Lucian Sterling, 40: Head Gamemaker

July 7, 73ADD: 30 minutes after Reaping

Lucian paces anxiously in the control room. All of this year's tributes have been reaped and are being held in the Justice Buildings of their respective districts, waiting to be transported to the Capitol.

This year feels so much different than the last, and not in a good way. Lucian is more stressed than he's ever been before. He hasn't been eating well, his sleep schedule is all fucked up, and his hair is turning gray faster than normal. He's gone through more boxes of hair dye than he can count over the past six months. Lucian knows his job is in jeopardy, and it's weighing on him heavily.

President Stone's demeanor has soured ever since the end of last year's Games. It's no secret amongst the gamemakers that the President wasn't satisfied with the results of the 72nd Hunger Games. On top of that, everywhere Lucian went he heard Capitolites gossiping about Lucian and his disaster of a performance last year.

Is that Lucian Sterling? He looks terrible!

I'd be so embarrassed if I were him. How could you let a 12-year-old win?

He's lost his touch.

Lucian has been trying to block out the noise and focus on his job, but so much of his job banks on the approval of his audience. He can't just do his own thing here. Audience members don't always like what he likes, especially one audience member in particular.

President Stone is on his way to the control room. He told Lucian he wants to see the tributes for himself this year. Apparently he wants to be a lot more hands-on this year, that way there aren't any "mishaps" like last Games. Lucian doesn't know exactly when President Stone will arrive, but his assistant needed to be present before that and he was nowhere to be found.

"Where the hell is Draco?" He mutters to himself, quietly enough so his gamemakers don't hear him. Lucian told the kid that President Stone would be here to review the footage from the Reaping around noon. According to Lucian's watch, it's 11:55. Where in the world could Draco possibly be?

"Sorry I'm so late." Draco St. Clair darts into the control room with a thick binder full of papers. He has dark circles around his eyes and his blonde hair is ruffled. His suit jacket is unbuttoned and his glasses are slightly crooked. It's clear he was in a hurry. "I was just pulling the records of the tributes from Four and Seven."

Lucian tasked Draco with pulling the records of all twenty-four tributes throughout the Reaping process. Given that Panem spans across four time zones, Draco has been pulling records since around 8:00 a.m. Capitol time. Not to mention the fact that he had a host of other tasks to complete. Draco also had to make sure that all the escorts arrived on time, that every eligible child had the correct number of slips in each bowl, and a bunch of other important things to take care of. Draco was probably awake well before the sun rose.

"Are you sure you have them all?" Lucian asks.

"Yes sir," Draco answers. "Everyone's been accounted for."

"Great, because President Stone should be here any minute now." Just as those words leave Lucian's mouth, the doors to the control room slide open. The atmosphere of the room darkens as Tiberius Stone, the President of Panem walks in. All chatter amongst Lucian's crew comes to an abrupt halt. A chill runs down the Head Gamemaker's spine. Draco audibly gulps as the man who signs their checks approaches.

"President Stone," Lucian starts. He walks up to the President and offers a handshake. "It's a pleasure to see you here."

President Stone ignores Lucian's handshake offer. In fact, he almost ignores the Head Gamemaker altogether. Instead, he steps into the center of the room, where Lucian usually stands and supervises his gamemaking crew. He faces the giant screen against the back wall.

"Is the footage ready?" President Stone asks, not even looking Lucian's way. The Head Gamemaker notices the President's body language. He seems tense, agitated. His energy permeates the room. All the gamemakers sit up straighter. It's like a huge breath has been drawn in, and there's no air left for Lucian.

"The footage is ready, sir," Head Gamemaker Sterling says. "Draco, are your files organized?"

"Yes sir," Draco says. Lucian detects a bit of shakiness in his assistant's voice. For as long as Lucian has known Draco, he's always been remarkably high-strung, but he trusts the kid to keep it together for as long as President Stone is in the control room. "I'm ready when you are."

"Good," Lucian says. "Let's start with District One, shall we?"

