(A/N) Hello all, and welcome to our newest fic, In the End, You Always Kneel! This is a collaborative Hunger Games/Avengers crossover, consisting of twenty-four writers, who will each be taking their tributes from the Reaping to the grave, bar, of course, the one who emerges victorious from the Avenger Games! This fic began a long time ago, when, having been inspired by 24tributes24authors after taking part in "Bring Them to Their Knees", and also reading Lorata's fantastic "Embrace the Fire: The Avenger Games", I began a fic called "When Heroes Fall". However, I quickly realised that this was too big a task for one person alone, and that path has finally led to where we are today.

Now we're finally at a point where we can launch this fic, have big hopes for it, and have a group of fantastic writers working away to tell the best story they possibly can. This here is just a little taste of what is yet to come.

You are not ready for this – you will be broken, and forged anew. Men and women will fall and rise again as villains and heroes, but only one shall survive. This is the story of the twenty-fourth Avenger Games, and its tributes, as they battle for survival against the odds. Alliances will be made and broken, friends and enemies will see each other fall, and nothing will ever be the same again.

Read on, and hear their voices.

Prologue

Director Nick Fury & Agent Phil Coulson

Written by NicKenny

Director Nick Fury

"Death is lighter than a feather, but Duty is heavier than a mountain."

― Robert Jordan, To the Blight

The manservant opened the door, beckoning the dark-skinned man forward with a daintily gloved hand. "The President will see you now, Director Fury," he murmured, his eyes not quite meeting the Director's, but instead staring at a point somewhere above his left shoulder.

Fury strode past him, ignoring the pair of Nova Corps officers – the President's elite guard – clad in their usual blue and yellow armour and standing on either side of the threshold, into a huge room bedecked with trophies from past Games. To his left, mounted on the wall, lay the spear used by Odin Borson to kill his last remaining opponent – Laufey – in the very first Games. Next to it lay the helmet gifted to Erik Lensherr by a sponsor, which would wind up saving his life after taking a mace to the head at one point during the second Games. The two-handed katana of District Three's Silver Samurai (who came runner-up in the twentieth Avenger Games), the wingsuit of the Falcon, the mask of the Star-Lord, the staff that had been used by Bobbi Morse (the Mockingbird), the suit of armour that had been forged by Obadiah Stane…everywhere that Fury turned lay a clue pointing to the owner's obsession with the Avenger Games.

Indeed, this was supposedly the largest collection of Avenger Games memorabilia, larger even that that of Taneleer Tivan, the host of the Avenger Games, who had by now established himself as something of a collector. Then again, it wasn't all that surprising that the president would have the lion's share in this regard – who was going to deny it to him?

Fury scarcely gave the room a second glance, having become long accustomed to his employer's obsessions. Indeed, it was an obsession that he shared, or why else would he have accepted this role as the Director of the Avenger Games? There was something about the Games, the sheer, final brutality of it, which drew Fury towards it like a moth to a flame, just as it had drawn his father before him.

Few people in the Capitol understood death and loss like he had, as he had served as a Sentinel for the past thirty years – towards the end of the Dark Days and the years of imposed peace that had followed it. During this time he had lost an eye, seen friends and family die before his eyes, buried a child, and killed and killed until he had lost track of the number of people whose blood lay on his hands. After all, it hadn't only been the districts that had suffered during the rebellion. He had done all of that, and more, for the man that was now standing before him.

President Thanos.

The President stood out on a balcony at the end of the room, a huge blue cloak with yellow trim billowing from his shoulders, staring out onto the city beneath him. His giant frame trembled as he gripped the railings of the balcony, not focusing on anything, not even noticing the man behind him. Fury could just about hear him mumbling to himself, in a voice so low as to be barely audible, but he caught fragments of the president's murmurs.

"...they'll pay...deliver unto...Death...the last generation...boy, you doubt me...burn them all...ashes to ashes...what care I...the Earth needs to be punished..."

Director Fury took a moment before coughing gently, standing to attention as the President spun around, glaring at him with eyes red from lack of sleep, contrasting starkly with the his dyed-purple skin (a sacrifice in the name of fashion, which was currently all the rage in the Capitol) before his features softened slightly as he realised who was standing before him.

"Ah, Director Fury," he murmured, in a voice as soft as the silk manufactured in District Eight. "Good of you to be so…punctual."

Fury only inclined his head, his one good eye remaining fixed on Thanos, his mouth fixed into a slight smile. "When the President of all of Marvel demands that you appear before him, only a fool would be late."

