Prologue -- Part 2: The Hole

Wallace Hugh Mered, District 11

Monday, October 16, 2417 NO, 9:39 pm.

Wallace woke with a start, his muscles tense. His head pounded, his neck cracked with stiffness, and his limbs felt heavy and tight. His eyes opened, but in the dark he could see nothing but blackness.

Where was he? He slowly let out a breath, trying to focus. Clearly he wasn't home... District 11 had a distinctive earthy smell, mixed with a varying array of fruit blossom scents and spices. This place had a cold metallic, almost tinny smell that left a sour taste in his mouth.

He tried to stretch, but quickly found he couldn't. His ankles and wrists had been bound with leather straps, and chains held him secured to the floor and an unknown spot on the wall or ceiling. His head pounded, especially the left side of his face, which felt raw and swollen, though he couldn't remember why... He tugged at his chains, then stopped abruptly at the sound. The rattling of chain links was jarring, excruciatingly loud in the silence of his captivity.

His eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness, and through it he could see the wall: a brown-grey slab of stone that stretched upwards until it faded into more darkness. He shifted his hands, so stiff from his immobility and the tightness of the bonds that held him.

Where was he? The last thing he remembered was being in the warehouse... And Keezhee had arrived, and then... Slowly, memories returned to him, and he fought the urge to vomit. Chad... Chadwick was dead... And the others? He couldn't be certain. All he could be certain of was that death awaited him at the hands of his captors. Perhaps they would torture him first; he didn't know... There would be no tolerance for the heads of the resistance.

The scraping of boots outside his cell brought his focus back to the present. There was a clattering of keys, and a sudden flood of light blinded him as the door of his cell swung inward to reveal his captor.

The man was tall, probably as tall as Wallace, who stood at a towering 5'10". Though it was dark, the light revealed a slim, angular man with short, dark hair and piercing blue eyes that harbored a glint of malice. His lips were thin and drawn tight, pressed together as though he were gazing upon something distasteful.

Which perhaps, he was. Wallace had no way of being certain how long he'd been unconscious. It could have been minutes, hours, or days. Months of subterfuge had left little time for personal upkeep, and the days leading up to his capture had been spent in a stiflingly hot warehouse littered with the decaying remains of rotten fruit and dead flies.

The man stood there, still in silence. He nodded his chin. An order. Slowly, Wallace raised himself to a standing position -- no easy feat with his ankles bound. lifted his eyes, and their gazes locked.

"Wallace Mered. At last."

The man's voice was deeper than anticipated, and held a warmth that contradicted the iciness in his eyes. Wallace didn't answer, couldn't answer. The voice held a vague familiarity, though he didn't know why. The man had the strange, over-affected accent that Wallace associated with the Capitol city, but still he couldn't place the man's voice.

"Welcome to Holmes' Castle."

Wallace's heart sank. Holmes' Castle was a maximum security prison located somewhere in the mountains between the Capitol and District 2. None had ever escaped the prison alive, but it was well-known among the citizens of the Districts as a place of torture.

"You know why you are here, do you not?"

Moments passed. An eternity. Wallace simply stared at his captor. Without warning, the man drew back his arm and backhanded Wallace across the face. He dropped to his knees. His vision blurred. He saw stars, and he shook his head to clear his mind.

"Once again. I said, do you know why you are here." A statement, not a question. No need to answer.

"Hmm... perhaps you need a little... persuading, then..." The man's voice was calm and unwavering, unsettling. Wallace would almost have preferred anger. Anger, at least would have given him something to push back against, but this... nothing. There was nothing in this voice.

From a pocket on the inside of his coat, the man produced a small syringe. He uncapped it, and as the man moved toward him, Wallace could see the glint of clear liquid in it. His eyes widened. He didn't yell or scream -- he knew that would do him no good where he was -- but that didn't stop him from craning his head back, trying to put as much distance between himself and the needle as he could. A sudden blow to the side of his head whipped his head forward, and at that moment, he felt the cold thin steel penetrate the skin at the side of his neck.

Credits: Wallace | Spotify | Cerberus | Syringe
PBs: Wallace Hugh Mered portrayed by Adetomiwa Edun. Cerberus Monroe portrayed by Jason Isaacs.

Prologue -- Part 1: The End

The Endless Night

Friday, October 13, 2417 NO, 6:06 am.