Upon the Head Gamemaker's command, the screen illuminates with an overhead shot of District One. The buildings are polished and pristine, reflecting the district's main export. Large mountains, part of the same range that forms the backdrop of the Capitol, can be seen in the distance. The camera sweeps over the town square before zooming in on the two tributes.

The male tribute is fairly tall and looks athletic. He's well-groomed just like most District One tributes, with neatly combed dark brown hair and blue eyes. He introduces himself as Vintage Zahavi. He stands up straight with his head held high, but he doesn't seem to be completely confident. His eyes dart around, never focusing on one spot. He's anxious, but the untrained eye may perceive him as a strong competitor. Lucian knows better, though. Vintage could very well be a ticking time bomb.

The female volunteer is also tall and robust. Her long black hair, dark brown eyes, and tan skin contrast with the usual blonde haired, blue eyed tributes District One sends. She states her name, Hysteria Warring, proudly. She portrays a genuine confidence that her district partner fails to exhibit. She's obviously much more sure of herself. Just from a first glance, Lucian thinks she'll be a fierce contender, but it's not up to him this year to decide.

"What do you think of District One, Mr. President?" Lucian inquires. President Stone takes a moment, eyeing down both tributes on the big screen.

"They could both be interesting competitors," he says flatly. "Definitely not your typical District One product. Moving on."

"Moving on," Lucian repeats. The screen transitions to the mountainous terrain of District Two. Just over three hundred miles south of the Capitol lies Panem's stronghold. District Two's main city sits at the highest elevation of all the districts. Brutalistic architecture lines the streets, serving as a symbol of the district's strength. The country's masonry and military hub regularly produces some of the most formidable tributes, and Lucian hopes this year is no different.

The male volunteer is a well-built fellow, with golden skin and short black hair. He might not be as tall as the District One male, but his physique makes up for it. He walks on stage with a massive grin on his face. Lucian immediately clocks this as cockiness, a trait that's fairly common amongst tributes from Two. Felix August, he says when asked to give his name. Despite his perceived big head, Lucian thinks that Felix could be a strong contender, but he knows that choice is not up to him. He glances over at President Stone, who keeps his eyes glued to the screen.

District Two's female tribute is nothing short of a physical specimen. She stands tall on the stage, wearing a simple white shirt and black pants that do very little to hide a musculature that would rival most men. Her hair is buzzed short and platinum blonde, obviously not her natural color. When she states her name, Mercy Braun, her voice is calm but firm. Lucian feels a little smile creeping up. He knows the Capitol audience will love Mercy, but the real question is whether or not Stone will feel the same way.

"Any thoughts?" Lucian asks.

"Both look very strong." President Stone's tone portrays indifference. Lucian assumes this is deliberate on Tiberius' part. He wouldn't want his Head Gamemaker to get any crazy ideas, now would he? "But I still need to see the rest of the field."

Without missing a beat, the display transitions to District Three. The technology district is a smog-filled urban dump resting alongside a polluted river, nowhere near as clean as One or Two. The buildings are bland and gray, and the people that occupy them are often just as monotonous.

District Three's escort - Nero Blackwell - draws the slip of a girl named Nova Petersson. The girl who walks up to the stage looks disheveled, with her hair hastily pulled upwards and flushed cheeks. She's thin and delicate-looking, just like so many District Three tributes before her. However, unlike most from Three, Nova does not seem to be terrified by her fate. She almost looks unbothered by the predicament she finds herself in. Lucian notices that there's a mysterious glint in the girl's eyes, like she could be up to something.

There's something off about that girl, Lucian thinks to himself.

Next up is Castor Fairchild. The boy who was reaped is very small. So small that Lucian would almost call him petite, yet he walks out of the sixteen-year-old section.

"Did he get lost trying to find the twelve-year-old section?" Lucian mutters to himself. "Draco, how old is that boy?"

"Records show that he's sixteen," Draco says. "Born in 57ADD."

"Interesting."