"And you are no fool," Thanos finished for him, nodding slowly to himself. He walked over to a huge desk, and sat down in a similarly proportioned armchair, resting his left hand against his temple, the hand that was permanently clad in a solid-gold gauntlet, the so-called 'Infinity Gauntlet', the emblem of the Presidency of Marvel. "I hope that preparations for this year's Games are commencing according to schedule?" he asked gently, the question clearly present in his voice.

Director Fury nodded. "I've hired several new Gamemakers, ridding myself of the deadweight that Adams had acquired during his spell as director. We have already begun development on the site planned for the arena, and our labs are already at work devising some of the most…challenging mutts to date. I feel confident that, this year, our audiences will see a show that will go down as the most successful Avenger Games to date."

Thanos nodded, lowering his gauntlet-encased hand to gently stroke his chin, a thoughtful look settling over his features. "You wouldn't be the first Director to claim this, Nicholas, and I do hate being let down, as your predecessor would tell you."

Fury had to exercise all of his self-restraint in order not to flinch at this statement. Mojo Adams had been a skilled businessman and manipulator, but sadly only a mediocre Director. Regardless, he deserved a better end than what he received, and Fury had no intentions of ending up the same way. "Of course not, sir. However, I must declare my utmost confidence in my team, and the plans we have for this year. We understand that previous years have been too short, too quick, too…merciful. This year's tributes aren't going to know what's hit them. It will be a year unlike anything you've seen before. To be reaped this year, more than ever, is to court death."

President Thanos continued staring at him, ceaselessly stroking his chin absent-mindedly, evidently intruiged. "If anyone can pull this off, it's you Nicholas, of that I have no doubt. But what about the tributes? How can you ensure that they will be up to the…gargantuan task of entertaining our vast audience?"

Director Fury shifted uncomfortably, shrugging slightly. "We have things under control sir, and they'll be up to the challenge, I promise you. I don't want to go too much into trade secrets…but we have ways of making sure that the quality of the pool of tributes remains high, more so than previous years. My assistants have proved quite resourceful in that area."

The other man smiled, showing a row of pristine teeth, standing up and walking over to Fury, clapping a massive hand on his shoulder. "I believe you, Director Fury. I am glad to see that we finally have a director who's up to this task. I know you won't let me down. In your hands, the heavens will run red with blood, and the districts will remember the full cost of challenging my rule. I can ask for no less of you, and I expect no less of you."

Fury nodded carefully, choosing his words with practiced precision. "I trust in your judgement, as ever, sir."

Thanos' grip increased painfully upon his shoulder, and Fury grit his teeth slightly, all too aware of the man's infamous strength. "I do not ask for your trust. I demand only your obedience."

There was a short pause, as Thanos allowed his words to sink in. He nodded in grim satisfaction, and turned away from Fury, speaking back to the Director over his shoulder.

"Inform the Other to send my daughters in next, Director. I have much to discuss with them."

He walked away, back out onto the balcony, dismissing Fury with a simple wave of his hand. The Director let out a brief sigh of relief, and strode out of the president's office, barging past the affronted doorman without a word, until he remembered the president's final request, and passed on the information to him. The Other was clearly troubled by the request, but left his post to fetch the president's daughters, and Fury continued on his way. He was met with sympathetic gazes by the dozens of men and women who had lined up outside the President's quarters as he left, each waiting on an appointment with Thanos, each dreading the upcoming meeting with a passion outmatched only by the person standing in front of them.

When Nick Fury made it outside, into the cold air of a winter's night in the Capitol, he finally allowed himself to breathe in deeply, dispelling the emotions that were boiling inside of him. Every citizen of Marvel knew that their president was insane, but unfortunately his position of power made him untouchable. At the very least, his paranoia and madness was held at bay during the Avenger Games, a time when every Capitolian could breathe a small sigh of relief, and gain a month or two of respite while their president was occupied with the districts' children's battle to the death.

It had all begun almost thirty years ago, when the districts had stood up and openly challenged the authority of the Capitol. While, in the end, the Capitol had won the war, its president had never quite managed to shake off the conviction that assassins lurked at every corner, that all of his advisors were plotting behind his back.

Mojo Adams hadn't been the first to be executed, and Fury highly doubted that he would be the last. At least for old 'Mojo' it hadn't been for treason, sedition, assassination attempts or plots, theft or attempted blackmail, but instead was simply down to the fact that he was no longer able to keep Thanos interested in the Avenger Games, a crime worse than treason in the eyes of Marvel's president.

