Disclaimer: We don't own The Hunger Games.

Note: Since we're still well short of a full cast, we're extending the submission deadline another week. In the meantime, here's a look at a few of our mentors.

Prologue
What Came Before

Dakota Alder, 18
District Seven
Victor of the 10th Hunger Games

As Dakota strung his bow, the faint light rising above the trees signaled that he needed to leave soon.

After making sure his sling was in the pouch alongside his quiver, Dakota continued further out from the secluded area in Victor's Village. He was greeted with the steady snowfall that had begun in the middle of the night. While the constant snow wasn't going to be great for tracking game, the conditions were ideal for what Dakota had planned. Not rough enough to be too much of a hindrance, but just enough that by the time the peacekeepers were alert on patrol, it'd be extremely difficult for them to find his tracks.

However, that wasn't a pressing issue for Dakota anymore. Since he'd returned from the Games, he'd been given mostly free reign to go out to hunt when he pleased, but to actually do so was more hassle than it was worth. If he wasn't planning on sneaking out, he'd have to notify the peacekeepers and then wait for them to get enough of them willing to tag along. Even when they had enough of them for the Captain's liking to "keep him safe," they'd cause such a ruckus. It was clear they'd never even learned the basics of stalking game, and he'd end up returning with about a quarter of his usual haul.

Not that food was currently an issue anyway, Dakota thought as he began walking out towards the woods. The Capitol always made sure of that, so it wasn't much of a problem at the moment. While it wasn't going to be a major issue for him anymore either, the rest of the district could struggle getting back to normal after this year without the extra supplies that had come with his victory. Before his Games, even though Dakota was mainly hunting for himself, he normally had enough left after taking care of his family if anybody cared to ask for it. Occasionally, he'd crossed paths with other hunters in the woods who may not have had as successful a hunt, and they'd split what they'd gotten. But now, with the Capitol giving them more supplies, he'd seen fewer and fewer hunters each time he'd gone out. Sure, some were still out, and he was certain others were just choosing different times, or if they were at the same time, it was on the occasion he'd been forced to drag a hoard of clanging peacekeepers trailing behind him. Still, there were definitely some who were sitting back and just letting the Capitol provide rather than keeping up their hunting skills.

As he crossed the official border, he could see a faint set of footprints in front of him. He kept on going deeper into the woods until he was certain that he was following a group and not just a false trail. Anton, an old friend, had mentioned to Dakota that he would be out this morning, taking out his distant relative for his first hunt, and Dakota had told him that if he could be certain that he wouldn't have an entourage, that he'd join them. He hadn't been entirely sure at the start, but as he went along, he recognized that he was closing in on the area where he had started off hunting. As he picked up the pace, he could tell he was gaining ground on them. Even though the snow fall had increased, he was able to see the footprints more clearly, and eventually, he started to hear whispers.

"That's alright; just make sure you learn from it," Dakota could hear his old friend Anton say. "You may have been spotted already, but reacting to it removes any doubt, so you have nothing to lose trying to remain hidden"

Dakota could now see the two of them at the bottom of the hill he just climbed, and he thought about making his presence known. Just as he was about to walk down to them, he spotted movement behind the trees to their right, and decided it'd be best to hold off. The group ahead of him also noticed the movement, and before long, Anton was giving quiet instructions to his relative as they were both drawing their bows. Soon after, Dakota saw something pop out, but the two must have had a better angle, as before he could process what it was, the deer had two arrows in it and another striking the tree behind it.

While the two of them were tending to the deer, Dakota took the opportunity to catch up. When he got there, Anton turned away from the deer for a moment and smiled.

"Dakota, nice to see you here. Glad you could make it. I feared the snowstorm would keep most people inside the fences today," he said. "I presume you've been watching a bit, so you've gotten to see a bit of Thornton," Anton gestured towards the younger boy.

"It's an honor to get to hunt with you, Mr. Alder." the boy said, which made Dakota roll his eyes.

"Please. Don't ever feel the need to call me Mr." Dakota said. Some people, especially the peacekeepers, had started treating him differently ever since he made it out. Sure, the Games had affected him, but it hadn't made any drastic change, and the formalities always caught him off guard. "You're what, six, seven years younger than me? Just call me Dakota; no need to have anything else. This your first hunt?"

