A/N: I am so stoked two write my very own hunger games fan fiction! I have spent a lot of time reading other hunger games fics, primarily Tears of Blood and A Grimm set of Games, which have inspired me to write my very own fic. I have only dabbled in fan fiction writing, but have written many stories of my own, but only seen to my own eyes. My only previous complete fiction is The Horror of Castle Bleck, which got over 100 reviews for my first ever story! I am really hoping that this can take off, so please read and submit. It would literally mean the WORLD to me. But all of this talking it taxing on your hungry minds, so without further ado here is, Doomfall: The 49thAnnual Hunger Games

Dolora Prewitt stormed down the hall in a blinding fury. Her piercing violet eyes scanned the small corridor for any signs of obstruction, swiftly calculating the most logical route around the throng of disheveled technicians that swarmed the building. Dolora, not anticipating a young man with a sleep-deprived look stepping into her path, grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him into the wall. Crashing into the wall, the papers he had been holding with a lackadaisical grip flew from his hands and floated to the floor in a swirling mess. About to curse the one who had shoved him aside so rudely, he noticed the bouncing purple hair that swayed back and forth behind the woman's head.

"Good morning Miss Prewitt," he mumbled to himself.

Dolora swept into the Head Gamemaker's office, throwing the door open with an unprecedented vehemence for a woman of her petite frame. The man at the desk, busy with a mountain of paperwork, slowly swiveled in his chair at the sound of her staccato heels. He rubbed the bridge of his nose after removing the seemingly ancient bifocals that adorned his wizened face.

"What is the meaning of this?" Dolora questioned with a shriek.

"Whatever is the matter Miss Prewitt?" the elder man half-heartedly asked.

"It is just under two days before the reaping and Archibald Greaves has just informed me that we are still awaiting documentation of the arena? The Arena isn't documented?" Her voice was reaching a shout.

Before the old man could muster a response she added with a vitriolic flare, "Tell me Zios, do you expect the tributes to fight to the death in my backyard?"

Zios, his patience thinning, cast a look at his subordinate that mixed condescendence with sincerity.

"Miss Prewitt, as Head Gamemaker, it is my first and foremost responsibility to ensure that we have a game. Now, with this esoteric information in hand," he placed a sarcastic emphasis on the word esoteric, "Do you honestly expect me to not have a stunning arena in place for one of the most riveting Hunger Games in history? Do I appear to be a doltish child to you? You're accusations are most disconcerting to my opinion of your erudition. Now, I am rather busy with determining the precise placement of a genetically enhanced mutt that was specially made for this year's game."

He turned back to his desk and as Dolora opened her mouth to offer a rebuttal, Zios silenced her with a wave of his withered hand.

"Good day Miss Prewitt," he dully advised.

Turning on her heels in disgust with Zios' administration Dolora wheeled herself back out into the hallway, smashing into a rather plump man with delicate strands of mossy green hair whose complexion was a rather sickly green. His face was delicately tattooed with silver strands of lace and his eye lashes were plumped out and dyed an extravagant shade of chartreuse.

"Dolora!" The plump man squealed like an obnoxious piglet.

"Good morning Korran," Dolora replied with the same dull tone of superiority that Zios had blessed her with.

"You sound enthused to be here, liven up, the games are soon and I'm dying to watch the reapings," Korran placed a sickening but enthralled emphasis on the word dying.

"Zios is just so secretive with his methods; I wish he would just let us all know what he's thinking throughout all of this planning. I have some ideas that I would just kill for him to listen to!"

"Well, there will be enough killing go around soon Dolora," Korran assured her soothingly.

Dolora and Korran walked and talked together until they reached the conference room a few doors down. With an exasperated sigh, Dolora heaved open the door and sauntered over to her seat, next to a striking woman with a darker complexion and a shiny wave of jet black hair. The man to her right possessed tattoos all up and down his arms, representing his favorite moments from hunger games history.

It was sickening to Dolora.

In truth, Dolora Prewitt despised every aspect of the Hunger Games. It's not that she hated the capitol, she just didn't enjoy the idea of twenty four helpless teenagers killing one another in order to reclaim the lives that were mercilessly whisked out from underneath them. However, the job paid the bills, it paid them handsomely. Dolora held a position that was envied by many people in the capitol.