But Fury wouldn't be going the same way. He had brought in several protégées of his, most notably Maria Hill and Phil Coulson, both of whom served under him during his time in the Sentinels, installing them in positions of power within S.H.I.E.L.D. They had impressed him with their skills and ability to read characters, and he knew that the Capitol would remember these Games.

It was a delicate balance though, that needed to be held. These Games would need to run longer than normal, as President Thanos had already made his displeasure both heard and felt about the short length of the past few Avenger Games. Yet they would also have to maintain his attention, keep him occupied with the drama unfurling in the Arena.

As a result, he and his fellow Gamemakers had spent months scouting out potential tributes, planning ways to keep these games as interesting and unpredictable as possible. Now that they were moving into the final few weeks of preparations, Nick Fury was of the belief that there was nothing more he could have done in for this year's Games.

He would just have to hope that President Thanos was of the same opinion, and would allow him to keep his head.

A beeping noise suddenly rang out, and Nick Fury cursed, wondering what was important enough that he needed to be contacted this time. He raised a hand to his ear, activating his earpiece. "Miss Hill, I assume you have something to report, and, trust me, this better be important?"

Hill could scarcely fail to notice the tone in her superior's voice and she quickly replied; her voice sounded odd over Fury's connection. "The arena has been declared fit for use, sir, and we've sent in the construction teams – or rather, the re-construction teams, I guess. However, the science team reported that a small section of the proposed site contained a high level of gamma-radiation, a potential hazard should any tributes wander into it."

Director Fury paused for a moment to consider the problem. After all, it wouldn't do if their future Victor died soon after winning due to radiation poisoning. That certainly wouldn't go down well with President Thanos.

"Arrange for it to be cordoned off, nothing too heavy, perhaps slap on some warning signs," he finally said, his expression grim. "If any tributes are dumb enough to wander in after that, well, they're probably too goddamn dumb to win in the first place."

"Of course, Director, I will instruct them to do so immediately," she paused then, something that she rarely did, before hesitantly, almost tenderly asking: "Did your meeting with the President go well, sir?"

Fury snorted, rolling his eyes. "I don't think that's any of your business, Hill. But, for your information, it went as well as it could have. At the very least, we have a couple months to show our dear President Thanos that we're the only people able to produce a viable Avenger Games. Tell Coulson I'll want to talk to him when I return – I know he's off scouting out recruits, but this can't wait. We need to start finalizing our selection of tributes. I've already informed the president that we have our selection ready."

"Understood sir," she replied, and with a click, was gone.

Fury stood there, at the entrance to the Presidential Palace, his breathe coming out in billowing clouds. He sighed one last time, pulling his trench-coat into a more comfortable position before striding off into the night, soon lost in the thin-layer of mist that lay around this sector of the Capitol, one thought in his head.

No one would be prepared for this year's Games, not the districts, not the Capitol, not even Thanos himself.

May the odds be ever in your favour, he intoned to himself, before allowing a wry smile to settle on his face.

As if he'd ever allow them to be any other way.

Agent Phil Coulson

"Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much."

― Helen Keller

"He wants to talk with you when he returns – he's looking to expand the pool, so you'd better have something for him. Apparently the President is very excited about this year's selection."

"Got it," Assistant Gamemaker Philip Coulson, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., replied, grimacing at the implication in her tone, and glanced over to the door where one of his new recruits was currently holding an interrogation with an unknown factor. Coulson didn't like unknown factors – Director Fury had instilled that in him – but he had hope that this one could end up being of use. "Anything else?"

There was a moment of hesitation on the other side of the line, followed by a barely-audible sigh. "No, that's it, Coulson. Just wrap up what you're doing and return to the Triskelion ASAP."

The line went dead, and Coulson regarded the transceiver in his hand dispassionately for a moment, before shrugging and pocketing it, walking over to the nearby door and letting himself in.

He found himself in a small room, empty but for the presence of two women, standing by the glass one-way window that looked out onto the interrogation room, and a few unused chairs. Coulson glanced over at his deputy, Melinda May, who was staring at him, arms crossed, with a wary look on her face. "Hill?" she asked, and Coulson nodded a brief confirmation.

"Fury wants to talk to me when he gets back. Games are coming up, after all," he murmured, and walked up to the window, placing his hands gently on the sill. "How's Ward treating our guest?"

The other woman snorted, and ran a hand through her long brown hair, pushing the part of it that was dyed red to the side. "All he's managed to do is alienate her further, as far as I can see," she replied, with a frown. "I granted your request to make use of our facilities her at the Hub, Coulson. I assumed your team would actually know what they were doing."

"Ward's a good man, Agent Hand, but his people skills…well, they need a little bit of work."