Castor is dressed very nicely for a non-Career, perhaps indicating a certain level of wealth or at the very least a care for his appearance. Other than how well-dressed the young man is, Lucian can tell that Castor is angry. It's a natural response for a lot of tributes, but Castor looks downright furious. His level of anger would usually be threatening, but Castor's diminutive stature takes away from that.

"Neither one jumps out at me," Stone says. "But they're probably intelligent. Keep an eye on them."

Lucian simply nods. He makes a mental note to watch out for Three. The usually weak district surpasses expectations every few years, when one of their tributes figures out how to mesh their brains with the brutality of the Hunger Games. Those years usually aren't that popular amongst the Capitolites.

Next up is District Four. Panem's west coast is home to the final Career district. Its natural harbors and white sand beaches paint a picturesque landscape. The Mission Revival architecture of the district's town square adds warmth to the already relaxed atmosphere.

The female volunteer from Four is the smallest Career thus far. Still, it's obvious that she's trained as her body is lean and toned. She has tanned skin and her straight black hair reaches her mid back. She announces her name, Miami Saffridge, casually and smoothly. Out of all the tributes he's seen, Lucian notes that Miami appears to be the most laid back. Such tributes can be a challenge, as they aren't always the most reactive. Lucian thoroughly hopes that's not the case with Miami.

The male volunteer is…underwhelming to say the least. His skin has warm olive undertones, just slightly lighter than Miami's, suggesting less time spent outdoors. His black hair is shaggy, but not unkempt. He's also a little bit shorter than his district partner, making him the shortest Career male by far. Shizuka Miura, he says when asked for his name. Lucian struggles to get a good read on his body language and facial expression, which could indicate unpredictability.

"Interesting pair from Four, don't you think?" Lucian suggests. He earns a subtle nod from Tiberius.

"Could make for good television for a while," the President adds. "Not too sure how long either will last, though."

Lucian senses a lack of confidence in District Four from President Stone. He supposes it's understandable given how last year's formidable pair came up short, but it's still jarring that he has such little faith in a Career district.

Almost as jarring as how little faith he has in Lucian.

The big screen transitions away from the seaside city that is District Four and to the arid backdrop of District 5. In the southwest of Panem lies a city in a rocky valley composed of adobe buildings and desert foliage. A large nuclear power plant is visible in the distance. Rows and rows of solar panels lie in the valley just adjacent to the main town.

The desert district has become all too familiar with Lucian over the past year. Tomaz Wellflower, the kid who should have never stood a chance, is the newest occupant of their Victor's Village. Five now serves as a reminder of Lucian's biggest mistake, one that he knows he can not make again.

Diana Indra, District Five's escort, pulls the name of Jamie Somber. The girl that walks up is a pathetic little thing, pitifully short and rail thin. A gentle breeze could easily knock her over. Her hair is very long and reddish brown in color. Jamie is visibly shaken by her sudden change of fate. She looks uncomfortable, like she wants to crawl out of her own skin.

Jamie's district partner is hardly any better. Ottie Wellscion is the same age as Jamie, fourteen. He is short and thin, even amongst boys his own age. The boy can barely stand up because of how much he's trembling. His messy brown hair and wrinkled clothes don't help his image in the slightest.

"Anything suspicious in either one of their files, Draco?" Lucian asks.

"No, sir. Both have clean records." Lucian smirks. Five should be easy to manage this year.

"I trust you will deal with these two in a timely manner this year," Tiberius says. Lucian can feel the hatred oozing off President Stone as he glares at the screen. Head Gamemaker Sterling's smile quickly fades as he's reminded of the gravity of the situation he's in. His livelihood is at stake, and Tiberius will not let him forget that.

Shifting his attention back to the Reaping replays, Lucian is greeted with the vast urban wasteland that is District Six. Panem's largest district by population is a metropolis of old factories and shipping hubs. There's nothing remotely pretty about Six. The streets are littered with gangs and criminals and addicts. Nothing good ever comes from the transportation district, especially not its tributes.