"Yeah," he said, looking at Anton. "My parents were always worried about me going out alone, but Anton finally convinced them to let me tag along with him to start this week."

"Looks like you made a good choice," Dakota said to Anton, glancing at the deer. "Would be hard to try to get this back all in one day. You're planning to use the shack out here?"

"Yup," Anton said. "Shouldn't be much out there right now anyway. This one was always the farthest from most other hunting routes. Want to get a start on going there?" he said, grabbing one of the deer's legs, and then he started walking in the direction they had been heading in the first place.

Dakota pulled the slings out of the pouch and handed one of the slings and some of the ammo to Thornton. "Might as well teach you some of this while we go. Should be able to pick off a couple rabbits or something as we go."

As they went along, Dakota took out two rabbits as he was giving Thornton advice. After taking the deer for a bit, after a long stretch where no game was to be seen, Anton took the deer back for the final stretch to the cabin. Right as they were about to reach the top of the final hill, Dakota signaled for the group to stop, and quietly instructed Thronton to be ready for a shot after he'd seen some rustling in the grass to the right, and he was going to scare the rabbit out into the open. However, right as he was about to load his shot, Dakota heard a distant whirring that he'd only heard a couple of times before, which startled the rabbit on it's own, scaring it off, and moments after, the sirens outside of District Seven were blaring.

"What in the world?" Anton said, startled by the sudden action. The only time anyone had really bothered to sound the sirens that anyone could recall was whenever some beginners hadn't been careful enough by the District fence, and if that was the case, they were normally sounded right away. "There's no way that they could have found the tracks. The snow has been steady ever since we left and it was hard enough to get out here in the first place."

"Relax. It's probably nothing," Dakota said, although now he was having doubts. The sirens were still going, and if the incident was close to the fence, normally they stopped the sirens pretty quickly since the punishment was more lenient if you just gave yourself up. "We've both been out here enough. If they'd had any reason to suspect us, they'd have sounded it earlier."

And then a thought came to Dakota, as the sirens still blared on. "Oh shit," he said as he put the pieces together. "This might be on me. I've been caught up in keeping other things in order. What day is it?"

"Saturday," Thornton said quickly, "But why should that matter? You're allowed out here, and they have no reason to actually care if you're out here without half the district staff anyway."

"Doesn't matter; it's me." Dakota said decisively. "Anton, take him on to the cabin, and stay out for a while. They'll only really be looking for me; no need for them to suspect that I wasn't alone. I've done that enough since I got back anyway. Thornton, I'll take one of the rabbits; they'll be suspicious if I don't have any luck at all, but keep the sling. I've got plenty of resources to make more. Best of luck to the rest of the hunt. Just be careful getting back in; I can't promise they won't have somewhat raised security even once I get back."

"Thank you," Anton and Thornton said, before Anton continued on, "hopefully we'll be able to hunt again eventually. What did you do to annoy them this time that you're so sure it's you they're after?"

"Might be a while before I'm able to get back out here," Dakota said, beginning to walk back to the border before turning around and finishing, "and they'll be more annoyed when they realize I haven't packed for the Victory Tour."

Ellis Camlet, 20
District Eight
Victor of the 7th Hunger Games

The sound of the bell nearly made him jump.

Ellis took a deep breath, calming his nerves as he made his way out of the back room of the shop. Well, he called it a shop, at least on the surface. The truth was, he rarely charged customers for his time, except the occasional richer patron who could actually afford it. Still, it had most of the trappings of a shop, and he'd asked his brother Neil to add the bell over the door because he'd thought it would be better than people knocking.

It wasn't. Sudden, unexpected noises still made him jump. Maybe they always would. But it was getting a little better recently – or maybe that was just his imagination. Maybe if he wanted badly enough for things to get better, they would.

Right.

Ellis smiled up at the girl standing by the door. She was maybe eleven or twelve, but easily a head taller than him. Her back was hunched, one of her shoulders lower than the other. Ellis' mind was already racing ahead of him, sorting through patterns, making adjustments. A little extra fabric here, a little less there. One of her arms looked a bit shorter than the other, but he'd have to measure to be sure.

"What's your name?" Ellis asked, painfully aware that he was staring. He was used to getting those looks himself.