As though hearing this, Ward took this moment to slam his palms down flat on the metal table in the interrogation room, causing the detainee to jump.

"There are two ways we can do this," Ward informed her, his voice transmitted into their observation quarters from the dozens of hidden microphones in the other room.

Despite his tone, and possibly to make up for her earlier fright, the detainee merely smiled and cocked her head. "Oh, is one of them the easy way?"

"No," Ward replied, and her smile slipped from her face.

"Oh…"

Coulson shook his head, and turned to May and Hand. "I think it's time I went in there. No point in holding off any longer."

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" May asked, as he picked up the jet injector that he had left lying on one of the chairs before receiving Hill's call.

"Well, I always like to think so," he replied, walking out the door. "But sometimes you've just got to play things by ear."

He entered the interrogation room a second later, and nodded at Ward, not making any attempts to hide the jet injector in his hand. He could feel both Ward and the prisoner eyeing it, Ward with obvious smugness, the prisoner with evident fear.

"What's that?" she asked, not managing to hide the quaver in her voice as she did so, and Coulson saw Ward's face light up out of the corner of his eye – a predatory smile, having found a weakness.

"We'll ignore this for now," Coulson informed her, placing the injector carefully down on the table, just out of the prisoner's reach. "I'd prefer to talk about you, first, Skye."

"We know you're an orphan, of unknown Capitol parentage, and that your real name is Mary Sue Poots."

"Skye is my real name," she interjected through gritted teeth, and Coulson nodded understandingly.

"Fine, but it's the name the orphanage gave you at any rate, though I guess I can't blame you for wanting to change it. We'll stick with Skye for the time being. We know you worked in broadcasting up to a few months ago, abandoning your work station shortly after James Rhodes's Victory Tour. We also know that you've become involved in the illegal hacker organisation known as the 'Rising Tide', and you've been making use of your former contacts to aid them in their goals. However, we're not all that interested in that."

The prisoner's eyes narrowed at the mention of the Rising Tide - she probably had been hoping that they wouldn't be able to trace her back to that movement, as simply to be associated with it typically meant death, under Thanos' rule - but she remained silent, and allowed Coulson to continue.

"What we are interested in is that you've been tracking down information about Mike Peterson, the District Eleven tribute from a couple of years back. Can I ask why?"

Skye frowned, perturbed by the sudden change in tact, and glanced away, looking troubled. "I came across his name linked to something named Project T.A.H.I.T.I. My work in broadcasting was mainly concerned about the Avenger Games, mostly editing reruns and commentary. I've always had a talent with computers, I got bored and started looking through some files that I didn't exactly have access to. Peterson's name started coming up in places where it shouldn't have…there were documents that…that seemed to indicate that he was still alive."

She noticed Ward and Coulson exchange a significant look, and barked out a laugh in disbelief. "But that's impossible, right? I mean, his death was broadcasted all across Marvel! We saw Pyro – John Allerdyce – blow him up, I've seen the reruns dozens of times!"

Coulson sighed, and shook his head. "Skye, you've got to understand our concerns. The files that you somehow gained access to should only have been accessible to high-level S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. We can't have people accessing that kind of information, and if you could gain access to it, then there's a chance that those in the districts could too. We've had to curb several attempts from Three already, and we can't afford to let something like this go unpunished."

"So what are you going to do with me?" she asked, nervously, though she did her best to hide it, and Coulson held off on the urge to smile.

Instead, he allowed his face to grow grave, and glanced over to Ward once more. "Well, Skye, it seems we have two choices. The first, and this is the one my colleagues have suggested, is that we kill you."

He allowed that to sink in, and noticed Skye's eyes flickering from his own to the injector on the table, and then back again.

"On the other hand, we certainly could use someone with your skillset and abilities, and the initiative you displayed in attempting to uncover the truth to your little mystery is commendable. S.H.I.E.L.D. could use someone like you, Skye. Every day, we face new challenges, new threats, trying to crack the fragile peace that holds this land together apart."

"Sir, what are you–" Ward broke in, but Coulson continued on, ignoring the protests of his subordinate.

"Agent Ward doesn't think much of this idea. He sees you as a risk, as a liability, and he might be right. If you decide to join my team, you will be heavily supervised, but trust me when I assure you that this is a far superior option compared to the alternative. Sure, we're not exactly much of a team, but we're in a position to do some good. You'd be a great help. And you'd be front row centre at the strangest show on earth, which is, after all, what you wanted."

Skye stared at him for a moment, then smiled wryly. "Not really much of a choice, is it? Work for you, or die?"

