Hello! Been wanting to try my hand at an SYOT format for a while, finally deciding to give it a shot! It will be my first SYOT, but certainly not my first creative writing outlet! With Halloween around the corner, I had a lot of ideas flowing for a haunting arena that's sure to give these tributes the creeps (and unfortunately some pretty terrifying last moments alive).

Please PM me any inquiries or completed tribute templates!

Obligatory; I do not own The Hunger Games and all credit for this concept, world, system and canon character appearances goes to Suzanne Collins. Arena design, unique plotlines and non-canon characters not featured in any of Collins's works are of my own design. Tributes in these games belong to various readers and reviewers and will be credited as such in this first chapter when the list is finalized (and probably before that as I update the roster).

Midnight Terrors - The 63rd Annual Hunger Games.

CH - Prologue.

By critixu

Picture yourself - dropped into an unforgiving, unfamiliar environment. Everything around you may hold danger - or it may not. That is part of the psychology, designed to ensure you think yourself into an early grave. Do you believe yourself Victor material? By skill, by luck, or through a healthy mix of the two - do you claw your way out over twenty-three separate bodies? Or do you sink with them into the annals of history, a faded name and forgotten face? Every tribute imagines themselves the former, and yet it remains the same each and every year. Would-be victors die, and die, and die until only one of them is left to claim the title of 'Victor.'

Welcome, to the Hunger Games.

"Gamemaker Gavia."

The timid voice of a crimson-skinned assistant whispers, her genetically engineered tail tucked between her legs as she peeks into the room of her boss. Countless sheets of paper are strewn across the floor, scribbles and crossed-out doodled designs on each and every one of them. Various empty pens, snapped pencils and dry markers lay atop the mess.

The man inside does not stir upon the first call. His head is down and shaggy, layered, plain brown hair falls forwards as he scribbles quickly into a notebook, eyes darting across many splayed pages strewn about across his desk. The sound of the pen scrawling across paper is audible even from the doorway, and the assistant clears her throat before speaking again.

"It's... President Snow. He wishes to speak with you. As soon as possible, he said."

The scrawling comes to an abrupt halt.

"I see."

The voice of the Gamemaker never fails to perplex the assistant. It's faint, whispery and fragile like a leaf blowing in the autumn wind. And yet, there's an unmistakable power at its core. An assuredness that borders on insanity.

"Miss Io?" The whispery voice questions, and the crimson-skinned woman stands a bit sharper.

"Yes, Gamemaker?"

"Fetch me my DayLight shot, please. I've been up all night. I'd... hate to fall asleep on the President. I imagine he'd have me killed."

Io, already on her way out to Gamemaker Gavia's personal medicine cabinet, is frozen in place. That claim came with a certainty that scared her. It was such an insane accusation. President Snow was a kind man. Harsh, but fair. To suggest he'd kill for something as simple as displeasing him. It was horrible. No, that word didn't describe it. Insolent, of the youthful Gamemaker. Tantamount to slander. In fact, she should-

"I kid." Gamemaker Gavia sighs, interrupting his assistant's frantic thought process by waving his hand and pushing himself up from his chair. His palm finds an ornate, elaborate cane - used to assist him in moving, despite his youth. "Please fetch the shot, dear Io, and we'll be on our way."

Io breathes out a sight of relief and excuses herself from the room. Finding the shot is an easy matter. She'd delivered many before. Despite being the direct attendant to a Gamemaker, though, Io found herself rather squeamish. She turns away as Gamemaker Gavia injects the shot into his arm, breathing out a sigh of relief as he does so. DayLight shots were potent, she knew, and expensive. They were often used by those whom wished to go on multi-day benders in high end clubs without break. But the Gamemaker treated them like one would treat a prescription, like a mundane part of his daily routine. That, too, frightened Io.

"Let us go." The Gamemaker speaks, his voice unchanged but his amber eyes much brighter and more alert than they had been before.

The Gamemaker exits the room, his assistant trailing behind him.

"Hadrian Gavia."

The deep voice of the President does not boom. It is expectant. Gentler, than normal, as if the President is greeting someone with an expectation. With a man like Snow - his venomous tongue and razor intellect - there was always an expectation. Hadrian had just yet to guess what it would be this time.

"President Snow, Sir. An honor, to personally receive your call. How may I assist you?"

"It's bold of you, Mister Gavia, to assume I would require your assistance." The President speaks in that same tone that writhes with a sense of looming danger. As if one word from his mouth could get you killed in a violent mess.

"And yet, you are correct." The President breaks into a close-lipped smile. "I require assistance today. Assistance of the utmost importance."