"Mckenna." The girl's voice was barely above a whisper. "A friend said you could help me."

Ellis nodded. "Come on over here; I just need to take a few measurements. That's right – just a step up there." Mckenna took a step up onto his makeshift platform, and Ellis pulled a stepstool into place and took a tape measure from one of his pockets. "All right. Just try to hold as still as you can." The girl's nod was barely perceptible. Ellis chuckled. "You can still talk. So who's your friend – the one who sent you here?"

"Hector. Hector Madras." She tensed suddenly. "He said you didn't charge anything. Is that true? I … I can't afford to pay you much."

Ellis nodded. "No need." His winnings as a Victor were more than enough to take care of him and his family for the rest of their lives. This wasn't about the money. It was … It was something to do. Something good and decent and honest. Something that wasn't about the Games. "Drop your arms at your sides, please. That's right – just straight down." He had been right; one was a full five centimeters longer than the other. The girl looked away as he finished measuring. "You have lovely fingers, Mckenna."

The girl's gaze dropped to her hands. "I do not. They're short and stubby, and I always get in trouble in the factory because I'm not quick enough, and—"

She stopped because Ellis had held up his own hand, pressing his palm to hers. About the same size, really. "How about some gloves, too? It's getting cold out, and I know how hard it is to find gloves that fit right."

That was only half-true. Before the Games, he'd never had money for gloves at all, let alone ones that fit. But it hadn't taken him long to discover that most gloves were too long in the fingers for his liking. "In fact, you look just about my size." He hopped down from the stepstool and made his way over to one of the cabinets.

He didn't need the stepstool there. He never filled the top drawers of the cabinets. The second one from the bottom held what he was looking for. "Here. Try these on." He tossed her a pair of gloves.

Mckenna stared, as if they might bite her. "Are you sure?"

Ellis nodded. "Of course. It's cold out there." As if to prove his point, he pulled on an extra overcoat, thick and snug and fitted just right.

Mckenna was grinning as she pulled on the gloves and stepped down from the platform. "Thank you."

"My pleasure." And it was. He enjoyed this, because he knew the feeling. He'd spent years cuffing the pant legs and sleeves of his younger brother's clothes, pinning them in place, annoyed that they still didn't seem to fit right, even once he made them the right length. Sure, it was irritating, but he'd always assumed that he just had to deal with it. There were worse things, after all, than a little inconvenience.

Then, his first night in the Capitol, his stylist had come to him with a tape measure and a pair of scissors and a needle and thread, and the next morning, he'd had an outfit that actually fit. Not too loose, not too tight, nothing that had needed to be cuffed or pinned or stretched or tucked out of the way. It had been so nice.

It was strange, really – something so nice in the middle of all the horror and blood and terror associated with the Games. He would be perfectly happy to forget the rest of it – the eight days he had spent in the sewers, wading through filth, straining his eyes to see in the dark, startled awake by every noise, every splash, every odd smell. And Bianca…

No, he didn't want to forget Bianca. But he couldn't stand the memory of how she had died, her neck slashed by the girl from Three, blood pouring into the filth around her as she gasped for breath and struck out even as she was dying, giving him the time to escape down one of the narrower passages. He wanted to forget that.

"Sir?"

Mckenna's voice startled him from his thoughts. "Hmm?" he asked, aware that he'd probably missed something.

"I was just wondering when I should come back."

"About three weeks ought to do it." It would have been less, but he'd need to be there for the victory tour later that day, and after that, all the Victors were required to attend the party in the Capitol. Ellis sighed. He was not looking forward to that; in fact, he'd come to the shop hoping to avoid having to think about the Games.

Mckenna thanked him again and hurried out the door. Ellis looked down. His hands were shaking. He quickly fastened the buttons on his coat, then chose another pair of gloves from the cabinet. They were warm and thick and snug, with the tips cut off so that he could still use his fingers. Absently, he reached for a needle and thread, then glanced at the measurements he'd written down.

He had time to get started, at least.

Heather Muldoon, 22
District Three
Victor of the 4th Hunger Games

She had to keep moving.