Coulson dipped his head in acknowledgement, and then sighed. "Yes, your options suck. But mine aren't much better, Skye. The Rising Tide cannot be tolerated, the President has made that abundantly clear. If you're going to become an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., you'll have to put your old loyalties aside, otherwise you will die alongside the rest of them. I'd rather see you as an asset than an enemy, but ultimately that decision is yours."

To her credit, she remained silent for a few more moments, before resigning herself to defeat here, sighing. "Fine, I'll join your little death squad. As I said, it's not like I have much of a choice."

Coulson could feel Ward glaring at him from behind his back, but he ignored him and chose to put on a wide smile. "I thought you would. Of course, that brings us back to this," he said, picking up the jet injector and brandishing it nonchalantly. "If you're going to be part of our team, we're going to have to address a few things. No team can function well if its members are keeping secrets from each other."

Skye leant back in her chair, attempting to put as much space as she possibly could between herself and Coulson. "Wha-What's in that?

"This is QNB-T16. It's the top-shelf martini of sodium pentothal derivatives," Coulson informed her, his head tilted slightly to the left. "It's a brand-new and extremely potent truth drug. Don't worry, the effects only last about an hour."

Ward came forward, smiling once more, having found something he could finally agree with. "And you'll have a nice little nap. And we'll have all the answers to our–"

Coulson took the opportunity to inject the serum into Ward's neck, stepping away a second later, the dose administered.

"Hey! What the hell!" Ward yelled, his hand springing up to cover his neck, but Coulson only rolled his eyes.

"I'm sorry, did that hurt?" he asked, evidently patronising the younger man.

"No, you've lost your mind. You should never do that to a member of your team. And yes, it did hurt a little bit, but I try to mask my pain in front of a beautiful woman, it makes me seem more masculine." Ward took a moment to process what he was saying, and his expression turned to a mixture of horror and mortification. "My GOD this stuff works fast!"

Coulson glanced back at Skye, who was watching in bafflement, though she had smiled slightly when Ward had mentioned masking his pain in front of beautiful women. Two birds, one stone, he mused to himself, delighted at finally having a chance to bring Ward down a peg, after Hill had thrust the agent into his hands.

"Don't trust us? Ask him whatever you'd like," he told Skye, already turning towards the door.

He hand had just grazed the doorknob when Ward yelled after him in desperation. "Wait a minute. Wait! You can't just–"

Coulson shut the door behind him, and allowed a smile to settle across his features, and Ward's muffled yelling rang out behind him.

"This is definitely not protocol!"

He wiped the smile off his face before re-entering the observation room, and shrugged at May and Hand's looks of disbelief. "Looks like I got a result," he replied, and Hand simply shook her head and left the room, her usual frown perhaps just the slightest bit softened.

I think she's starting to like me, he thought to himself, smirking.

May didn't say anything, but he knew her well enough to know that she was simply waiting until the right words came to mind, and instead focused on the interrogation Skye was currently putting Agent Ward through.

"You seem nervous, Agent Ward," she murmured, smiling at his evident unease, and Coulson made a mental note to increase the level of observation she'd be put under beyond that of normal circumstances. Something told him he'd be a fool not to keep a close eye on her.

"I'm calling to mind my training. There's no way I'm gonna reveal classified secrets to a girl who's hell-bent on taking us down," Ward informed her, and Coulson felt May make her way over to his left-hand side.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" May asked, just as Ward began spilling his guts out to Skye's questioning of his career with S.H.I.E.L.D.

"Games are coming up, May," Coulson reminded her, and when he turned to face her he looked unusually grim. "We need people like her, and with the way Fury is working us, wildcards like Skye might be just the thing we need. You know the endgame here – you know what's at stake. T.A.H.I.T.I. has got to be a success, and it's my responsibility."

"I know, Coulson," May replied quietly, looking slightly subdued. "I'm just worried about whether or not we can trust her to see the bigger picture. The Games take a toll on everyone, and what you'll be asking her to do…"

She trailed off, and Coulson placed a hand on her right shoulder, in an attempt to reassure her. "Fury wants the pool prepared, and for that we need the best profilers, or else Thanos is going to notice that something's up. Skye's our answer, our best bet here. I'll make sure she's under control – I'm going to make Ward her S.O., so he'll be able to keep a close eye on her. Perhaps they'll learn something from each other."

After all, he thought, smiling warmly at May and pushing his own doubts aside, it's not like we have the room to make mistakes. Fury's put a lot of faith in me, and I can't afford to fail him now. We'll be ready for the Avenger Games, I promised him that, and I haven't let him down yet.

Bring it on.