Chapter Text
Excerpt from Guide to the 26th Hunger Games by Capitol Couture:
It's that time of year again, Capitolites! Reapings are all but a few weeks away, so now's the time to get you and your family ready for the new Hunger Games season. Our hot tips? Brush up on the latest fashion, get those home decorations hanging, and start planning your very own watch party extravaganza!
Exclusive! Don't miss the extended highlights of the 1st Hunger Games on Channel Capitol; showing for a limited time only!
I
Thursday
17 June
8:30 a.m.
The lecture theatre is awash with murmuring as the man nudges the door. If not for the sparse assortment of seats ahead, the place would be full. Unnoticed, he enters, duly taking his place in the final row. The lecturer is absent, opting for a pre-match cigarette in lieu of a punctual start. Both men had noticed the other in the hallway, prompting a cordial exchange of nods.
The theatre is almost brutalist in design. In a combative blend of grit and luxury design, a dull, unpolished stone surrounds rows of white marble pews cushioned red. The walls themselves are dotted with shallow holes, both large and small in circumference. Running a hand beneath the crimson seat cushion, the man is grateful for the marble's presence. He savours the cool sensation it returns to his touch; he much prefers the finer things life has to offer.
Those not conversing are glued to the screens atop their desks. Slacking off, he assumes, spying a boy browsing penthouse listings a stone's throw ahead. A closer listen to those around him reveals study worries, yet the man cannot help but feel he had it much harder.
The name of the class is An Introduction to Gamemaking and Other Conflict Studies, a course he knows is the University of Panem's most popular. He had completed it fifteen years ago, at a time when he was barely an adult, curious and youthful. It had opened his eyes.
He had been living on the outskirts of the city at the time. Suffering was a foreign concept, a demon he had never encountered. His childhood had been amok with all the pleasantries permitted by freedom and wealth. Yet, he still found his expansive childhood home, with its three yards and twice as many acres, had no room to grow. Safeguarded by a nuclear father and nurturing mother, he bore the fruits of their concentration, emerging from the household a quiet achiever and, by most accounts, a well-adjusted young man.
Nowadays, the praise rose like heat. The President of Panem had requested a meeting with him just the week before. The ruler had his fingers plastered deep in the proverbial pudding, unhappy with infighting the younger man could hardly care for. Just as in his childhood, he remained driven, fascinated by results; the end always justifies the means. The two men bonded over the mantra. It was a philosophy they both followed and respected, though only one of the two had truly put it into practice. Yet, such bloody history was not to be discussed. Once the dotted line had been signed, their forum culminated in the sharing of a palatial beverage.
Now, the man perches forward in his seat. To him, nothing of much importance had changed since his younger days, the days wherein this class had consumed his every waking thought. He ignores the methods which gained him his promotion, his sickness. He is bereft of any care for such trivialities.
The lecturer, Doctor Harlan Commodus, had remained since the man's time. Once a man of greying black hair, his reentry into the theatre bears a haggard figure, his collar-length beard and slicked hair whitewashed by age. Exactly what had he been doing to give himself such grief? The man averts his eyes from the lecturer. Perhaps peacetime torments the conflict scholar.
In complete defiance of the summer weather outside, Harlan wears a black turtleneck sweater, revealing it as he removes a thin brown cardigan by the sleeves. White pants and white shoes, designer, show he is at least somewhat conscious of the current style. Retaking his place behind the lectern, Harlan makes sure to eye the back rows. Before too long, a clearing of the throat.
"Good morning to you all. Shall we begin?" Harlan prods, culling the buzz of youthful chatter. His voice, as rugged as it is provocative, issues a boom around the room as the theatre's speakers are awoken.
"Good. Students, let me first make myself crystal clear. Though we are gathered at our final lecture today, this is not where your interest in Panem's history should falter. Each topic covered in previous lectures will feature on the exam."
With those sweet, sweet words, the man shifts sympathetically in his seat. Some things never change.
"I hope you all make wise use of your time throughout the coming weeks. Now, onto today's agenda. As those of you who attended last week's lecture will know, we covered the Dark Days and the ongoing effects of modern conflict."
The feeble lecturer potters out from behind his lectern, keynote clicker in hand. With a mere wave of his hand, the room's built-in projector springs to life. The irony is not lost on the man; Harlan is of an older breed of folk, an ilk who prefer tactile equipment.
"Now, I'm sure for many of you this is your favourite era of Panem. I know it's my favourite era."
The half-quip yields no laughter.
"Right. Well, in any case, for those of you who couldn't make it, we devoted much time to discussing the glorious comeback victory of the Capitol. The Treaty of Treason was covered, I do believe, albeit in no great detail due to time. Let's resume with a brief summary, shall we?"
The man had expected a swift introduction, yet Harlan seems to be in no such rush. His suspicions are confirmed when the old lecturer begins a slow pace to the far wall, considering his words carefully as he ambles away from the projector screen.
"The Treaty of Treason is a touchstone as much as it is a treaty. You see, whilst it laid the foundations for a wealth of new legislature in Panem, it is also a symbol of our generosity as Capitolites."
The man begins to wonder how long this will take.
"Now, I am no professor of law, but it is safe to say that the legislature begun by the Treaty of Treason had to be robust in nature. To this day, students, its ultimate aim is to prevent history from repeating itself."
Harlan pauses his pace. At his touch, the projector screen transitions from the university's seal to vile images of the Dark Days. Gasps erupt as images of bodies charred and utterly destroyed suffocate the room. The man recognises some of the photos, primarily those which became prizewinners after the fact. He knows the images were mostly the result of firebombing campaigns and other rebel attacks. They were first shown to him in school.
"Students, this is why we cannot let history repeat itself," Harlan starts up again, his shocking show seeming successful.
"Let us not forget the sacrifices made by our fellow Capitolites for the privileges we enjoy today. We must never forget; that is our duty."
The man listens intently to the warning. His respect for his former teacher is constant, though he still can't decode exactly what the lecturer truly thinks.
"Albeit, listening to me ramble on would hardly be as immersive as hearing it from a Head Gamemaker."
Ears prick up around the class. Jaws which were previously agape shutter. On standby for his cue, the man revels in the interest. His public appearances have been conveniently limited by the ongoing Victory Tour for the First Quarter Quell.
"Yes, yes, this is in fact a guest lecture. You're welcome," Harlan continues, shucking his audience.
The man rises in anticipation, a coy smile wringing his lips.
"Students, please welcome Head Gamemaker Aemilius Hibernicus."
Hello and welcome to Sacrificed, dear reader!
Yes, the times are a-changing in Panem! We'll be following Aemilius as he attempts to modernise the Hunger Games after a lacklustre Quarter Quell.
As for me, I'm Jack! I've dabbled in creative writing before, mostly in English, but also in languages other than English. This will be a passion project of mine, so I'm keen to get started!
If you want to get involved, the form for this story is already up on my profile. At this stage, my deadline is 1 March 2025, simply because I have no idea how many submissions I'll receive. Before you submit, please read the noticeboard for this story on my profile!
Reviews are greatly appreciated, constructive criticism or otherwise. At the end of the day, I have a narrative I think is worth telling, so your feedback will only help me tell it better! I've also planned a number of interactive activities for readers, the first of these being accompanying playlists for the prologue chapters. You can also find these on my profile whenever a new prologue drops!
Thank you for joining me for this first chapter, I hope you'll come along for the rest of the ride! Please feel free to reach out for anything, my inbox is always open.
May the odds be ever in your favour! ~ J.