The boy from Six, named Roman Calder-Morcant, is thin and gangly. His brown hair is messy and unkempt, and dark circles surround his dark brown eyes. Roman looks sick, whether it be from lack of food or extensive drug use like so many other District Six residents, Lucian can't tell. Nonetheless, the boy looks petrified. There's confusion written all over his sunken face, obviously in disbelief that his name was the one that was called.

"Any notes on this kid, Mr. St. Clair?" Lucian asks.

"Peacekeepers say they've seen this kid around Six selling drugs," Draco reports. "Also doesn't seem to have a stable home. He's been spotted sleeping under bridges and on benches throughout the district."

"Nothing but a street rat." The disgust is evident in Tiberius' voice. "He better not cause any trouble."

Eam Brakeman is the female tribute's name. She's another small girl with light brown skin and curly black hair. Her old green dress is ill-fitting and threadbare.

Another poor one, Lucian thinks to himself. Probably weak too, what a shame.

Eam tries to keep a straight face, but Lucian sees the agitation growing. Maybe Eam isn't a weakling. Every now and then, the urban districts will offer up tenacious tributes. Perhaps Eam is one of them.

The screen transitions from the urbanity of Six to the vast forest that is Distinct Seven. The far northwest corner of Panem is the hub for the nation's lumber industry. Seven's main town sits on a peninsula which itself is in an inlet shielded from the ocean.

District Seven has always been a puzzling place for Lucian. Its tributes are often wildcards in the arena. And their Victors—well, Lucian still hasn't figured them out.

District Seven's escort calls the name of Foster Santalale. A tall girl with cool chestnut skin and long black hair steps out of the eighteen-year-old section. Foster is very slim, but she's toned. Lucian can tell the girl knows how to swing an axe, but other than that, he can't get a good read on her. Her blank expression leaves the Head Gamemaker with more questions than answers.

The boy from Seven is a little bit easier to get a hold of. When the escort calls his name, Lukas Veridia, he audibly gasps. Despite being seventeen years old and fairly tall, Lukas is nervous. The boy is visibly in distress, and he can't so much as look Foster in the eye when the two tributes shake hands.

"The girl looks like trouble," President Stone remarks. "Make sure you keep an eye on her. As for the boy—he's older but obviously scared. We'll have to see what happens when he gets here."

Lucian nods. President Stone must see something in Foster that he's missing. He takes his boss's word at face value. He makes a mental note to watch the Seven girl closely.

The lush green forests of Seven give way to the unsigned dilapidation of District Eight. The overhead shot shows a run down city with hardly any nature in sight. Located in the southeast of Panem, Eight is a hot, muggy, disgusting place. Poverty and destitution plague a district that's home to nothing but thugs and degenerates.

District Eight's escort draws the name of Desmond Noahan. A boy with scruffy brown hair and deep brown eyes steps out of the fifteen-year-old section. Desmond looks well-built, especially for a tribute from Eight. It's a curious sight considering there are hardly any jobs in District Eight that would require any athletic ability.

Curious that a kid from Eight can be built like that, Lucian thinks to himself. He could very well be a fighter.

Desmond's district partner is fifteen as well, named Rosetta Clure. She has wavy brunette hair and honey brown eyes with naturally tanned skin. Rosetta is slight in build, like most District Eight tributes. The girl struggles to maintain her composure while onstage. Lucian thinks she might burst into tears at any given moment.

"Eight came too close to victory last year," President Stone says. "Don't let that happen again."

"Understood, sir," Lucian says. Eight has been a problem district dating back to the Dark Days. Anti-Capitol sentiment runs deep in the textile district. Lucian knows it's best to keep their tributes on a tight leash, but that's much easier said than done.

Next up is District Nine. Endless acres of flat land covered in wheat fields populate the big screen. Panem's breadbasket is located in the middle of the nation's heartland. With a fairly small population compared to other districts, District Nine's main town rises out of the wheat fields, mostly made up of grain processing plants and other administrative facilities.

