatedly smash my head into the nearest solid surface, and that desire is becoming more and more fevrent as the seconds tick by. One would think they had more important matters to discuss than the newest boutique opening, or how 'absolutely gorge' some television personality is: I am terrified that my brain cells are fading to nothingness the longer I am forced to endue this.

"Ladies and gentlemen."

My voice lacks the timbre of command associated with my colleagues such as Marsden or the cold sensuality of Corrine, but the almost monotonous drawl is enough to silence the sycophants momentarily. They all sit up a little straighter, preening like peacocks and basking in their self-importance. My desire to pull the concealed pistol from my snakeskin purse and decorate the stark white walls of the conference room with their blood is almost overwhelming but I take a calming breath and walking along the tables where they are congregated.

"First of all, congratulations to you all. Following an intensive screening process you twelve have been selected for a very special role in the upcoming festivities we are calling the Hunger Games. District liaison officers, responsible for escorting those selected in the lottery to the Capitol and acting as ambassadors of our great city, the Capitol. This induction is for you to ask questions and familiarise yourselves with the roles and responsibilities of those in your esteemed positions, although the pamphlets provided should suffice in providing any further information you may require."

The rehearsed speech is basically spat out in my mechanical tone devoid of inflection, a 'welcoming' smile fixed to my face that I am sure looks more like a pained grimace. The moment I had deigned them 'special' they had begun tittering like a flock of over-excitable hens and giggling like immature school children. As if these 'people', for lack of a better word, could ever be considered special.

The selection process was similar to the lottery process the eligible District scum would face, twelve names picked out from the applications received: This esteemed role they play is nothing more than that of a glorified babysitter whose sole responsibility is ensuring their 'charges' are brought from the hovels they come home, and thrown into the Arena I had helped design. And still, not one of these brainless idiots have picked up the pamphlet. What makes them 'special' is an inherent ability not to follow instructions given to them plainly, or so it seems.

It baffles me, truly, that these people are so self-important that they believe they are special. If anyone in this room was special, it was myself: My colleague, Corrine Snow, and I were the true ambassador's of revolution. These 'Hunger Games' were born from conversations that began in our shared dormitory at The Academy of Scientific Operations. A means of punishing the ungrateful wretches of the Districts, where talk of rebellion was rife even then, but then the pompous asshole we are calling our 'saviour' and President decided that our weapon should truly become 'Panem et Circenses' and therefore involve these clowns.

I am not too proud to admit that Marsden's contributions are brilliant. I recognise that his ideas of bringing forth the pageantry element of proceedings is a pragmatic way to benefit the economic and psychological stranglehold we possess over the Districts. Simply, I would appreciate these contributions a lot more if it wasn't I selected to 'debrief' these morons to ensure that the 'Circenses' runs smoothly. As if a pre-meditated gladiatorial death match would ever run smoothly.

My 'charges' for the moment has discarded the resources I'd given them and fallen back into overly loud conversation, incapable of tolerating their idiocy any longer I clear my throat. If they choose to continue fluttering around like frightened hens, then I will give them something to be fearful of.

"LISTEN!"

The mechanical tone is now gone, and my complete disinterest and scorn towards these fools is bleeding into every syllable. The effect is instantaneous, as they all freeze and silence blankets the conference room: I'm now staring into a sea of faces, some looks terrified while others are affronted by what they must assume is a blatant disregard of 'etiquette'.

"Now that we are all listening. I would like, and by that I mean I expect, you to focus- however difficult that may be- on the booklet I have given you. Do it quickly, and quietly for the Capitol's sake. And then, and only then- I will answer any questions you may have. Am I understood?"

I do not have the time or the patience to coddle these imbeciles any longer, I nod indifferently to the murmurs of agreement before taking a seat at the desk and pulling out my portable computer and focussing on something actually worthwhile. Project: MIRAGE

Drusilla Drayden, District Liaison Officer, Capitol.

I am positively fuming, how dare that woman take such a tone with me. Selena Crane, I know her. Well, I know of her but that is enough. Just because she is bosom buddies with that heinous Snow woman, she has the audacity to speak to me with such a pointed tone. She may be one of those 'Science' types with an abundance of intelligence, but it doesn't take a scientist to figure out that brutish woman has no class or respect for social decorum.

Glancing around the room, I note that my peers are perusing the 'pamphlet' that she-wolf handed out earlier. Flicking my chartreuse hair behind my shoulder and sniffing disdainfully I open the leaflet. As I read I realise that I have been allocated District One, as I should be, no one understand luxury more than Drusilla Drayden but as I read further I become a little confused.

'...following the ceremony wherein the Tributes are selected, the Tributes will be given an allocated time of three minutes in the Justice Building to say their farewells to their loved ones. After this, it is your duty, to ensure the Tributes are escorted to the train by the designated departure time (*Please see Appendix ix for departure times) While in transit to the Capitol, you will be working alongside the District Advisor. This will involve securing potential 'sponsors' for the Tributes you are working with; ensuring that the Tributes have received sufficient training in etiquette by the time the interviews are completed...'