The sun had risen over Panem, but none could see, nor cared to see what its light revealed, because for the citizens of the 13 districts, night had not yet ended.

Nearly four years had passed since the first rebels had struck back at the oppressors, and now it would seem all had been in vain. The attack on the Capitol had been an abject failure. The mountains which surrounded the city had been torturous to climb. Immense, rocky, and freezing cold, the environment of the jagged cliff face had afforded the rebels no protection from above, and they had been easy pickings for the surrounding hovercrafts.

One by one, the districts had fallen, succumbing to the might of the Capitol. First had been District 8, its textile factories an easy target for the Hovercrafts. District 1 surrendered almost immediately after in an attempt to ensure its survival, its close proximity to the Capitol making it an easy target. The blockade and subsequent destruction of the fishing ports off the coast of District 4 saw the fishing district fold. Next to fall had been 7, 9, and 10, their expansiveness turning against them as the Capitol cut off their communication with the rest of the districts. With the hacking of District 3's mainframe, the Capitol had taken down Districts 3, 5, and 6 in quick succession.

The Torched Fields of District 11

The orchards of District 11 had long been torched, the remainder of its citizens hanging on by sheer determination, clustering at the border between their district and District 12.

And now... for three days straight, the Capitol had commenced with a non-stop barrage on the remaining rebel districts. The east coast of the country became a never-ending sea of flames. Thick, choking black smoke pervaded the air.

The Fruit Warehouse -- The Rebels' Last Stand

And in District 11, the last of the rebel army huddled in a storage cooler beneath a warehouse. Just a year before, it had been a perfect base for rebel activity: its tall, concrete walls sturdy enough to withstand any Capitol skirmish, its refrigerated underbelly the perfect place to store food and house the occasional refugee.

Much had changed since then. The warehouse's once-pristine corrugated metal ceilings were now worn with rust. Scattered papers and rotting cardboard littered the ground. Numerous power outages had stripped the refrigerators of their coolants. Wooden pallets stood stacked here and there, covered in too-ripe, almost rotten fruit.

Keezheekoni's Last Message

The rebels were scarcely a mile from the District 12 border, but they'd heard nothing since their last correspondence from Commander Paul Keezheekoni two and a half days ago. No one spoke. The tension hung thick in the air, and the soldiers looked at each other with both terror and determination in their eyes.

Commander Wallace Hugh Mered studied his squad carefully, knowing that at any moment, fate could step in and take any of them away from him. He was lean and dark, with thin black eyes and a wide nose. In his dark rebel forces uniform, he almost seemed to fade into the darkness of the warehouse.

Wallace Hugh Mered, District 11

At only 31 years old, Wallace Mered was the youngest of the rebel squad leaders, but he'd already learned the harsh reality of battle. He'd had to -- although he'd only been a fruit carter in District 11, he'd joined the rebels as soon as he'd heard about the uprising in District 13. His first mission with a squad was only a week later. It had been a simple transport op, but by the time they reached their destination, it was clear that their plans had been discovered, and they had been forced to turn back. He'd lost two men in that mission, one of them Douglass Loquat, his best friend since childhood.

Now he gazed upon the scant few who remained, the last four of a squad that had originally been a team of fifteen. These four had followed him into battle time and time again: Sumayyah Bulgur, the shy grain sifter from District 9, who had joined after the death of her son, Ammar. She had revealed herself to be a resourceful and deadly spy, and more than once Wallace had been thankful for her quick wit. From District 3, Esias Adtran, the systems analyst turned hacker, who had barely escaped with his life after the Capitol unleashed a hoard of tracker jackers through the ventilation system of their base. Chadwick d'Arc, a security guard from District 13. And 14-year-old Somersett Loquat, his sole companion from his home District of Eleven, and the son of his best friend, Douglass, who had been killed in battle.

Chadwick opened his mouth and whispered a question that Wallace couldn't quite hear. His eyebrows arched quizzically, but before he could ask Chadwick to repeat himself, a faint knock at the door startled them all into silence.

At last the deep tones of a familiar voice muffled their way through the door. "Mered! Open up. Keezhee here."

Wallace's chin shot up, and he grinned as he hurried to let the man in.

"Keezh! Man, I thought you were gone for sure. When the bombs started falling, and we didn't hear from you..."