She used to work in the design department of the capitol, tattooing various citizens and capitol workers for a living. Her husband was the one who worked for the capitol, but he finally gave in to his longtime sickness that had been plaguing him. Thestus Prewitt was a delicate man, regal in his posture and fragile in his being. His death did not affect Dolora in the sense that would affect most widows. She marched into the games department and declared to work his job, even if it meant doing something she loathed to do.

Dolora emerged from her memories as a man dressed in all white entered the room. His raiment a blinding white, Archibald Greaves was adorned in a white suit, vest, tie, slacks, shoes, moustache, beard, eyebrows, hair, pocket watch and cane. Carefully depositing himself in the seat next to the head of the table, Greaves removed a white lace handkerchief and polished the frames of his spectacles, complete with white trimming. With a resonant cough and a shift of his posture, Greaves bowed his head in obeisance as Zios Dragoon entered the room.

The head Gamemaker, Zios was an unforgiving and chilling man. He kept all of the plans to himself, in fear that his lackeys would credit them as their own and steal his macabre show. Zios' father was the head Gamemaker before him, and his grandfather before that. The Dragoon family kept a prominent and arcane name in the capitol.

Slamming a stack of papers on the table in a manner uncouth to his taciturn nature, Zios scanned the room with piercing gray eyes. Performing a dull tap on the top of the papers, Zios cleared his throat before addressing his fellow Gamemakers.

"Here, are the plans for the arena of this year's Hunger Games," Zios breathed with a haughty air.

He eyed Dolora with an acidic glare and spoke again, "They were…requested."

The aforementioned beautiful woman sitting next to Dolora piped up, but her voice came out like a fisherman testing the ice on a frozen bay.

"Thank you, sir," she almost inaudibly said.

"Yes, Meta here was wondering when would be able to reach a final decision on the layout for the years games, and well we all know you love keeping your thoughts from us so we began to grow a bit…restless so to speak. But here they are, and we can come to a consensus at last," Greaves circumnavigated the thought of most of the gamemakers.

"I'm so glad," was Zios' only reply.

They began hashing out the fine details of the podiums, to the gong, to the cannons and most importantly, the geographical features. Most of them believed that Zios' had conceptualized the most breathtaking and yet equally challenging arena ever.

Taking a vote as whether to deny or approve Zios' plans, all but one hand voted in favor.

"Dolora dear, what's wrong with the arena?" Greaves questioned while Zios massaged his temples in frustration.

Before she could answer, Zios slammed his curled fist on the table. It shocked the gamemakers and Meta let out a frightened squeal.

"It's perfect!" Zios assuredly proclaimed.

"There is a flaw," Dolora spoke with certainty.

"Enlighten me," Zios instructed.

"Do you remember the Juggernaut Zios?" Dolora questioned.

A sly smile crept upon his face and a wicked gleam danced in his shrinking pupils.

"A raise for the beautiful and resourceful Miss Dolora Prewitt," Zios lathered his encomium with praise.

Chiding herself for it on the inside, Dolora thought of her young son, Matthew. He needs me, she thought. Matthew had contracted the same sickness as his late father, and Dolora needed to secure enough money to make sure there was a cure. Wishing deep down she had never spoke, Dolora begged for forgiveness in her mind.

This was sure to be the most horrifying Hunger Games yet.

The Arena has been voted through and Zios will implement some horrifyingly vague monstrosity known as The Juggernaut. However, the games cannot commence without tributes, so here are the forms! Please PM me directly with all of the below information and if more than one tribute comes in for the same slot, then I will executively decide. Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor!

Form for Submitting Your Own Tribute, PM Exactly as follows.







Eye Color:

Hair Color:


Favorite Weapon (optional, depending on the type of person):

Family Members:


Occupation (if any):

Relationship Status:

Family Status(poor, middle class, upper):

Are Any Family Members Past Victors? If so whom:


Friends (if any, if there are some, limit them to about a close knit group of two or three good friends):

That's all! I know it's a lot but I want these tributes to be specifically tailored to what you want them to be, so please submit! It would really be awesome! If there is any additional information you wish for me to know about your tribute, then please include it with the form but keep it brief.

And please check my profile to make sure the slot you want for you tribute is not already taken! I will update those as frequently as possible so please pay attention to those windows!

Thank You!