Heather gasped for breath as she raced across the rooftop. Twenty feet. Ten. Five. She leapt. The next rooftop was a bit lower, but not too far away. Never too far away – not in a district like Three, where all of the buildings were packed so closely together, it was possible to cross half the district simply by jumping from roof to roof.

She should know.

She hit the rooftop awkwardly, but kept running. A sharp right turn kept her close to the edge – close enough to see some of the people below. She could have sworn she saw someone wave, but she didn't stop to look. She couldn't stop. She had to keep moving.

Always move fast; you never know who's catching up.

That was what Alonzo had said, before the Games. And it was what Heather had done. She and her allies had kept moving through the maze of a haunted house that had made up their arena. They had fought vampires and werewolves and mummies and, finally, tributes. And they had kept moving, right up until the moment when two of them – Heather and Sage – were the only ones left.

And she had moved faster.

She had always moved faster.

Heather picked up her pace as she neared a larger gap between the buildings. It would be safer to take a left; the buildings were packed tighter together there. But she didn't want safe. Safe was boring. She wanted speed, excitement, motion.

Danger.

She wanted danger.

Heather leapt, and for a moment, she was flying. Then she was falling – but not too far. Never too far. And the rooftop was there to catch her. For one glorious moment, though, she wondered if it really would, or if she would keep falling forever, hurtling through the air like a bullet. No. No, that wasn't quite right. Bullets had no purpose of their own – only the purpose of the person who had fired them.

A falcon. Yes, that was it. A falcon diving for its prey, hurtling through the air before the creature below could even look up. Heather hit the rooftop with a smack, her hands scraping against the stones. She rolled and scrambled to her feet again. The rooftops ended up ahead, but she could see a rain gutter. Perfect. She threw her legs over the edge of the building, gripped the gutter in both hands, and slid towards the ground below.

Her hands ached where she'd hit the roof, but she didn't let go. She couldn't let go. If she let go … well, she would probably be safe now. She was close enough. Heather dropped the last few feet onto the pavement below, landing on her feet this time. She could feel something trickling down her arm as she ran, but she didn't look. She picked up the pace once more, sprinting the last hundred yards or so down the street and to the gates of Victors Village.

There, she did slow down, because she saw the look on her mother's face. "Where have you been?"

Heather shrugged. "I went for a run."

It wasn't technically a lie, but her mother was unconvinced. "Were you running on your hands?"

"I —"

"You were on the rooftops again, weren't you."

Heather could feel her face growing warm. Her hands were starting to hurt now – now that she had stopped. That was why she had to keep moving. "And why not?" she asked, a bit more harshly than she'd intended. "I survived the Games, after all; I can handle a few roofs."

"But you don't have to." Her mother's voice was soft, warm, comforting – all the things she didn't want right now. "You had to fight in the Games. You didn't have a choice. You were the one chosen at the reaping, and there was nothing you could do about it. That doesn't mean you have to keep doing it."

"I'm not fighting. I'm not hurting anyone."

"Except yourself."

"I'm fine," Heather insisted, holding out her hands. "Look. Just scraped. That's it. I just wanted to blow off some steam. That's all."

But it wasn't. It never was. Her mother was right; the Games hadn't been a choice. And that was the point. This was her choice. If she took a risk now, it was because she wanted to. Because she chose to. Not because her life depended on it.

Her mother shook her head, unconvinced, but decided to drop the matter. "Come on inside and get cleaned up. They'll want you at the ceremony soon."

Right. The ceremony. The victory tour. Heather sighed, wiping her hands off on her shirt. Ouch. Bad idea. She clenched her fists as she followed her mother inside. Last year's Games had been a disaster for District Three. Both of her tributes had been killed on the first day. Preston hadn't even made it out of the bloodbath, and Taniya had stayed in one place too long, and another tribute had caught up to her.

She hadn't listened. Heather had tried to tell her – just like Alonzo had told her before the Games. Always move fast; you never know who's catching up. Someone had caught Taniya. Heather shook her head as she washed her hands. No one had ever caught her. And they never would.

She would make sure of it.

Amber Lindstrom, 20
District One
Victor of the 9th Hunger Games

Last year, that had been her up on the stage.

Amber fiddled with the buttons on her dress as Dakota made his way through the obviously scripted speech prepared by his mentor. He was doing about as well as could be expected, considering he'd killed one of District One's tributes. By this point, after the same routine in almost every district – except his own, of course – he was probably ready to just be done with this.

