Zelena remembers her first day as Head Gamemaker like it was yesterday.
At the time, being behind the wheel of the 94th Annual Hunger Games felt like a surreal privilege. Pictor Small, the previous Head Gamemaker, left massive shoes to fill when he eventually stepped down. Yet, Zelena never doubted her own ability to create something worth watching. He was the very person who trained her, after all.
She'd half expected her first steps into the Control Room on the morning of the bloodbath to be shaky. Her nerves had kept her up all night and she'd drank so much coffee to compensate that her fingers were twitching. Somehow, though, the second she entered the room, a sense of power and perfect calm washed over her. It was as if she'd finally found the place she'd always belonged.
When everything was said and done, viewership for the Hunger Games had reached an all-time high since the days before the Second Rebellion. Everyone was abuzz with excitement about future Games and what they would feature. Morning talk show hosts in the Capitol were sharing their opinions on Zelena's work, including their favorite moments from the Games. The Master of Ceremonies, Maxentius Rosenshine, even hosted a special where he analyzed and compared highlights from Zelena's Games with those from a few of Pictor's Games.
For a long while, it felt like she was walking through a dream come true.
If only things could've stayed that way forever.
Now, five years later, Zelena finds herself dreading every single step that she takes toward the conference room in the Gamemaking Center. It's not a challenging walk by any means. The walkway is paved on level ground and it winds gently through the verdant courtyard that sits right in the middle of all the buildings in the complex. If it weren't for the invisible weight bearing down on her shoulders and the way that her legs feel like they're made out of granite, this walk would be like any other.
The seconds tick by at a snail's pace until suddenly they don't, and Zelena is entering the conference room with her folder full of ideas tucked beneath her arm. All of the windows on the wall beside the table have already been blacked out, leaving the room to be illuminated solely by the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. An ornate bowl brimming with fresh fruit rests on the center of the glass tabletop and a singular Avox stands in the far corner of the room with a small cart of refreshments next to him.
"Good morning," she says curtly as she moves to the head of the table.
A chorus of greetings carries through the room, followed by a bit of excited chatter. Zelena carefully opens up her folder, producing a hefty stack of papers from within. Every single sheet is covered front to back in her neat handwriting and rough sketches. She's always preferred to go about planning this way, even during her earliest days as a Gamemaker-in-training.
"Is everyone accounted for?" Zelena asks, straightening out the stack of papers in her hands.
"Looks like we're only missing one," someone responds from the other end of the table.
Zelena looks up to see the chair beside hers—Calliope's chair—is empty. In all her time as a Gamemaker-in-training, Calliope has never been late. If anything, she's almost always the first one there, and if she's early enough, she'll bring goodies for the rest of the team.
The fact that she's absent is, frankly, unbelievable. That is until Zelena gets to thinking about that letter. That fucking letter, the one from Hadrian that mentioned Calliope by name. Zelena doesn't dare entertain the possibility that he is the one responsible for her absence. It would be too in her face, wouldn't it? She supposes that's exactly the sort of thing he would do, though.
What could he possibly want with her before the Games have begun? Before Reaping Day has rolled around? Zelena hasn't even had the time to prove that she's still capable of making something good—something that can rival the buzz generated by the 94th Games. Why threaten her at all? Why not just strip her of her title altogether and hand it off to Calliope?
"Head Gamemaker? Are you all right?"
Moneta's voice drags Zelena back into the present moment. Every set of eyes in the room is on her. For the first time in her life, she shifts uncomfortably under their gazes.
"Of course," Zelena replies before clearing her throat. "Shall we begin?"
There are no objections, so she sets the conference into motion. First, she goes around the room, handing out specific papers to certain people. Once that's done, she assigns everyone a group. By the time she's ready to delve deeper into her ideas, the anticipation blanketing the room is thick enough to be cut with a knife.
"I'm certain you're all wondering why I've divided you up," she eventually continues. "It's because I intend to use a different approach to designing certain elements of this year's arena. If you refer to the blueprints I've handed out, you'll notice everything is divided into three sections. I've fleshed out the key concepts I want included across each of these areas, but I'll be trusting all of you to bring these ideas to fruition in your own way. And do keep in mind that everything must be brought to me for approval before proper implementation."
A few hushed conversations begin to unravel at the table. Though Zelena cannot feel it herself, there's no denying the excitement in the air. Every Gamemaker except for her is chomping at the bit to begin working on preparations for the 99th Annual Hunger Games.
After answering several questions and providing a bit more information, Zelena excuses everyone to the Design Room to begin their work. She's reorganizing her papers and placing them back into their folder when the door swings open. Zelena is almost expecting it to be an Avox, but it's none other than Calliope Gallus.