Sponsorship? District Advisor? One is versed in the ancient languages, but I may as well be reading pig Latin. Sitting up a little straighter, which is a feat in and unto itself due to my immaculate posture, I raise my hand. Even if it is painful to do so, wanting nothing to do that will involve interacting with the raven-haired heathen. Unfortunately, said heathen appears engrossed with whatever she is doing with her computab.

"Hem, hem"

While I simper sweetly, I am more than a little irked. I am Drusilla Drayden for the sake of Panem, this little science twit should know better than to ignore someone of my impeccable breeding. Her eyes remain fixed on the computer/tablet hybrid and I can almost feel myself blush in indignation. I am spared the shame due to the recent melatonin adjustment I had undergone to paint my porcelain skin a pale lemon.

"Selena?"

Her eyes dart to me, and she sneers like a rabid animal as her amber eyes glitter with malevolence. A scathing remark is on the end of my tongue but the words dissipate like smoke in the wind as she raises her manicured hand in the universal gesture of 'shut up'. My pride almost dictates that I should rebuff her silent gesture of dominance but there's a voice in my head that tells me that Selena Crane- despite her blatant disregard for manners- is not an enemy you would like to make lightly.

"That is my name, Ms. Drayden. Although I would prefer to be addressed by my formal title: Executive Assistant to the Head Gamemaker. And that goes for all of you. Now, what is it that I can help you with?"

I could splutter in rage, this overly intelligent she-beast dare talk to me in such a condescending manner. I am simply affronted, glancing at my fellow District Liaison Officers show me that they're all cowards as their eyes remain fixed on the scriptures before them. Her complete dismissal almost stings; I am a Drayden, and as major beneficiaries of the war effort, I am entitled to respect. Especially from a snotty know-it-all like Crane: But I can play nicely like the graceful serpent in the Drayden family crest I will 'tunc mirabuntur me'. Bide my time.

"Sorry to disturb you. After the lottery and such it mentions District Advisors? Could you elaborate on what these are. And then 'securing' Sponsors. I, and I'm sure my wonderful colleagues agree, would like to know a little more about this. Only if you know of course."

As sweet as pie, I shrug innocently and look around at my colleagues who are tittering out their agreement. Shrugging innocently and widening my eyes, I repress the urge to smirk as Crane's lips almost disappear as they thin. She takes a deep breath and attempts a would be smile before shutting off her computab.

"Of course I know. I hold an executive position planning these Games- and I will answer your questions: But only once. So I suggest you all listen, and listen well if that's possible. You will each be assigned a 'partner' of sorts- a prolific member of the government or the military who will effectively mentor the Tributes: Be that strategy for when they're in the Arena, or things to focus on in the three-day training period-"

"But, like, why would someone, like, a politician or soldier, want to, like, help the Tribute people like? I mean, like, and who would, like, sponsor. I don't wanna, like, waste my time schmoozing up to,like, rich folks for money. Like, just to help someone from, like, a District?"

Serena looks at the one who dared interrupt her with something akin to shock, and I share the sentiment. The blue haired buffoon may have made a valid point, but every knows that excessive use of the words 'like','huh' or 'sorry' are clearly indicators of poor breeding and a lack of intelligence. The moment of camaraderie between Crane and I passes when she smiles indulgently at the cobalt coloured oaf.

"I am glad you, eventually asked that. Mr. Templesmith. Well you are all bravely undertaking roles where you will be working in close proximity with those affiliated with, and potentially related to, the terrorists who endangered our beloved Capitol."

She almost sounds sincere, but a liar knows a liar when they see them. And I would bet my entire couture collection that Selena Crane is lying through her pearly white teeth, if she thinks we are brave then I was born in a barn. But I am curious to see what she has to say.

"You will receive a compensation of sorts, a commission based on all the sponsorships you secure. And if you conduct remains professional throughout what we are calling 'Games Season' you will receive a 'bonus'. And the Advisors are all playing to win, as if a Tribute from the District you are representing wins. Then you will be rewarded greatly, President Marsden has assured that"

You could hear a pin drop, while most of us were content to simply pick up a pay check after 23 of the District children are dead: We're all now competing for a grand prize of our own. Excited chatter provides a soundscape as Selena packs her belongings away, a coy smile on her haughty features.

"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour"

I edited this in a matter of minutes so I apologise for any glaring mistakes you might find. I hope whoever is reading is enjoying what I have whipped up so far, I have one more chapter before I want to start writing Tribute POV's- just to introduce a few new characters and move the sub-plot ahead a little.

Happy reading, and I hope you would like to submit a Tribute.

-Nostalgic