Aldric Lesaunts, 46 years old, Rebel Leader

For the first time, they take off the burlap sack that covers my face, and I gasp in the musky air that comes about as a result of being treated like cargo. There isn't much to the room I'm thrown in. To an extent, I could call it home, considering that there isn't much to describe really, besides the slit of light that comes from a slit in the hole. It's barely a foot wide and half a foot tall, but the sunlight casts an awkward shadow into the room when it skates across my hand.

It's the only feature of note really. I have a toilet, standard issue, but no cover. Luckily it flushes, judging from the noises I've heard before the sack was pulled off. There are no mirrors, I guess I can't judge how terribly banged up I must look right now, but I can feel that my nose is something if not entirely messed up. I guess that's how they treat prisoners.

The only other place to have a seat beside the toilet in the room is a bed, held up by chains, and apparently is very rudimentary. I can tell at first sight that it's made of a very fragile metal. The name escapes me for now, but back home, we would use it for simple tasks. Yes, it's fragile and very very cheap. That's all I can say about it. The one aspect of comfort that I can see in this cell is a pillow, nestled in a section of the bed that is carved out for that single purpose-a pillow.

Seeing no other option I sit on the bed and try my damnedest to fall asleep. As I cradle my nose the smooth metallic ceiling above me begins to swirl into patterns. When one of them looks too much like a claw I scream and almost hit my head on the hard metal that is the rest of my bed. I can only laugh at my stupidity as I slowly lull myself to sleep.

Wysperia Clearance, 31 years old, Head Warden

The monitors behind are showing our prisoner, Aldric, as he sleeps aimlessly in bed. After supervision from my superior I suppose we are to release him, but for now, I cannot afford to spend all this time on our prisoner. "Wysperia!"

I turn, finding my assistant guardsman, holding his baton behind his back. "Corporal Admirus," I salute.

He returns my salute before walking up to me. "President Sleet wants to see you," he whispers in my ear. Judging from the look on his face, it's a critical matter, I'd be a fool not to report promptly.

"Prepare a security car for me then," I tell Admirus. He nods politely and moves to his squadron of peacekeepers, barking orders as a strong man usually does to his inferiors. I take a brief look at the supply of contraband Aldric was holding and raise my eyebrows at the odd list that he was found with. With a spare sheet of paper and a pen, I begin to take notes next to the awkwardly formed list

Nuclear codes: An extensive list that allows the prompt and immediate launching of all missiles. Further instructions on aiming the missiles are visible to the left, adjacent to said codes

Map of Panem: Self-explanatory, but more detailed than even the school principals are allowed to have

Flash Drive: To be scrutinized, appears to be 50 TB,

Glasses: Perscription, showing that the resident is a much richer person than the average

Overall, it's a small list, but the most dangerous item, the Nuclear Codes, is deadly when in the wrong hands, and the fact that we just caught a rebellion's leader-

"Wysperia!" the same voice shouts.

"I trust that my car is ready?" I ask.

"Why yes, it is," Admirus says gruffly. "Nothing would ever get past you, head warden."

"I don't intend to." With his hand beckoning into the sunlight of the mid-morning, I shove the evidence into a cloth bag and sling it over my shoulder.

Corrina Sleet, 68 years old, President

"Madame President, your appointment is arriving," my secretary tells me.

"Call the driver and let her in," I say. I can hear her sounds of affirmation before the call hangs up. I look over from my office to see the armored van, the one assigned to the prison keepers and shipped directly from District 6. I fold up the map of the arena for the quarter quell and stow it in the shelf behind me. I tidy up to the best of my ability but I am not the tidiest of a people so I'm shoving away a book once the light hazel doors open.

"Madame Sleet," the prison warden says respectfully.

"Do come in," I invite. "Pardon the mess, I'm not the tidiest of a person, but I hope the cleanliness of the room is appropriate for a warden-like you.

She takes a seat quietly and stares at the window behind me. Her hands lay folded in her lap as I stow away the last of my books. "What is it you wanted me here for?" she asks.

I put on a customary smile as I pull up one of my files that I have inconveniently stored away for a brief moment. "I have been told that the mission was a success and that you have Aldric in custody." Once I see her nod in approval I begin to continue. "I was also told a while ago that Mr. Lesaunts contained a particularly controversial load with him. Please tell me what is inside that bag, of which I presume you have the contraband within."

She nods, trembling slightly. Being in the most powerful position of all of Panem does have its perks and I'd say that seeing the different reactions from my citizens is one of my favorite aspects. When all the contents of her cloth bag are laid out she begins to tell me her notes. "Nuclear codes, it's an extensive list that shows the location of all 100 currently disabled Capitol Nukes. There are also 150 disabled District 13 Nuclear bombs with a further 60 sites reserved for 2 bombs each. Then there's a flash drive. I would not advise putting it into your computer, at least until the analysts make it here. His glasses indicate a richer background, but I'd say the most noteworthy of his materials would be his map of Panem."

