Welcome to Ultraviolence, a.k.a. The 78th Hunger Games! I've received some tributes already, but there are still plenty of slots left, so make sure to submit if you're interested. Everyone can submit up to three tributes! All the information is on my profile.

This is a sequel to the 77th Hunger Games, Born to Die, but you don't necessarily have to read the first one to submit a tribute or understand what's going on, unless you don't want spoilers for the first one.

Many of you also correctly guessed that I'm getting these titles from Lana Del Rey albums xD. I don't know why but so many of her album names fit with the Hunger Games. Without further ado, here is the introductory chapter of our new installment!

Bellona Presque (26)- Head Gamemaker

This year's meeting with President Snow has me feeling more rattled than the previous one. If you had told me that last year, I would have laughed and said that the President and I saw eye to eye on everything, and that once our first meeting was finished, I would never have to worry about his opinions again. But everything has changed since the 77th Games, what to any outsider was a resounding success, but to me, the President and a select few was a historic disaster. The Nylon boy might have made a fool of me then, but I am determined to make up for my mistakes with an even better, more exciting Games with tricks and dangers at every turn. I'm confident, even if my knee is bouncing up and down incessantly as I wait outside Snow's office.

There's a mirror across the hallway that reflects my own pale face, remade in makeup by my Avoxes and my own hand, attempting to make me look like the ferocious businesswoman that I always wanted to be, and that I now am. I doubt that it will fool Snow, however, if he catches sight of my shaking hands and wavering voice. I try to steel myself the best I can before his secretary comes to announce that he's ready for me.

I nervously close the door behind me, taking in the large office. I always admired the styling of the Presidential mansion, with dark wooden furnishings and wide open spaces, always decorated with flowers for a pop of color. Snow looks up as I enter and gives me a barely-there smile.

"Good morning, Miss Presque," he says, gesturing for me to sit. I do so with a flourish of my light green dress.

"It's an honor to speak to you as always, President," I say, perhaps too stiffly, but he doesn't acknowledge that.

"You as well, Miss Presque. My prized Head Gamemaker. The news channels seem to be awaiting these Games with expectations due to last year's success. I'm pleased to say that from what I've seen so far, you won't disappoint."

"Thank you," I say with surprise. "My team and I have been working very hard to get all of the details just right. I think the Capitol will be very pleased with the arena."

"That's all very good to hear. What about the security for the Justice Buildings and the tributes' apartments?" His piercing blue eyes fix me with an icy stare.

"That is in order as well," I say quickly. "All of the cameras in the Justice Buildings' waiting rooms have been checked and are ready for use. Last year was just a fluke, but we won't let something like that happen again."

I don't mention that in the outer districts, most of the security cameras anywhere either aren't on most of the time or were never made to work in the first place, just dummy cameras to scare people from doing things they weren't supposed to. But not this year- the cameras have all been checked in all twelve districts and will be watched by a band of Peacekeepers during the goodbyes after the Reapings. Nothing will slip under our noses this year.

"It won't happen again," Snow says, in that tone that sends shivers down my spine. "Things like that don't happen in the Hunger Games. It is all under our control. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mr. President," I confirm, my breath coming a little quicker than usual. "It's all under control."

...

The Gamemaking Center was dark when I arrived. The chauffeur service for the Gamemakers will be wondering where I am when they arrive to my villa tomorrow morning. The reporters will crowd outside the Center, cursing my absence and eventually interrogating my coworkers as they arrive for work. Maybe I should return home for my last night of full rest, but I don't think I'll be able to sleep anyway.

Instead I sit at my desk, alone in the building except for the Avoxes cleaning in the main room, sighing as I look over the documents for the bets that were placed on the Reapings. Now that Rowan is gone, the statisticians seem lost, like all of the training they received in school and in the Gamemaking Academy went completely to waste. I knew that letting Rowan go would be a blow to the team, but I didn't think they'd become so inept at everything. I haven't chosen a new head of the department since none of them have shown any extraordinary talent or leadership skills over the last six months since I finally fired Rowan. Perhaps they're still too loyal to him to vie for his old job, but someone will have to step up eventually.

I sigh as I think over my interview with Caesar Flickerman today, the humming of the vacuums the next room over like the applause of the audience after Caesar told another witty joke. I'm not exactly one for wit, but I can make them lean to hear my soft voice and see the glint in my eye that promises bloodshed. That's what the Games critics say at least.

I know that these Games will have to be even bigger, better, and more exciting than the last. As far as anyone knows, last year's Games were a complete success, unmarred by false identities and lies. The Capitol was intrigued by the arena's traps, mutts, and layout, and was eager to see what I had planned this year. For a moment, looking down on my arena plans, I feel a slight twinge of the excitement I used to feel every year as the season rolled around. I remember last year, how I had drank in everything about Reaping day, knowing that I would never forget my first Reaping as Head Gamemaker.

I sit up straighter, pulling up the map of the arena on my screen, smiling wide as the landscape comes into view. I won't let worries and regrets drag me down. The best way to atone for my mistakes is to deliver an even better Games this year. From the arena to the tributes to the mutts, everything has to be perfect. I won't settle for anything less. These Games have to be as golden as the lights that shine in from the window outside, illuminating my face and the desk in a heavenly hue.

The next thing I remember is the bright lights of my office shining in my face and the soft voice of my assistant, Aelia. "Miss Presque…" she says gently. "I didn't expect you to be here."

I raise my head and rub my eyes, glancing out the window. The golden lights of the Gamemaking Center are still on, reporters crowding the pavement as Gamemakers try to force their way through. Capitol citizens take pictures in front of the building, laughing their worries away. I yawn and close the shade, standing up to take Aelia's offering of coffee.