Otho Avakian, Panem's longest-tenured escort, pulls the name of Cassandra Shibboleth. A tiny twelve-year-old girl walks up to the stage. Only the pathetic girl from Five might be smaller. Her long, straight hair is light brown, the same color as the wheat stalks she most likely tends to. Cassandra's azure gaze points downward, but she does not look scared. She's calm in a way that's unbecoming of such a young girl, like she has accepted her fate long before her name was called.

"I believe I heard that last name, 'Shibboleth', before," Tiberius notes. "St. Clair, what do her documents look like?"

"The Shibboleth family is suspected to have rebel ties, Mr. President," Draco reports. "Cassandra's two older siblings are Avoxes here in the Capitol."

"Well I think a little family reunion is in order," President Stone says. He's amused by this idea. Lucian can tell by the way his boss's lips curl upward.

After Cassandra, the escort pulls the slip of Swather Henrikson. A seventeen-year-old boy with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes walks up trying his hardest to look confident. To a trained observer like Lucian, he's anything but. Swather may be tall and athletic, but he's fearful. It's a volatile combination that Lucian takes great pleasure in exploiting each year.

The screen transitions to the green pastures of District Ten. The livestock district has a landscape very similar to that of District Nine, but with a warmer and more humid climate due to the district encompassing Panem's southern plains. District Ten's town square is made up of buildings that have been worn down by time and lack of upkeep, evidence of the district's poverty.

The male tribute is chosen first. A boy by the name of Toro de León is called up to the stage. Toro is fifteen, spindly, and a bit above average height for his age. He has the typical dark hair and tan skin of most District Ten citizens, with his freckles and slightly sun-bleached curls suggesting he works outdoors often. The boy offers a smile, keeping his head held high.

"Pretty admirable that a kid from such a poor district looks so confident, don't you think?" Lucian says.

"If you say so, Sterling," President Stone says. "More pathetic to me. He should know he doesn't have much of a chance."

Toro's district partner is the same age as he is. Her name—Jonia Aravelino—rings throughout the town square. The girl that approaches the stage has similar features to Toro—dark hair, tanned skin, and brown eyes. She's a few inches shorter than her district partner, with a slim build. Jonia does her best to mimic Toro by giving a nervous smile, but Lucian can see past the façade and sense the young girl's fear.

"Two throwaways as far as I'm concerned," Tiberius remarks. "I trust you think the same."

"Two throwaways indeed," Lucian lies. Truth is he knows better, but he'd never tell Tiberius that. With his job status up in the air, it's best to keep his mouth shut.

The green pastures of District Ten transition to the green orchards of District Eleven. Gently rolling hills and vast fields of crops make up the landscape. The weather is unbearably hot and humid in Eleven this time of year. The agriculture district is one of Panem's poorest, with its main town being composed of decrepit buildings weathered with age.

In the town square, District Eleven's escort draws the slip of Era Lauson. Out comes a boy seventeen years of age. His skin is a dark ebony and his hair is in short braids. He's noticeably fit, mostly likely from hours upon hours of physical labor. What's uncanny about Era is the smirk on the boy's face. As one of the least successful districts, Eleven never produces a tribute that looks pleased by their circumstances.

"Curious young fellow, that one," Lucian murmurs.

"You need to watch him closely," President Stone says. "He looks like trouble."

Lucian grimaces when Eleven's female tribute is reaped. The girl, Elodie Wilson, walks out of the fifteen-year-old section. Out of every tribute, Elodie looks the least taken care of. She wears a thin, ratty old jacket layered over a raggedy green shirt with ugly brown pants and boots that look two sizes too big. Her hair is in dreadlocks that are tangled and matted. Elodie's rickety form trembles uncontrollably as she stands in front of her district.

"Draco, what do this girl's records say?"

"Elodie's parents and older brother were all executed by peacekeepers for theft," Draco says. "She's been living on the streets of Eleven since the age of ten."

"Great, another street rat," President Stone says. "Hopefully she won't make it too far."

