A/N: Yo, writer in the making!

Merry Christmas and Happy Near Year when it comes...Here's hoping you guys have time to submit to this.

Tyler's back with a sequel! If you have free time, be sure to check out "Calamity" on my profile to get further information pertaining to the prologues and the state of my universe. "Calamity" and "Camelot" are basically stepping stones into this SYOT. All the information pertaining to this SYOT will be found on my profile as well.

With all that being said and done...BamItsTyler Studios is pleased to present to you...

Metamorphosis: The 100th Hunger Games.

Prologue I: Wetwork

[REDACTED], 27,
[REDACTED]

Helena, District 1,
October 31st, 2161 (98th HG)

A Peacekeeper, Master Sergeant Garrick, tips his visored helmet as we cross paths. He was an older Peacekeeper, a reenlisted member judging by his paper white mustache and wrinkling features. We cross paths frequently, as he's stationed at One's Hall of Justice. At any other given time, his warm persona would be a welcomed sight…right now however proves the opposite. As leave the elevator I come face to face with the PK, forced to engage to keep up appearances.

"Good afternoon, young lady!" He greets, flashing me a kind smile. His smile falters, however, as he regards my clothing – a blouson, leggings and sturdy, knee-high boots.

"If you don't mind me saying, you look like an academy instructor with that getup."

"Master Sergeant Garrick!" I trill, ignoring the question altogether. I could taste the faux affection as the words rolled off my lips. "What brings you to the Shangri-La?"

"Ohh just warning some disgruntled hooligans against flying a distasteful banner along the parade route," he replies. "I didn't know you lived here…?"

"Oh yes…this condominium is like a slice of home. I couldn't pass up the opportunity." I chirp, risking a quick glance at my communicuff. T-minus six minutes…

"I was a Capitol Guardsman once upon a time…Back in the HG Seventies, during the War. Now that you say that I can see what you're saying, they always say District One is the mini Capitol, and this place screams it." he replies.

"I bet you're glad the liaison office is closed early today, you wouldn't want to miss the big event, hm? It's not every day the President of Panem visits town y'know."

"Mhm," I hum, stifling my annoyance. "With Governor Westenfluss being who she is and a victor on top of it, well, we assumed that no tangible office work would get done today…or tomorrow, or the day after that."

"Yup, I don't know how she does it…being a victor and the leader of a district. The people sure do love her though. Keeps the District unified, unlike others..."

"Uh huh…" I mumble, swaying on the balls of my feet.

"Well, I'll let you go settle down then." He finishes, peering down at my 'luggage'. "Say…Miss, would you like help with those bags? A young lady like you shouldn't be hauling-"

I vigorously wave him off. "No, no, no, that won't be necessary! I live right at 1007 over there, I'll be just fine."

"Well alright miss...you have yourself a restful evening. Maybe I'll see you at the Justice Hall again." with a final nod and his hands crossed behind his back, he makes way down the hall towards another group of conversing passerbys.

With t-minus four minutes on the clock, I quickly zip up the stairs to the mostly vacant eleventh floor, forcing my way into the designated apartment and shutting the door behind me.

…

As I enter the apartment, my associate drops his binoculars to his side, looking less than pleased as he rolls his eyes while tutting at me playfully. "Hmph, there you are. I almost started to think you were bailing out on us."

"I was preoccupied." I reply flatly, "My clock says t-minus three minutes. What's the status on our friends?"

"In position and ready to go." He replies, sliding open the balcony door. The joyous chatter of the spectators below could be heard as a clear as day.

"Good." I reply, placing my luggage onto the table and flicking its tabs upward to reveal the contents of my luggage. Just like back in basic, I extend the barrel, place it into the stock and use the allan key to fasten it in place. Next is the magazine – twenty rounds just to be safe – the scope and a forward grip. Panem knows it'll be needed for the recoil. As I finish cocking the bolt, my associate and I watch as the motorcycle escort comes into view. I can't help feel confused as to why the minds in higher places waited so long to put this into action. Then again I suppose there's only so much change the higher minds could tolerate. Giving the districts some more breathing room, sure...but ending the Hunger Games?! Ha.

Though my career is short, I've deciphered my fair share of Agency dossiers...well, dossiers that weren't marred with black ink. With false-flags, forgery and foul-play dating back to Panem's inception...the Agency has engaged in dozens of wetwork ops.

This one however was the most lucrative yet. So many ramifications...so many paths.

"Ready?" he asks, watching as I slip on a pair of disposable gloves and plop buds into my ears.

"As I'll ever be..." I reply, moving onto the balcony as the cheering reaches fever pitch. Looking at it all now, a promenade-like highway with multiple buildings with various heights… buildings in which no one would pay ample attention to due to the large amount of onlookers on their balconies, I've decided this op'll be easier than shooting a bunch of groosling in a pen. I take position, bracing against the railing for leverage. Peering into the scope, I watch as the people of the hour approach the Prospect Avenue Bridge. The target and his wife dressed in an off-white dress wave to the crowds on either side of the promenade. V66 is situated in the back of the cabin. The higher ups say the wife and 66 are both acceptable collateral. It was an open car, black with flags draped on the hood, sparkling hubcaps and whitewalls, fancy ivory interior…the mess will look poignant on camera.

"Standby..."

The limousine slows down enough for me to line up my sights with the man in question, who moves to stand up. My finger solidifies against the trigger, itching to be pulled back.

I'm clapped on the back repeatedly. "We're green, we're green!"

Pivoting from the right to the left, I empty my magazine haphazardly into to the limousine and its occupants. The red mist that erupts from its passengers, alongside the cacophony of horrified screams is enough to tell me the job is done. I watch as the car slams into a median, the sickening crunch of the front fender imploding resonating through the promenade as the screams of shock reach fever pitch.

"Let's move!"

He doesn't need to tell me twice. I'm quick to disassemble the rifle in question, tossing the receiver over the balcony. As we tumble into the hallway and I finish chucking the remaining evidence down the garbage chute, the audible whine of a plasma weapon being drawn could be heard.

"Hold it right there, or Panem help me I will vape you!"

Master Sergeant Garrick blocks our path, his sidearm drawn. The shock and confusion is evident on his face as the handgun shuffles from me to my associate. "Freeze, put your hands in the air!"

I put on my Justice Building persona, placing my hands to my chest as I begin to slowly move towards the old Peacekeeper. "Sergeant Garrick..."

Garrick shakes his head with vigor. "I don't want to hear it, I saw what I saw. Put your hands in the air, NOW!"

My associate is quick to raise his hands into the air, providing ample cover as I withdraw my sidearm and place two shots into Master Sergeant Garrick's chest. As the two violet bolts of plasma pierce him, he lets out a pained cry and doubles backward before falling hard onto the floor.

My associate's eyes shift from the body to my smoking gun. I holster my weapon, cursing under my breath as I reclaim my bearings. I begin to recall the first rule of the trade - absolutely no witnesses...even if they are boys in white. As the whole floor fills with muffled screams and exclamations of confusion, it takes a slug to the shoulder to get my male companion to focus.

"Come on, time is of the essence!"

He nods once, joining me as we sprint towards the exit and into the stairwell. Once we glide the floors one by one, reach the lobby, avoid the squads of Peacekeepers who storm the condominium and exit the building, we do what many agents of the Panem Intelligence Agency do...we fade into the mass of panicking citizens, becoming your teachers, clerks and neighbors once more, vigilanti semper, awaiting the order to perform our services once more.