Trailing Blood, Chapter One
A/N: So, what's up? I'm baaaaaack! And welcome to the 175th Annual Hunger Games! Yea, I know that my last story was postponed, but I have returned.
Now, it you remember the 175th Hunger Games, as some of you do, you might think this is a re-posted story. It isn't. I'm accepting new tributes, because I lost most of my old tributes. They're buried under too many messages.
But please, if you could, visit my profile for rules about submitting tributes, and a form. All forms must be PMed to me ASAP.
Every chapter needs story content. So I present to you, the prologue of these Games.
"Your newly elected President of Panem, President Caduceus Lysander!"
The words kept echoing through Lysander's mind. Over and over. It was the greatest achievement he'd ever come up with. His parents would be proud. If they were still alive.
Why had he become President? There was nothing left for him to do. And it just sounded cool and all. He looked up to Empress Paylor as a kid, and once remembered saying in front of his first grade class, "When I grow up, I want to be the President!"
Of course, half the people said they wanted to be President.
But it was a rather relatively easy campaign to run. Lysander only had one opponent for the position. After someone found out that his opponent was a severe alcoholic, almost everyone supported him. He was the only really good choice.
The only reason he had one opponent was because everyone thought this year was cursed. The Games three years before had been the absolute worst, and almost everyone in the Capitol remembered the 150th Games. The tributes in the 172nd Games had deliberately committed suicide. All eight members of the Career pack, the final eight, all killed themselves at the same time. The tributes must have been friends, or something. There was no victor. The President of then, Calamity, left office and was never seen again.
The next two years were controlled by Peacekeeping force, as the Peacekeepers tried to stamp out any thoughts of rebellion. the whole country was under military rule. They waited for the next Quell to elect a new President.
All this crossed Lysander's mind as he straightened his tie for the strategy meeting. The Head Gamemaker requested that he be there, to hear whatever things they cooked up there.
Lysander worried that the Gamemakers had something especially brutal, then, planned for this year's tributes, whoever they might be. As much as he liked watching the Games as a kid, he never liked the Quells. They were the worst. He hated the brutal forms of torture used by the Gamemakers.
The door to his dressing room opened a crack, and a small kid entered. The kid, who Lysander nicknamed Bo, was his personal servant, chosen by him. Bo was fast, had a memory like a super-computer, and very smart. Always kept Lysander on time. Bo bowed in front of Lysander, then nodded.
Lysander nodded back, not sure exactly what the little kid was trying to tell him. Bo couldn't talk, he was an Avox. Seeing Lysander's confused face, Bo picked up a book from the counter.
It was his day planner. And at exactly 12:00, he had to go to the strategy meeting.
Ohhhhhhh, Lysander thought. He walked out of the room, thanking Bo as he went. Lysander fumbled through his suit coat pocket, finally finding his key ring. He looked through his keys, finding the one that looked like a square box. On the wall, right next to a painting of the Capitol at sunset, he gently tapped the box against the wall.
Doors slid open, completely silent, completely secret. No way to detect them. It was an elevator, heading straight to the Gamemaker's room. Lysander stepped in, and the doors immediately snapped shut.
The elevator jerked downward such that made Lysander sick in the stomach, but eventually smoothed out. This thing went hundreds of feet below ground. Soft music played, and Lysander quickly changed it with a press of a button.
Minutes later, he emerged into the Gamemaker meeting room and control center. Assistants bustled about, a couple of them stopped in front of him and said, "Good morning, sir," before moving away to carry out whatever task they were going to do.
Lysander found the meeting room okay, and walked straight in to see 12 figures, all clothed in deep violet robes. Lysander was late, just by a little bit. They had already started. The head Gamemaker, who was a friend of Lysanders, was pointing to the main hologram at the center of the table. It showed a big green looking marble, and a plane.
"Good morning, Monty," Lysander said before taking a seat at the head of the table. "What brings me here?"
Monty, the Head Gamemaker, replied, "Well, what you see now is the arena, basically. This one has been in the process of making it since the 100th Hunger Games. I felt it about time to use. In light of recent events."
"Now, on stage eight, section four, we have this happening," Monty held up his omni-pen, and moved it towards the hologram until it touched the plane. Then, he dragged the pen towards the marble, and the plane followed his pen, until finally hitting the marble. The hologram shuddered a bit, and there was explosion noises from the computer.
"Of course, we don't plan to kill the tributes like that," Monty finished.
There were some nods of understanding, a couple of comments, then it was silent again.
"And Lysander, I think I should mention this, but we've, ah, modified the Quarter Quell a bit," Monty waved his hand over to a small box, containing note cards in it. They were all old and yellowed, except for one card, that was fresh and new. "To calm down the Districts, I think we're in time for a more bloodier Hunger Games than it should be." Monty smiled, a smile that all of a sudden seemed really creepy to Lysander...
Go to my profile for the twist, and submission rules. I will also have a tribute list there, so keep checking it!
'Till District One,