I clear my desk of the other supplies and unfold the map. It's entirely well done but looks to be terribly aged. The Capitol and all 13 Districts are clearly marked on the map. There is a key on the map that indicates the sites of various housing zones, mayoral residences, and various zones that show the main paths of the District. Alongside the ones that you'd typically find on a map, there is also a code that designates all the weapon silos. "Thank you Ms. Clearance, I'll accompany you back to the prison. I have some words that need to be exchanged with our prisoner."

"I hope I was of service," she says politely.

"I just need you to prepare the execution room, I'm going to be testing out new public executions, and I want our prisoner to be the first to test it out."

Aldric Lesaunts, 46 years old, Rebel Leader

When I wake up from my deep slumber I find myself tied to a chair and gagged. A pair of dainty hands pulls down my gag as I finally look at my surroundings. It's a dilapidated conference room, probably still in the prison, but I can't find anything else. There are several desks and a monitor, things I'd expect for a conference room.

As soon as I look directly in front of me, I find myself staring at Madame President herself, Corrina Sleet. Absolutely resolute I make a gesture that shows I'm shutting up, but she cackles. "I know who you are, and as of now, whatever we may say in conversation will not be overheard. I made sure of it."

Slowly I relax, but still, make a gesture that I'll be shutting up. "I didn't expect much from you anyways. I'm sure that the two of us are on the same note, and that no much more needs to be said. But it's a damn terrible shame that you won't be making it back to District 13."

I raise an eyebrow in confusion, entirely resolute in not talking, and once again she laughs. "You were of great use to us. I can't believe that you of all people got captured, you were one of our best agents. But I suppose all good things must come to an end. And with every end, starts a new beginning. I'm sure that it will all go to plan."

My eyes widen as an iron maiden like device comes out of the ground and surrounds me. It's a very hollow case, to my surprise, but the heat already is sweltering. I begin to scream, and the sounds of machinery mean that this is my execution. I'm vaguely aware of lights turning on, machinery being put into place, and suddenly I'm catapulted into the sky with my coffin. I live through the heat but the fall is enough to kill me.

Jacob Calirosso, 34 years old, Head Gamemaker

"M-M-Madame President…" I stutter, following after her. She turns with a momentary caution but for the most part, keeps moving at a quick pace away from the execution room. She's let all of the game's staff watch our prisoner's execution. Judging by the velocity I was sure that he would have been launched close enough to District 13 to cause some damage, but seeing him fall backward made all of us recoil.

"What is it Mister Calirosso?" she says, turning sharply. I hail a cab for the two of us and she daintily slips in, easy enough for her rather petite five feet and half an inch frame.

"How many tributes are in this year's arena? It's a stupid question, but we usually reserve the building of the pedestals for the last few months of the Pre-Games." I begin to explain just why we need to know how many pedestals there are going to be and continue to do so even as we pull up to the main studios.

"Why Mr. Calrisso, I would have thought an intellectual such as yourself would have been educated as to our tribute count, especially in light of recent events," she says sarcastically. We get down from the admittedly well-made cab and step into the studios where President Sleet makes her announcements.

"W-Why yes Madame President," I stutter. "But are there going to be more tributes than the standard 24? It is a quarter quell after all."

"Mr. Calrisso, in light of recent events, we are changing the standards," President Sleet says mysteriously. "I do not have to hide things from you, and the Quell does not change the active 12 Districts. Regardless, this year, we will start the new standard with this year. Recall, thirteen Districts, 2 tributes, making for a total of 26 tributes this year. Understood?"

Blinking rapidly I manage to put together my eloquent response. "Y-y-yeah, sure...with that it's sure to be a blast."

"Do not forget about the precision of language and I'm sure that we will now mutually understand each other, my dear friend."

"Yes, Madame President."

Hey Guys, Hopps here

After so long waiting, my SYOT is finally here. I hope you guys rather enjoyed the taste of the prologue, and that this world ienoughht to lure you in. We may not see enough right now, but hopefully if I get submissions we'll see the world of Panem entirely expanded. Granted this is still a new thing so mistakes aren't exactly going to be nonexistent, so if I misportray your characters let me know and I'll fix them. as for creative liberties, I'll try not to emply them too much if I am without permission. I'm not sure when this is going to be updated but I'll be sure to get at least the reapings done promptly so that if heavens forbid that I cannot continue this fic, I can provide a summary of the loose concepts of the games.

The form is both on my profile and at this link, there are also some good SYOT's on there that I suggest you submit to.

I hope that was enough for you all, and happy submitting, and happy reading

Hopping out

Hopps