Moriah Jackson, 28

Assistant Head Gamemaker

Moriah Jackson was not a dumb woman.

She was well aware of the fact that her husband was cheating on her. She was in tune with the idea that her family has slowly started to distance themselves from her after the failure of the last Hunger Games. She was also not surprised to know that she was officially on the President's shit list solely for her following orders.

She'd be lucky if she could get by on the skin of her teeth.

The nation was rightfully upset. The 100th Hunger Games, the Quell to end all quells, was an utter disaster. No more than a few hours had the tributes gotten into the arena, it started to malfunction, and in the middle of the night, it exploded. One tribute had survived the blast, and that is how they determined the winner.

"We're dead, aren't we?" asks Palmer Dennings, the Head Gamemaker for the fourth Quell. "He's going to come in here and destroy every single person in this room. And there isn't a thing we can do about it."

Moriah wanted to scream. She had told Palmer multiple times that the hydronic system that pumped water into the arena was backing up. She had told him numerous times, but as he typically did, Palmer ignored her. "Women are to be seen in this workplace," he would always say as he had a conversation with her breast.

"If we are, it's your fault," Moriah says. A shiver falls down her spine as she hears the door to the control room open. Her greatest fear that the President is in the room is confirmed when his angry roar fills the room.

Moriah had always admired President Ashby. He was far from a kind man, but he was fairer than the leaders they had in the past. That, and he was easy on the eyes. Moriah was a sucker for green eyes.

"What the FUCK happened in there?!" screams the President.

Moriah turns around and sighs, staring at the man who is currently running around the control room, knocking things over. Even as he acts like a child, he's still gorgeous. Her eyes meet the President's, and she instantly regretted she resisted the urge to turn around.

He storms over to her, leaving fire and fury in his wake with every machine he pushes over before he plants himself right in front of Moriah. "You will fix this!" he screams at her. "You need to fix this!"

Moriah gulps as the strong man stands in front of her. His chiseled jawline and muscular build give her butterflies even in the face of imminent danger. She wondered what life would have been like had she married a man like him and not her husband.

Perry was a good man when Moriah met him, he had all the charm and workings to be a star in the Capitol, but once Moriah said I do the man let himself go, and quickly became a slob of who he once was. Where Perry used to frequent, the country club and other elite organizations were now instead stripped clubs and hole in the wall bars across town. Moriah couldn't help but feel cheated. Everything she was promised was not given to her, and now she was trapped in a loveless marriage with a cheating scumbag.

"MS. JACKSON!" screams the President.

Moriah bows her head in embarrassment as she realized she had drifted off in front of the President. "Apologies, sir," she says, adjusting her gaze to meet his heavenly green eyes. "Can you repeat yourself? I'm afraid this whole ordeal has made me a bit distraught."

A bit distraught? Moriah wanted to scoff. Who talks like that anymore? But that's what you do when you're faced with the most powerful man in the world. You act different, you talk differently, and you pray to God that he doesn't kill you right there on the spot.

"I asked you where your superior was!" the President says through gritted teeth.

A whimper comes from under the central control desk, and Moriah almost laughs as she points to the machine. The President storms over to the whimpering mess that is Palmer and slams him up against the computers. "Am I joke to you, Palmer?!" he asks, punching him in the mouth. "Is this some sort of a game to you?! This was supposed to be the best Hunger Games in the country's history! One hundred years of Hunger Games, all were celebrating into one great long games!"

Moriah couldn't help but feel attracted as the man took control of the room. It reminded her of Perry and his former self before she had his lousy wedding ring on her finger.

Idiot, she thinks to herself. You shouldn't be attracted to crazy.

Oh, but she was.

"You're going to pay for embarrassing not only the Capitol but me Palmer!" screams the President as Palmer pathetically whimpers. "You're going to be my personal Avox," he says, letting go of the gruff of his shirt and snapping his fingers. "Yes, you won't be the Head Gamemaker anymore. Ms. Jackson," he calls on Moriah, who snaps back into reality after wondering how many pull-ups the President can do. "You'll be Head Gamemaker for next year."

No, Moriah Jackson was not a dumb woman.

She was a terrified one.

If she failed the President, surely becoming an avox would be the least of her worries. President Ashby has always had a flash for the dramatics. His first Hunger Games as President will forever be burned into her memory as he insisted on going into the arena and greeting the Victor himself upon the last kill.

If Moriah was going to do this, she had to think bigger and better than anything the Capitol has ever seen.

Project Rebirth. She shook her head as soon as the thought entered. She shouldn't be so ambitious her first time as Head Gamemaker, but as Palmer gets led out by Peacekeepers screaming like the giant sack of baby that he is, Moriah can't help but wonder if it's flashy enough.