"Thank you," I grumble, looking out onto the main room where my team is assembled, some joking around while others check the cameras in the districts for any unrest. I take a deep breath and rummage through my closet, eventually procuring my pristine white Gamemaking suit. "I'll be out in a minute, Aelia."

She nods demurely and leaves, closing the door behind her with a click. Time for battle.

Tag Nylon (13)- Victor of the 77th Hunger Games

My mother brushes my hair back as I stare at myself in the mirror. My purple fringe is gone, replaced with a color that Spool suggested- a deep red that makes me look like I'm bleeding. But I don't care that much- the Capitol will probably be upset that I changed it, which is worth it. If I have to see one more little boy with his hair dyed purple by his parents, I'll be sick. Those parents pretend that their own child is a tribute in the Games, while the districts have to actually send their children to their deaths. The thought makes my blood boil.

I guess I can expect to see this burgundy now on every other person in the Capitol, unless they've tired of me now that the next Games are afoot. Perhaps I'll be lucky enough that they forgot about me completely.

"You look so handsome," my mother says, running her hands down my shoulders.

"Thanks Mom," I say quietly, not meeting her eyes. I know I should try to make a better effort to connect with my family before I leave for the Capitol, but I just can't bring myself to. I have to distance myself before leaving for the Capitol to pretend that District Eight and the rest of Panem are in separate universes. The Reaping exists in a different dimension than this quiet, warm home.

It's the same when the Capitol sends cameras to Eight to film me doing my talent- putting on puppet shows for the populace. They are very popular among the citizens, who are eager for a reprieve from their woes and to escape into a child's world of wonder for a little while. But I haven't been the one writing the shows- the rest of the Sock Knights take care of it. Even Spool has been taking more leadership in our band of friends, who know focus most of our attention on the shows.

Just then, my twin brother Spool emerges from the other room, dressed in gray slacks and a dress shirt. We look just alike, except his hair is back to its natural dark color now. He smiles at us as he passes into the kitchen for some breakfast. He doesn't seem nervous, but I can't help but wonder if the Capitol is planning something horrendous. What if he's Reaped this year, again? What if the Capitol plans to punish me again for my insolence? It wouldn't be the first time family members were Reaped consecutively, and I don't doubt the Capitol would love to see the twin of the youngest victor in history take his own stab at the victory.

"Don't worry about him," my mother says softly, hugging me once before pulling away. "We'll be fine while you're gone."

I know she must have the same fears as me, but she drifts away before I can answer. I don't know how I'll survive five more Reapings after this one while Spool is in the Reaping pool. The rest of the Sock Knights, our band of friends, are too. Aside from Hessian. My hearts hurts when I think about our late friend, who died because of my trickery. His parents don't leave their house anymore, and we haven't seen them since the funeral. But of course, the funeral didn't really include Hessian's body. The Peacekeepers never returned it.

I sigh as I straighten my clothing in the mirror, preparing to join my family for breakfast- our last meal together before I head to the Capitol as a mentor for a pair of unlucky children. It's strange how I feel so much older than I did just a year ago. Even if an eighteen-year old is Reaped, I have a feeling I would still feel older than them, not odd at all about training them.

I can hear the sounds of my family laughing quietly in the kitchen and I steel myself before heading inside.

Marcelle Agelasta (26)- Gamemaker

Sponsor's Square is silent as a mouse as the Reapings begin, empty of the usual chattering celebrities and their advisors. I sit alone on an elaborate stone bench, listening to the faint sounds of birds chirping in the distance. Birds and other wildlife aren't common here in the Capitol- these ones were raised here in the Square to give it more ambience. As the tributes struggle to survive in an outdoor arena, the sponsors sit here in a similarly constructed environment, trying to help their favorites along. I think I would like the atmosphere more if I didn't know why I was here.

When Bellona assigned me to the Sponsor Department last year, I thought she was joking. But I soon realized she was dead serious as preparations for the Games dragged on and I was left in charge of the drunk, disrespectful buffoons that will arrive at the Square as soon as the Reapings are over. I sigh as I watch Claudius Templesmith excitedly talk over the national anthem on the giant screen on one wall of the courtyard. My pen absently scratches over the notepad that I'll take notes on during the Reapings. Experience hasn't warmed me up to this job in the slightest. I miss the days where Bellona and I were best of friends, watching the Games with rapt attention on the plush couches of our parents home, dreaming of one day being able to engineer something so beautiful and dangerous. Or later, when we met Rowan at the Gamemaking Academy, each of us planning out our futures as the masters of the Games.

But all of that was lost when Bellona was named Head Gamemaker like she always wanted. I was resigned to the Square, and Rowan was fired for reasons unknown and probably inconsequential. He won't tell me why, but I imagine it's because he's so afraid of what she could do to him.

I frown as the screen switches to Bellona's interview with Caesar Flickerman. Her easy-going smile that turns so flawlessly into a deadly smirk fills me with rage. How can she be so nonchalant about everything that she's done? Just because her first Games were won by a twelve-year old doesn't make her special. If anything, it means they weren't hard enough. I huff in annoyance, scratching on my notepad until the page tears. She deserves to pay for what she's done. The mask she puts on for the nation will have to break eventually. And I intend to break it.

So here's the prologue for Ultraviolence! I hope it's not too boring. There are lots of tribue spots still open, so make sure to submit if you haven't already! Just click on my profile.

I promise things will be more interesting as we get going. I hope to start with the Reapings right away, but if I need to I'll write another pre-chapter. :) Thanks for reading!