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Original characters created by me, e.g. Celia Torrent, are owned by me and are not to be used in works by any other author. All original settings created by me fall under the same rule. Original content from my website and profile, e.g. TribuTrack® or my Submission Form, are not to be copied or replicated in any way. Failure to comply with these rules will see a plagiarism complaint filed against you.

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Iron Man.

1.

Starting Anew.

"I want you to take all the necessary precautions Celia. We cannot have a repeat of what happened last year. District 12 winning the Games was embarrassing enough, but winning the Games by accident? It was outrageous," President Snow sat, agitated, in a large leather chair in his Private Office. The white rose buttoned to his jacket was beginning to wilt. About time, it had been on his collar for weeks. Celia Torrent shifted under his gaze, clearly nervous about the task before her. She had been assigned the occupation of Head Gamemaker two days previously, the first female to land the prestigious position.

Her predecessor, like many before, had met his end shortly after his Games had finished. The President had gambled on the advice of his staff, and approved Celia's promotion in the hope a woman may do a better job of running the Games. Certainly, she would be hard pushed to do worse than the man she was replacing. Not only had he designed a flawed arena, he had allowed those flaws to be exploited. The Capitol could not be seen to have any weaknesses.

"I can assure you it will not happen this year sir. The winner will be he or she who deals the killing blow. No accidents," she told her leader, hoping that what she said was true.

"Good," the President replied in a cool tone, "An interesting design you have submitted for this years arena. Costly, and it could prove difficult to complete in time, especially this close to the Reapings. But I believe the entertainment value that lies in such a unique area will soon have the citizens of Panem forgetting the disaster of last years Quarter Quell."

"I agree sir. Action should be easy to come by, but creativity will also come into play," Celia's eyes lit up at the slight praise. She was so young, naïve, and full of ambition. Being Head Gamemaker was no easy task. No need for President Snow to remind her; she would find out soon enough.

"Let us hope that this years Games are a success," President Snow smiled, but it did not disguise the tone of warning in his voice, "Now go and begin preparations Celia, I do not wish to take up more of your time."

"Thank you sir. I will begin immediately," she assured him. Again, the smile on Snow's face did not conceal the order to leave.

Haymitch Abernathy sat at the dining table of his house in Victors Village, District 12. The 51st Annual Hunger Games. Almost a year after the second Quarter Quell. Almost a year since Haymitch himself was the Victor. Not that he felt like much of a winner. Two weeks after the Games, the Capitol had killed his girlfriend. His mother too, and his younger brother. Winning the Games hadn't given him much cause for celebration. Now he would have to mentor this years tributes.

Not that he would be much use as a mentor. What was he going to tell the dirty-faced, impoverished, sad children presented to him on Reaping Day? Don't use the Arena to your advantage. Don't anger the Capitol or your family will be killed. Do that and you should be fine, until one of the careers kill you. That wasn't very encouraging advice, and Haymitch knew it. Truthfully, Haymitch couldn't remember half of what he did in the Arena. Most of his time was spent walking, trying to find the end. He did eventually find the end, and it eventually led to his victory.

Victory had come at a huge cost though. He'd lost his family, his girlfriend. Even a year later he still mourned the loss of his ally in the arena, Maysilee Donner. Recently he had started turning to alcohol. The poison his father used to drink when he came home from work each night, tired and covered in coal dust. Haymitch had avoided it all his life, but now he saw little point. His family was dead and because he was a victor he didn't have to work. Most of his time was spent trying to block out memories of the events that took place inside the arena. When he realised he couldn't block them out, he started drowning them in liquor instead.

Effie Trinket sat at her dresser powdering her nose. It was her first year as an escort; she had been looking forward to it. Well, until they had assigned her to District 12, the poorest District in all of Panem. Their spirits might be riding high after winning the second Quarter Quell, but Effie was certain they wouldn't win two years in a row. Anyways, she would much rather have been assigned to District 1. The place where all of the Capitol's clothes were made.

She could imagine herself, dressed in the latest trends, fresh from the factories. Strolling up to the Justice Building, glancing out at the entire district's beautiful, willing faces. She had visualized reaching her hand into the reaping bowl and barely uttering the name on the card she had selected before a voice rang out "I volunteer as Tribute!" She would give them a short interview on the podium, and usher them into the waiting rooms so their families could wish them luck.

Unfortunately she wouldn't be doing that. Effie Trinket would be rushing through District 12, ascending the grubby platform, looking out at those sad, filthy faces. She'd put on a smile and read the names from the Reaping Bowls. Two disheartened children would walk out of the crowd, wearing the face of someone being carried to their death. In truth, they probably were. But they had a chance to fight, to survive. Very few of the tributes from District 12 ever took that chance properly. Two actually. Haymitch Abernathy was one of those two. He was better known as the broken victor of the second Quarter Quell.

'When things go disastrously wrong, sometimes the only way they can be fixed is to start anew.'

A/n:

Thank you for reading the first chapter of Under the Black Flag!

I hope you've enjoyed reading it, and that you continue reading the further chapters. If you could spare a minute or two to leave me a review, and tell me what you think of my writing, it would be much appreciated. Much as I love hearing how wonderful my writing is, I also welcome constructive criticism that will help me improve as an author. Flaming - over-harsh criticism or hatred with the sole intention of causing offence - won't be tolerated.

Thank for reading! Enjoy,

Iron Man.