Lucian ignores the President's comment, which was more of a demand than just the man voicing his opinion. There's just one pair yet to be seen.

The bountiful fields of District Eleven give way to the blue-tinted mountains and valleys of District Twelve. Nestled in a deep hollow, the main town of the mining district is riddled with extreme poverty and abject squalor. More than half of Twelve's meager population live in soot-covered shacks near the coal mines, often with one foot already in the grave. Those lucky enough to live closer to town occupy ancient wooden houses, trading goods amongst each other. The camera pans across the district's town square, where all its citizens gather to watch the Reaping.

Twelve's escort selects Thana Oblenski as the district's female tribute. A girl from the fourteen-year-old section walks to the stage. Thana's a tiny girl, shorter than most of her peers and noticeably underweight—probably a miner's kid. Her gaunt face is blank and her blue-gray eyes look empty, completely devoid of life. That combined with her long, tattered dress make the girl look like a ghost—one that's died long before even being reaped.

District Twelve's male tribute is a seventeen-year-old boy named Cypress Albano. The young man that walks to the stage is very tall, taller than any other tribute. He's got messy dark hair, dark eyes, and olive skin—obviously from the mining sector. However, unlike other miner's kids, Cypress is relatively well-built. Lucian detects a variety of emotions from the boy's body language and facial expression—primarily confusion, paranoia, and anger.

He's hiding something, Lucian thinks to himself.

"What do his records show?"

"Nothing too out of the ordinary," Draco says. "He doesn't have a father listed on his birth certificate, but that's not uncommon."

"Just another fatherless child," President Stone says dismissively. "He'll be dead soon enough."

President Stone's thoughts on this year's tributes are undoubtedly warped by his frustration with last Games' results. Lucian has his own grievances, but he can't afford to lose focus. The moment he lets his frustration cloud his judgment is the moment that everything falls apart. He's better than that. Better than the seventy-second Hunger Games. He's not a failure, despite what the tabloids and critics have said. One slip up shouldn't be the end of him.

"Any more thoughts on this year's pool of tributes, Mr. President?" Lucian musters up all the confidence he has in him, bracing himself for his boss's sharp tongue.

"You have an interesting mix on your hands, Sterling," Tiberius starts. "I can see this year's Games going multiple ways, some more favorable than others."

"I totally agree with you," Lucian responds. He can feel his heart beating faster. The tension between the two men is palpable. What used to be a knowledgeable discussion just one short year ago is now riddled with unsettling context.

"I'm glad we can both agree on that, but be aware that this could very well be your last opportunity." President Stone's voice is as cold as ice. It gives the Head Gamemaker goosebumps and sends chills through his body.

"I understand, sir." Lucian shifts uncomfortably. Tiberius may be an average-sized man, but his presence looms large over the whole control room.

"I'm sure you do," Stone says. "Listen, Mr. Sterling, I want you to succeed, I really do. But just know that the fate of an entire nation rests in your hands. Do not drop the ball this year. Because if you slip up again, you and your entire crew will be replaced. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Mr. President." Lucian swears his voice sounds two octaves higher.

"Don't screw this up," Tiberius says, sternly eyeing down his Head Gamemaker. He then turns to face the rest of the Gamemaking crew. "That goes for all of you too."

With that, the President of Panem leaves the control room, but the tension lingers behind. Tiberius Stone made his intentions clear. He will not hesitate to have Lucian and his team replaced if this year does not go well. Even though the stakes are astronomically high, Head Gamemaker Sterling can not crumble under the pressure. He takes a deep breath, adjusts his suit jacket, and does his best to at least make it look like he's regained his composure. Lucian Sterling knows one thing for certain—he's the captain of this ship. And if he crashes, everyone aboard will drown with him.

"Let the Games begin."

I've finally released a chapter on time. Everyone clap.

On a more serious not, you probably noticed the change in point of view from first person to third person. That'll be how I write the rest of this SYOT and any other after this. That's really all I have to say for now. Stay tuned for the next chapter hopefully soon.

Until next time,

Ty