"Yeah, I know. I almost was. Quisling sold out on us. Fuckin' squawker. You didn't get my message, then?"

Wallace's smile disappeared at once. Ice flooded his chest. "He what? No, we haven't heard anything since your message about Lincoln. What happened to her?"

Commander Paul Keezheekoni, District 12

Keezheekoni sank to the ground, his back against the wall, his head in his hands. "The Caps got her. Project Jericho was a disaster. From what I hear, she didn't even make it to the Nut."

"Is she--"

"No, she's still alive, far as I can tell. God knows what they're gonna do to her... I'd almost rather she hadn't been taken... I just hope, whatever they do, it's quick..."


Wallace nodded, his chest constricting as Keezhee continued.

"And Quisling... I sent the mesage, he was supposed to stand by and let me know as soon as we got your reply, and then... boom. I don't know what happened. We were all set to leave when the bombs started dropping. Some sort of toxic gas. Most of us got out, but Skinner and Quail got a good whiff of it and were gone before we even knew what hit us. Wasn't anywhere to turn. Lost most of my squad just trying to get away... Last thing I saw..."

He looked up wearily, then took a breath, "And Chad... I don't really know how to make this easier, but Thirteen's gone."

Wallace looked at Chadwick, whose face had gone blank with shock. Fearing that he'd lose his composure, Wallace reached out a hand to steady him. The man's entire body seemed to ripple as he struggled to breathe, and then he collapsed.

Wallace immediately moved to the floor beside him. He shook him, gently at first, then more roughly when he didn't respond. He reached down to check for the man's pulse. There was none. His fingertips brushed the tip of a thin, hard needle protruding from Chadwick's neck.

"Chad... Chadwick! Chad, listen to me, man. Don't do this to me... C'mon... You're gonna be alright... You just gotta-"

Suddenly, the reinforced door to the bunker exploded open with the force of a gunshot, and within seconds the warehouse was swarming with peacekeepers. Wallace hadn't even a chance to raise his weapon when he was tackled and shoved roughly to the floor. His head slammed against the cold concrete and all went black.

The last squad of the Districts' Rebellion had been captured.

The war was over. The Capitol had won.

Credits: Barrage | Soundtrack | Field | Warehouse | Note | Wallace | Keezh
PBs: Wallace Hugh Mered portrayed by Adetomiwa Edun. Paul Keezheekoni portrayed by Will Sampson.

Setting the Scene: Our Panem

The map of Panem that I reference, as detailed on the creators' LiveJournal post.

An Introduction from the Author

Hello! My name is Megan, and I would like to begin by welcoming you to my blog, Panem Et: The Origins of the Hunger Games.

My design in creating this blog was to create a stable place for myself to channel my creativity through writing. I've always enjoyed reading well-written fanfiction, and occasionally have dabbled in writing some of my own, primarily through role playing on Harry Potter forums and the like. The Hunger Games is a series that greatly inspires me, as I'm sure it has many others.

The plot of the first novel is relatively simple. The government of the land once known as America has collapsed, and in its place has risen a new order: Panem, a country comprised of an all-powerful Capitol City, located somewhere in what was formerly known as the Rocky Mountains, and thirteen districts, each in charge of contributing a specific product for the use of the country. At some point in History, the districts joined arms and rebelled against the Capitol and were subsequently crushed into submission. In penance, the twelve districts that remained are required to draw names from their pool of 12-18 year olds, one male and one female, and these ‘tributes’, as they are called, are forced to participate in a televised fight to the death.

The premise of the novel and subsequent film franchise is hardly original. From William Golding’s The Lord of the Flies to the Japanese novel Battle Royale, and all the way back to the Minotaur’s sacrificial virgins in Greek Folklore, the thought of children or teenagers killing each other is an idea firmly embedded in the public psyche. There is something about the morbidity of the entire idea which both disgusts and inspires us, and Suzanne Collins executes it fantastically in her novel, The Hunger Games.

Through this blog, I will be attempting to fill holes in the Hunger Games universe, beginning with the first games and ending when the creativity and ideas run dry, because I don’t have a set ending at the moment. I could say ending before the first novel, but what would happen if I get that far and still have ideas for back story or other character explorations? So, when the ideas run dry, that’s when I’ll end.

So, if you’re reading this blog for the first time, please do sit back, keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times, and enjoy the ride.