She looks nice–nicer than when she's clad in her work clothes, anyway. Her long, dark braids are adorned with opulent jewelry. She wears a black blouson dress with white lace sleeves and the garment is cinched around the waist with a band of deep red fabric. Every inch of her dark brown skin is flecked with golden glitter. It catches the light as she clasps her hands behind her back and offers an apologetic smile.
"…Did I miss the meeting?"
"You did. I trust you had a good reason for doing so," Zelena answers with a clipped tone.
If Calliope notices, she doesn't particularly seem to care. There's still a spring in her step as she crosses the room to glance over Zelena's shoulder at the paperwork resting on the table. Zelena tries not to bristle at the proximity, tries not to think too hard about why Calliope is so relaxed about her absence, tries not to crumple the paper she's holding in her hands as they threaten to clench into fists.
"Ooh, interesting! I can't even remember the last time we had a bi-level arena," Calliope remarks.
Zelena picks up the arena blueprints and slips them back into the folder, turning to look at Calliope. It's an uphill battle not to give in to the resentment that courses through her veins like poison. Calliope has never been anything but perfectly pleasant to her. That should be enough to warrant Zelena's kindness in turn, shouldn't it?
It should be, but it isn't. It can't be.
Not when Zelena has seen the joyful gleam in Calliope's eye as she watches her carefully crafted traps sentence unsuspecting tributes to excruciating deaths. Not when Calliope is meant to take Zelena's place without making any kind of real effort to do so. Not when Zelena knows that Calliope wakes up every single morning looking forward to going to work, where she can piece together new ways to bring an end to the lives of innocent children.
It's hypocritical for Zelena to feel this way. Of course it is. Gamemaking was once her passion just as it's Calliope's now. Really, the only difference between them is that Zelena was unlucky enough to develop a conscience somewhere along the way. Now the blood on her hands stains more than just her palms—it stains the memories of those whose lives were taken by her work, it stains her legacy, and it stains her family's name, even if they will never understand the way she does.
Sometimes it feels like she's the only person who can't comprehend why loyalty must also mean cruelty.
"I do hope this tardiness doesn't mark the beginning of a trend," is all Zelena can think to say.
Calliope gives a small wave of her hand. "Definitely not. This was a one-time thing, I think. The President invited me to brunch. I mean, who would say no to that?"
Zelena looks back at her folder as nonchalantly as she can manage. It's all she can do to prevent herself from hurrying out of the room. There's no way that she'll retain her position much longer. Hadrian has clearly made up his mind. In his eyes, Calliope is the better fit for Head Gamemaker. Was there ever even a chance that she could win his favor? Is it worth it to try at all?
Before she can lose herself, Zelena takes a slow breath through her nose. She picks up her folder and clutches it to her chest, hoping it will ground her.
"Then I suppose I can make an exception this time," she manages.
Calliope grins like a child in a candy store. "So, you've got big ideas for this year's Games? Where do I fit in?"
"You'll be acting as the lead designer for this year's muttations," Zelena tells her, finally able to bring herself to look at Calliope again. "I'm expecting you to work closely with each of the groups I've assembled. They're in the Design Room if you'd like to join them."
"Lead muttation designer? Me?" Calliope asks, barely managing to keep her jaw from dropping to the floor.
Zelena gives a small hum. "I figured it was time for your next big step into Gamemaking."
"I can't believe it," she says. "Lead muttation designer… I've got so many ideas already. I promise you won't regret this!"
Some part of Zelena already does. She can't even begin to imagine the hellish sorts of creatures Calliope has conjured up in her head. But this is the best position for her to be in. Zelena has to believe that. For one, muttations go through far more checks and balances before implementation than traps–including Zelena's approval. On top of that, they must be painstakingly designed so as not to undercut the entertainment value of the Games. It's a gamble to trust Calliope to understand that, but if there's one thing she knows better than most, it's how to squeeze the most action and suspense out of every piece of an arena.
Zelena forces out a chuckle as she watches Calliope bounce up and down on the balls of her feet. "Well, don't let me keep you."
Calliope needs no further instruction. The door swings shut behind her a moment later, sealing Zelena inside with a soft click. She slumps down in the nearest seat with a heavy sigh, retrieving a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of her coat. As she lights one up and raises it to her lips, all that's left to do is stare at the wall for a while and hope that she's properly played the cards she's been dealt.
a/n: hello! i hope you enjoyed this prologue. with these two out of the way, i'm hoping to begin introductions for the tributes next. of course, i still have many slots to fill, so please feel free to submit a tribute! also, i've officially gotten a channel for Where Angels Fear to Tread in the SYOT Verses Discord server. if you'd like to state your interest in a particular slot or just come and hang out, you can find me there! the last order of business i want to touch on here is the due date for submissions. i've settled on March 10th as the deadline for tribute forms, so please get them to me before then! thank you for reading and may the odds be ever in your favor.