A/N: Okay, here's the first chapter of my new story (apparently I really like writing about the Quells). This is the same universe as my other Quell story, you can check the prologue of that one to get the whole story on why there was no rebellion and the Games continue (basically, Peeta did not survive and Katniss was not the Mockingjay).

For this Quell, four tributes will be reaped from each district, and they will have to fight to the death right then and there. I have the tribute form on my profile, but feel free to make your own as well. PLEASE ONLY SUBMIT THROUGH PM. If you submit through a review, I will not use your tribute. Thanks for reading, and get ready for a wild ride!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Hunger Games nor any of the characters therein. Suzanne Collins does.

Chapter One – Prologue

In front of a rapt audience of 10,000 Capitolians, a sea of brightly colored hair and attire, President Aurelius Atticus Argent stepped up to his podium, waving his hand to the crowd. A rotund, genial man, he could not seem more different from his father, the late President Snow.

"Greetings!" he boomed, and the audience cheered. At home, watching on decrepit videograms, or gathered in the town square, the people of the districts were quiet, wary. It was that time again—the Hunger Games Quarter Quell. The citizens of the Capitol loved it, but it always spelled trouble for those forced to participate, and they waited anxiously to see what this year's disastrous twist would be.

For the First Quarter Quell, the districts were forced to choose their own tributes. For the Second, twice the usual number of tributes went into the arena. For the Third, the tributes were reaped not from the normal age range of 12–18, but from the entire pool of district citizens. What could the Capitol have in store this year?

It didn't take long to find out. President Argent signaled behind him and a beautiful young boy stepped up carrying a wooden box. The President smiled down at the boy in a way that made the Capitol citizens murmur and took a sheet of folded paper out of the box. He cleared his throat before reading the declaration aloud, pretending admirably that it was a surprise to him.

"On the one hundredth anniversary of the rebellion, as a reminder to the districts that these Games are a result of their own brutality, 48 tributes will be reaped, but only 24 will make it to the Capitol."

He smiled brightly, putting down the card, and walked off stage. Immediately, a buzz begins amongst the audience as they begin speculating excitedly as to what would happen.

"Every tribute in the arena will already have a kill count!" exclaimed a teenage boy with green hair and spikes in his ears. "It'll be like having access to the training sessions!" a middle-aged man whispered to his companion, already counting up betting slips. The escorts, sitting in their own special segment on stage, giggled and tittered, reviewing their knowledge of the districts they watched over and the tributes who had already entered the Games, to win or lose. The Gamemakers had missed the announcement, and were already hard at work, designing the arena and building cages.

In the districts, conversation was just as intense although far more worried and confused. "What does that mean?" A young woman worried, clutching her baby to her breast. "What are they going to do to us now?" Teenagers roamed the streets, speculating. In Districts 1, 2, and 4, the training academies started up in earnest; no matter the twist, they wanted to give the Capitol the best tributes imaginable.

From his lonely room in the biggest mansion in the Capitol, President Argent smiled and smiled and smiled.