"Tell me what you have in mind," says the President. His demeanor was calmer as he motions the other Gamemakers out of the room and sits in a stool directly across from Moriah. "You surely have some sort of idea. I see it on your face. You Gamemakers are an ambitious bunch, after all."

"This game sucked," says Moriah bluntly. "I warned him about the system backing up, and I'm going to warn you that there can be complications with what I'm about to suggest, but if you're okay with that, we can move forward."

The President raises his eyebrows at the girl in the tight black dress with a white lab coat. He nods his head as if he is weighing the pros and cons of what she's asking him and then shrugs. "Let's hear, Ms. Jackson."

Moriah stands up and walks over to the main computer. There's a crack going across the center screen that makes her frown as she touches the components to open up the folders for Project Rebirth.

"Do you remember two years ago, when the District 2 Tribute Annalee Opal made it to the final two and lost?" Moriah asked the President.

Nobody could forget Annalee Opal. Not only was she beautiful, but she had a severe knack for killing. Moriah often couldn't stomach the events of the games, but even as the days went on, even she couldn't stop wishing for an Annalee victory.

"Of course I do," says the President. "The bimbo from District 10 killed her at the last minute."

"Well, what if I told you there was a way to correct the past?" Moriah takes a deep breath as she brings up the blueprints for Project Rebirth.

The project started as a late-night drunken fantasy from Moriah herself after a particularly bad fight with Perry. She was fueled by the anger of the people for the loss of Annalee Opal and wanted a way to fix it.

A little known fact of the Capitol is that every tribute's brain is kept preserved in the tribute archives located in the President's house. Even the ones severely damaged are fixed, and consciousness of the tribute is forever locked in the brain, and with 100 years of tributes, there's an endless amount to choose from.

Moriah had a dream. She wanted to bring Project Rebirth into reality. Given this opportunity, every tribute in the archive could win a Hunger Games.

"Interesting," the President says, looking over her shoulder at the work on the computer. "I think that this will be a fun project. I expect you to comb through past tributes and pick the best of the best?"

"What if we took it one step further?" she asks him.

Moriah bites her lip as she turns around to face the President. He doesn't take a step back, and she leans her body onto the computer screen for support.

"Go on, Ms. Jackson,"

"Let's say we bring these tributes back, who's to say they still won't suck if they're from the lower Districts?" Moriah asks breathlessly as the man gazes into her eyes. "If we brought them back as infants and gave them training for eighteen years before the Hunger Games. Do you want explosive? For eighteen years, put those kids into a reality show. Let the Capitol fall in love with them. Then on their birthday, they enter the bloodbath."

The President raises his eyebrows. "No Hunger Games for eighteen years?" he ponders as he leans in closer to Moriah. He places a soft kiss on her lips, and she feels her knees buckle. "What if we do what you're suggesting, and continue the games, and surprise the people with the trained tributes after they've become invested in the show? Of course, we will have another person working on the main games, and your team will work on...Project Rebirth you called it?"

"I can do that," she says with shortness of breath. Moriah turns back to the computer, and she feels the President's hands go on her waist. She bites her lip as she pulls up the last screen and shows her plan. "These victors will serve as mentors for these eighteen years. Each will get six babies, with help of course, and they will train them to be the best in combat, and leadership, and other game qualities."

The President smiles as he reads over the names of the chosen Victors. Moriah wishes that he would place his lips on hers again, and when the President is done reading, he laughs. "Very well, Ms. Jackson, you can have your project."

He kisses her passionately on the lips, and Moriah's knees go out as she wraps her arms around his neck. She couldn't believe this was happening, but maybe luck was turning around for her after all.

Moriah was not a dumb woman, nor was she a terrified woman.

She was a woman at the top of her game.

Hey guys! It's me! Caleb!

I tried writing in the third person. Why the hell not, right? This is an all-star game, and if you would like to submit, you can do so through my google form! (I tried doing this with a form through PM, but it's drastically unorganized for me. Especially when people message me with those again.)

I want out of the box personalities! Your craziest people, your biggest villains, your sweetest SMOL beans, and not only are you submitting their old forms but in a way, you're going to redesign them as a career.

That's right; EVERY TRIBUTE WILL BE TRAINED. Think Ghost of our Past, but revamped and hopefully with a more intricate writing style.

I probably won't touch this story until I finish Blood Grants, but I wanted to give you guys time to get some characters picked out.


Submission link: (also on my profile) forms .gle /m VALXagL sxeiox3C7

Hope to hear from you soon,