Hey everyone, welcome to my SYOT! I'm Jayfish, and I used to be pretty active in this community several years ago, but took a long break from Fanfiction. Recently I decided I wanted to come back and write another SYOT, so here I am! Below is my first prologue chapter, which details life after winning the Hunger Games for the most recent Victor, and introduces some of the mentors for your tributes. If you want to submit, all submission info is on my profile page. Please only PM your submissions! I hope to see you soon, and I hope you enjoy the story.


You're watching Victor's Village, Panem's hottest Victor-centric reality program! Last episode, the most recent male and female Victors from every district battled to bring their tributes home from the Hunger Games. Jericho Baum of District Seven was the first Victor to lose his tribute, which means it's Penance Month in District Seven! Congratulations are in order for Amaryllis Spencer of District Two, for mentoring Panem's newest Victor, Vascula Phalanx! In this episode, we say goodbye to Amaryllis and welcome Vascula to the Victor's Village, where she'll stay until she can mentor a winning female tribute from District Two! Good luck to Vascula, and enjoy your time on… Victor's Village!


Vascula Phalanx, 18
District Two Female, Victor of the 147th Hunger Games

The door swung shut behind Amaryllis, and Vascula was left alone in her new home.

Not quite alone. She walked into the kitchen and to the counter, and peered into the unblinking black eye of the camera perched on a metal stalk at the center. "Hello," she said, tapping at the camera. A red light winked over the lens. "Are you filming?"

Well, there was no way to know. They won't show you episodes of Victor's Village while you live here, Amaryllis had said before she left. But trust me, they're filming. They're filming everything.

Vascula walked to the table in the center of the kitchen, pulled out a wooden chair, and sat down. The walls had been painted slate grey, and she chose one and stared at the paint. Run, said the animal in her brain. Train. Exercise, fight. Kill. Her hands were tense in her lap. She picked them up and laid them flat against the wood of the table. Relax, she told herself consciously. Fight, said the animal. Calm, Vascula told it.

There was a knock on the door. Then a voice. "Open up, District Two! Don't you dare sit in there and mope. You're on live goddamned TV, kid!"

She frowned. Then she slipped out of the chair and padded over to the front door and opened it as it shivered from another heavy knock. She had just enough time to register that the man in her doorway was tall and light-eyed before he took her around the neck and hurled her out of her own front door, into the street beyond.

Vascula scrambled to her feet, palms smarting where she'd driven them into the asphalt. The tall man stared at her from the threshold of her own house. In one hand he held a scythe, which he swung around his wrist. She could see it slicing at the air in silvery flashes of light. He was a salt-and-pepper man, almost at an age where he could be called gaunt instead of imposing. His eyes were bright. "You're a Victor," she said. "I remember your Games."

"Damn right you do." He stepped off her threshold and strolled up the path towards her, still swinging the scythe. She backed away, searching the ground for a weapon. Nothing. Just the manicured lawn of her Victor's Village mansion, and the asphalt path that led to the street where the other mansions stood.

"District Nine," she said. "I don't remember your name." She'd backed into her own picket fence. She slipped over onto the other side, shifting her weight back and forth between her feet. Swing, she thought, watching the scythe cut air. Swing it. Don't hesitate. Just swing.

"You little shit." He grinned. The fence stood in between them. It was like staring in at a caged animal, a mutt, maybe. "I'm famous."

He swung. She ducked under the blow and felt the scythe sing over her head. "No," she said, exploding upwards, grabbing both of his outstretched arms and dragging him down so that his stomach thudded into the fence. He tore away from her with a short startled laugh, and hopped over the fence.

"Look at you!" he said. "You are a tough cookie." The scythe blurred into an arc of light that flashed around his arm. "I can almost see how you beat my kill record. Real take no prisoners gal, huh?"

"Yeah," said Vascula, watching the scythe. "That's me."

He lunged for her again, scythe curving towards the soft flesh of her stomach. She dodged to the right. There was a short sharp pain in her side, and she resisted looking to see how bad it was. It'll have to wait, she thought. I'm not going to win this, she thought.

Vascula swiveled to face him. The tall man had one hand on his hip. With the other he brandished the scythe in her direction. The curved tip dripped blood. "District Two," he said. "Ten kills? That's abso-fuckin-lutely crazy."

"They thought so," said Vascula.

"I'll bet." He strolled forwards again. "You gotta understand, kid. I held that record for a long time. And you show up like that, blasting away, all gung ho, and you take my record away. What the hell, District Two?" His eyebrows furrowed. "Super uncool."

He rushed. She crouched to the ground and sprang into his belly, which she hoped still hurt from when she'd dragged it into the fence. They fell to the asphalt and she clawed at his face, mute, glaring. This isn't supposed to happen, she thought. This show is supposed to be about stupid drama. Not about killing. That's what the Games are for.

The shaft of the scythe jabbed at her injured side. She reared back, and then the curved blade was at her throat. She froze. Her fingertips were wet with his blood. Skin was buried under her fingernails.

He laughed. The blade at her neck wobbled. "Aw man," he said. "You fucked up my face, District Two." Stripes of red tore across his forehead and cheeks. His silver beard was spotted with blood. "I love it."

He sat up and pushed her aside. She got to her feet and glared at him as he stood. "Good show," he said. "The viewers are gonna eat it up." He winked. "The name's Abraham Savage. Welcome to the Victor's Village, District Two." He slung the scythe across his shoulders and walked away, whistling tunelessly. She watched him go, pressing one hand against the wound in her side. Her palm was wet with blood. Her eyes were wild.

Fight, said her animal brain. Kill.

This time she didn't argue.