Snow's eyes meet those of Io, a rush of blood moving to her cheeks. Coupled with her artificially reddened skin, she almost looked like a ripe tomato. She was smart enough, however, to take the hint. Wordlessly and with a bow, she moves to exit the office of President Snow. She doesn't even breathe out of fear of upsetting the man who sits across from her boss. Head still low and jet black hair falling over her face, she silently opens the door and slips out, allowing it to close behind her. Her matching red tail is the last thing seen of her as it slips through the doorway before it closes with a soft thud.

"Simply let me know how I may be of use."

Hadrian Gavia speaks, hand moving slowly upwards to re-adjust his glasses. The circular frames rested slightly crooked, often falling down and needing re-adjustment.

"So to-the-point." The President tuts, smile still present across his face. He enjoys this, Hadrian knows - watching those who serve him squirm just a bit. It feels similar to watching a cat play with a mouse before finally unsheathing the claws. Specializing in muttations and their creation, Hadrian knew a lot about this sort of behavior. It was intriguing, to see it from a human, but it put him on edge as well. "I'm in no rush here, Gamemaker. Allow me to go on, for a bit. This is, after all, a cause for celebration for yourself. You're being promoted."

The analytical, typically calm and collected persona of Hadrian Gavia wavers for just a second. His eyes widen, his lips purse and he sucks air inwards in a gasp.

"Surprised?" The President cocks his head. "You're our mutt specialist, no? So talented and so young. I believe that's what we need, in the upcoming Sixty-Third. A sprinkle of youth. Something new. A shot of energy into the Games, if you will. I'm sure you're... familiar." He lets the words hang for just a moment. Just long enough to make it clear that he's aware of Hadrian's addiction.

"Our formula has grown predictable. Ratings have steadily lowered, lowered and lowered over the past 6 or so Games. I tried to be generous, I really did, Hadrian. But your predecessor was reluctant to make change. Far too set in her ways, you see. So, she's been issued private leave for now. In fact, you are the only one aware that she's been replaced. The announcement will come in exactly 24 days time. So, if anyone figures it out before then, well... I know who to go to." The President ends his speech with a wink - one that sends a shiver down Hadrian's twisted spine.

"I will not speak a word, President." Hadrian speaks for the first time in what feels like hours but was really only minutes. "You have my oath."

"Perfect. Then rise, newly christened Head Gamemaker Gavia." The President offers a hand, which Hadrian reluctantly takes. He can't stand - can't walk without his cane, but is pulled up to his feet anyways.

"I trust my expectations have been made clear. I need something big out of you. Clear?"

"Crystal, President."

"That will be all, then, Head Gamemaker. You may step out."

Hadrian fumbles for a couple of seconds, grasping for his cane until he's able to firmly place his hand around the top. His eyes lock with the President's for but a moment before he gives his own agonizing bow, a his spare gloved hand rising to prevent the circular lenses from clattering to the floor.

"Happy Hunger Games." The President calls from his office as his newly appointed Head Gamemaker takes his leave.

"May the odds... well, you know how the saying goes by now."

With submissions closed and every slot reserved, here's the Tribute List!

DISTRICT ONE

Male: Hyperion Leclair, 17 (Lisan al Gaib).

Female: Avalon Imperio, 18 (livinginadream0).

DISTRICT TWO

Male: Youssef Vyrax, 18 (Paradigm of Writing).

Female: Lethe Maiorianus, 17 (Grim Apocrypha).

DISTRICT THREE

Male: Alt Kingston, 16 (savwriting).

Female: Vivienne Cross, 17 (Victoria the Bipolar Tribute).

DISTRICT FOUR

Male: Gulf Corpus, 17 (Dante Alighieri1308).

Female: Kiana Lakhani, 18 (n3b).

DISTRICT FIVE

Male: Kairos 'Kai' Fomalhaut, 18 (yoyowhitehole).

Female: Blitz Rutherford, 16 (mxrcury_mxon).

DISTRICT SIX

Male: Sterling Lee, 18 (ClearedPipes).

Female: Mira Andrelo, 17 (SakuraDreamerz).

DISTRICT SEVEN

Male: [RESERVED]

Female: Acacia Letterfield, 18 (Tales from the Cluttered Desk).

DISTRICT EIGHT

Male: Merlino Wilcox, 18 (Stargirl94).

Female: [RESERVED]

DISTRICT NINE

Male: Gerald Oatley Johnson, 18 (Very New To This).

Female: Melisa Hayes, 16 (mait).

DISTRICT TEN

Male: [RESERVED]

Female: Rhea Clement, 17 (booksandcuddles).

DISTRICT ELEVEN

Male: Raiden McIntyre, 18 (TyQuavis).

Female: Melora Rafferty, 18 (ladyqueerfoot).

DISTRICT TWELVE

Male: [RESERVED]

Female: Esther Clarice Monroe, 18 (MoonlightSalsa).