Phoebe Freling

Victor of the 126th Hunger Games

It was dark, the icy wind threatened to break down their shelter. Two canons sounded. Phoebe trembled, her dark black hair plastered on her face, the rain rushed down even harder. Her warm brown eyes, used to be full of mirth, now dull lifeless orbs. "Ray… I'm scared."

Her sixteen years old brother wrapped his arms around her tightly, his warmth engulfing the younger girl. He kissed the top of her forehead. "Don't be. It'll all be over soon."

"I don't want to lose you," Phoebe trembled, tears concealed by the pouring rain as thunder sounded in the distance. The twelve years old girl held on tightly, refusing to let go of her brother. "After mother and father… please… we can figure something out!"

"There's nothing else to figure out," Ray sighed defeatedly. "This is the Hunger Games. Nothing is fair. But life isn't fair, is it, Phe?"

"Ray?" Phoebe asked as her brother stood up, shuffling out of the shelter. Fears and panic clouded her mind as she ran after her brother, his intention cleared. She screamed his name, begging him to come back. But he started running and soon, Phoebe lost him in the woods. Another lightning hit as a scream of agony filled the air. "RAY!"

Despite the muddy ground and the rainy weather, Phoebe walked on, toward the lighting, toward her brother. Why does it matter if the Capitol receives no tributes back? That's their problem, not hers. She rushed forward, her steps heavy and soon, she got into a clearing.

Her brother was on the ground, his clothes were burned but there was still a faint heartbeat. Choked sobs escaped from Phoebe's lips as she cradled his head in her lap, sitting on the muddy ground. "Ray, please don't leave me here."

"I… love," he coughed a few times. "You… "

With that final word, his chest stopped moving and the final cannon sounded. Phoebe glared at the sky with tear-stained face, shouting without a care in the world. "WHY DON'T YOU KILL ME TOO?"

But there was no answer. The head gamemaker, Heana's, voice filled the arena, her voice seemed to hold barely concealed anger and sympathy. But Phoebe doesn't want their sympathy, she wants her brother back. "The winner of the 126th Hunger Games! Phoebe Freling from District 9!"

She could briefly make out the hovercraft coming over to get her, but her body was still numb and she collapsed beside her brother, crying until there were no tears left. The Capitol fixed her up, dressed her up nicely, and walked her to the stage where she was presented with a trophy for being the victor.

Phoebe remained stone-faced through it all, smiling when they handed her the prize and the key to her new house in the Victor's Village. Some say that being a victor is like a dream come true but being a victor for her means losing the person she loves most. And if asked about the experience, she would prefer to die alongside her brother in the game. At least they would be together.

But life isn't fair, it never was.

The warm summer breeze blows through the open window. But Phoebe paid no mind to it, stirring her untouched coffee. It'd been roughly twenty-four years since that fateful day but her mind could never detach itself from the horror she had witnessed in less than a week.

The blood being shed, the betrayal, all fighting to go back home. She was always disgusted by those in the careers district, how they would volunteer because they wanted honor and glory. And they will get honor and glory, along with horrors and regret.

She had made great friends with her fellow victor, Pallas, and he had wholeheartedly agreed with her. He was only a year older than her and entered the arena at the age of fourteen. She'd remember seeing him, but she wasn't really his mentor. Another victor, Geo, an old woman who had passed a few years back, was the mentor for his year.

Phoebe often found herself sitting with Pallas, just talking, laughing, joking, and sometimes just soaking in the tranquil silence. The front door of her house was soon opened and Phoebe allowed a small trace of a smile to appear on her face as Pallas let himself in. He was carrying an apple pie in hand, knowing that it's her favorite.

"Welcome back to my humble home," Phoebe joked, waving her hand dramatically around her mostly empty kitchen. Ethan chuckled, his laugh as lovely as she'd remembered it. "Anything I can do for you?"

"I thought we could watch the Quarter Quell announcement together," Pallas shrugged. "It is the first Quarter Quell I'll ever see."

"Maybe not the last if you live long enough to become a granny," Phoebe pointed out. Pallas snorted as he laid down the apple pie on the kitchen counter. "Though who knows? May the odds be ever in your favor."

Ethan laughed this time. "The odds are never in our favor. Maybe in the Capitol's favor, but not ours. The Odds really like the Capitol, you know?"

"Some things never change," Phoebe agreed as she turned the TV on, sitting down at the island after cutting both of them a slice of apple pie. President Snow stood to the side, conversing with Head Gamemaker Harvey. Phoebe gave Pallas a sideway glance, gesturing at the TV. "What do you think will be the twist this year?"

"Something horrific," Pallas shrugged, stuffing his mouth with apple pie. Phoebe rolled her eyes before snatching the plate away, earning a huff from Pallas. "President Snow just got threatened, and she wasn't hesitant to send someone after the newsreader who was brave enough to speak out. If she is a fool, which she is most definitely not, she would stick to the norms. But I think she's triggered, there's going to be something different this year. Can I have my pie back?"

Phoebe sighed and took a bite of his pie, earning a gasp of protest from him. "That's mine! You have a perfectly good one in front of you!"

"Sharing is caring," Phoebe shrugged as she turned her attention to the flatscreen. There was something haunting about the crazy look in Snow's eyes, and Phoebe wasn't sure if she wanted to know what it was.

Malice DeCalisto

Victor of the 146th Games

Malice sat by the window, staring out at the mostly empty victor village around him. He played with the food on his plate, his mind stuck on the same thing it had been stuck on every day. Being a victor.

The loss he had felt, the family he had now forever lost.

Days spent in the arena had been the most horrible days in his life yet it was when he made his own family. He found a place where he belonged, for a few days. And then it was all ripped forcefully from him. The echoes of her screams still filled his mind, and the horrified look on her face seconds before her death.

The realization, then the acceptance.

Then death.

It was gory, it was something he wished he had bleach to wipe out. Even a mindwiper seemed like a better option.

And now here he was again, in front of the television waiting for the Capitol TV to come on. President Snow would be giving a speech regarding the quarter quell soon, and there was a feeling in his gut that he doesn't quite like.

At half past three, Malice turned on the tv, an uneasy feeling settling in his guts.

President Snow walked on with all poise and confidence, a stride in her steps. Her blonde hair was curled and she wore a long blood red gown, her gloves matching the color. She nodded to the peacekeeper beside the podium before stepping up, and looking directly into the camera.

Her eyes were like the deep ocean, the darkness coldness hidden within its beauty. "Good evening, citizens of Panem. I have gathered you all here today to announce this year's quarter quell."

President Snow paused, before taking out an envelope and making a show of pulling out the piece parchment within it. Malice found himself holding his breath as the action happened in slow motion.

There was a quick furrow of her eyebrow before President Snow cleared her throat, eyes boring into the camera. "On the 150th Games, to remind us that some relationships aren't forever and our country survived even the worst betrayal, the arena will be made of illusion."

The crowd went up into cheers, but all Malice felt was a deep sense of dread.

Illusions…

He knew what that meant, he knew what every trainer in the career's district was thinking. There would be no more "easy", the victor this year would be a hard-earned win. Hearts will be broken, and a broken soul will walk out of the arena witnessing the horror humans are capable of.

Sometimes Malice hopes to protect those kids from the world.

okay, last prologue and next will be the first set of intros

hold on to your horses, shit's getting real

~ kathy