She couldn't blame him for that, really – or for the fact that he'd killed one of her tributes. She'd been just as awkward in District Four last year, where she'd killed both of the tributes whose faces had been displayed for the district to see, with their families standing nearby. Odette's family was holding it together pretty well, while she was standing in for Jacinth's family, since he had none that could be found.

That wasn't that unusual, considering the war. Until after the Games, she hadn't even been certain whether her own parents were alive or dead. They'd been separated during the chaos of the rebellion, and she'd never had the means to go looking for them – or even the first idea of where to look. Once she'd won the Games, though…

That certainly wasn't why she had won, and she would never have volunteered just for the chance to find them after all these years, but she had to admit, it was nice to have closure. She'd assumed for years that they were dead, but now she knew for certain what had happened. Her father had died in the rubble when a building had been bombed, and her mother had made it through the war alive but crippled, but had died shortly after. No one had been able to provide a reason, but it didn't take a genius to figure out that she had probably starved.

Amber, on the other hand, hadn't starved. Oh, she'd come close plenty of times, but she'd always managed to scrape through. Her mother wouldn't have stooped to stealing or trickery, and she had probably been too proud to beg. Amber didn't have qualms with any of those, if they were what kept her alive.

It had almost been enough to keep Jacinth alive. The fourteen-year-old had been quiet and clever and so close. If Dakota hadn't dodged the knife he had thrown…

Amber shook her head. She was probably kidding herself. The other two tributes Dakota had faced in the finale were also on the older, stronger end. Jacinth wouldn't have stood much of a chance in a fair fight against any of the three. He'd relied on stealth and subtlety to get as far as he had, but he hadn't been a fighter. She certainly hadn't enjoyed fighting, either, but at least she'd been capable of it. Then again, she'd been older. If she'd been reaped at his age…

But she hadn't been. She had survived. He hadn't. In the end, it was just that simple. Fourth place wasn't bad for a fourteen-year-old street urchin, but in the end, Jacinth was just as dead as the pair from Twelve who had both died in the bloodbath. Dead was dead.

And she was alive.

Amber breathed a sigh of relief as the ceremony finally ended. Almost as soon as the cameras switched off, she was surrounded by the other three – Tabatha, Wyatt, and Jasmine. The three of them had volunteered to help her stand in for Jacinth's family, but she'd had to pull strings with the Peacekeepers to get them to let her pretend to be family. Peacekeepers in One weren't overly harsh like they were in some districts, but they certainly were sticklers for rules. Family was family, and to them, family was blood.

She knew better. Tabatha, Wyatt, and Jasmine were her family, and recently, their family had been growing. Orphans in District One had been quick to realize that they could depend on her for a little something if they happened to find themselves near Victor's Village. After word got around, it had only been a matter of time before the four of them had begun to invite some of the younger ones in on particularly cold nights. And by then, it had been too late to stop.

It hadn't taken them long to find a suitable building. She'd considered asking whether they could use one of the empty houses in Victor's Village, but that was obviously out of the question. Sure, they didn't need them now, but other Victors would eventually come along, and she didn't want her new charges to have to move out and start all over again. Besides, there were plenty of other empty buildings that had just needed a little fixing up.

That was something the four of them were good at – making something out of nothing. Before long, they'd set up the finest orphanage in the district, and they were in the process of setting up a second. The first wasn't full yet, but it was only a matter of time before it would be. It wouldn't be long before even some of the older, rougher street urchins decided a bed at night and three warm meals wasn't such a bad thing.

And it was all thanks to the Games.

That was a strange thing, really. She'd killed five tributes, after all. Five people. But how many lives had she made better already simply because now she had the money to do so? How many orphans wouldn't go hungry tonight? How many kids had a warm bed and clothes that weren't tattered for the first time in years – maybe in their whole lives.

Amber gave Jasmine a hug and quickly drew the other two in, as well. "Take care of the place while I'm gone." It wouldn't be long, really – not even as long as the Games. Just a party in the Capitol, and she'd be right back here where she belonged – with the people she belonged with.

With her family.

"I am something new, and in this old world steeped in legends, ancestors, and what came before."