pantheon of corruption | 96th gamemakers

[dars]

once you play god
they're gonna crumble one by one
then we're going to ride into the sun
like it's my kingdom come

Months before the 96th Hunger Games are set to begin, Hades Lochlan walks into the training center they're still in the process of building down by the harbor. It looks mostly finished from the outside, but upon entering he could see plastic sheets lining walls, a big hole in the wall where the elevator will eventually go, places where loose wiring still hangs from the ceiling. People in hardhats flood around, little worker bees doing their part while Hades marches his way to the conference room. Lemalla smiles at him from her station outside the door. "Good afternoon Gamemaker Lochlan. Should we expect the others this evening as well?"

"No," he says, never stopping his stride as he passes her, swipes his keycard, and steps inside. He's only come for his planner. He moves past the large table depicting a hologram-version of a cavernous, empty, snow-covered lodge to his desk up on the perch, where he nabs a leather satchel before turning to leave.

On his way out, he hears Lamella's breath come up short like she's looking for something pleasant to say. He doesn't acknowledge it. In fact, he's in and out of the building in less than 3 minutes, the black car he came in still running idly out front with a driver ready just as soon as he ducks back inside. "My office," he chides, not bothering to look up as he pores over several documents in his lap.

Traffic is shit. Turns out, no amount of power can exempt one from this outright tragedy. By the time he steps into his office, Maryn Hale and Ivan Korsch are already inside and waiting.

"Apologies," he says, closing the door behind him. He doesn't feel like its necessary to explain himself, so he takes his seat across the desk from them and clears his throat. "I called you both here because I've finished the designs on the friendlies," he explains, passing them both copies of muttation schematics. "Every year, no matter how wicked or terrifying I make them, some therapy-needing tribute or attention-seeking Snowbyrd account infantilizes them and tries to make them into pets. So I figured this year, I'd make both."

He folds his hands together, dividing his gaze between them over the next few seconds while they comb through the files.

"You can take these with you and read through them more thoroughly in your own time. These mutts will be worthless, though. Tameable. But hopefully they'll make the tributes more territorial when the violence starts."

He leaned down and opened the bottom drawer of his desk, producing another set of files.

"These will be lethal as always. Any one of them could kill in a heartbeat. I know we were stumped on what to do with the Fold- take a look at the one on top and let me know what you think. My assistant thinks the wings might be too unfair."

welcome to the big show next on the ladder
is it your name in the rafters?
brief   moment   of   silence
bad guy woke up and chose violence

song: gods

[☢️]

Ivan carries a thick leather brown briefcase. It is a dimensional transcendence case (big words – he has been needing to learn a lot of those lately!) The case seems bigger on the inside than it does on the outside. Glass bottles rattle inside of it as he walks to the office of his new colleague, Hades Lochlan. Within it are samples of poisons, combustibles and miniature trap mechanisms that he wishes to demonstrate to his colleagues. This evening he has been summoned to Lochlan’s office, probably because the veteran has something he wants to talk about but so does Ivan! So, what a better time!?

For a first, he has been wearing a wristwatch that actually tells the time and is not just there as an accessory piece and he is pretty sure he is not late, but Hades is not here in the building. It is just him and Maryn.

He sends a smile to his lady colleague, tapping his briefcase with his fingers that he rests on top of a chair.

Nah he is too restless to stand here in silence, he has yet to learn how to have a conversation with Maryn Hale without having a few shots first for confidence.

”He is late!” Ivan slams his briefcase on Hades’ desk which he is disappointed to see does not include any complimentary treats in a bowl to pick from. ”He mentioned finalizing the mutts in his message, is he stuck trying to catch one?” Ivan pouts and scratches the back of his head.

As Hades Lochlan strides into the room, he quickly slides his briefcase from the desk and places it at his feet as he takes a seat.

He is handed the schematics on mutations and flicks through all the files. They all remind him of the plush toys marketed to children. The next files of deadly beasts are more like it, hopefully some of them are just as venomous as the vials at his feet. ”Mutts are your forte Lochlan. I’ll leave all the details to you and trust that they all do the job…oh, how about,” Ivan drops the files on his lap, the image of a Bellybop looks up at him. ”How entertaining would it be to watch the tributes try and ride some of these? Do you have any larger beasts in your inventory that we could throw in there?”

The junior of the gamemakers in the room (not that he thinks he is inferior of either of them – because he is not) raises his hands, trying his best to measure the size of a large imaginary mountable beast. ”Imagine a fierce snow bear or whatever they’re called. The tributes could use them in battles, the ratings will go through the roof! These typical sword fights are so fifty-years ago. We need to liven up the deaths…” Ivan taps the briefcase with his toes, one eye looks down at it, he’ll get this conversation moved along.

table by dars.

[gamemaker 🍒 maryn hale]

MARYN.

search the graves while the camera spins
chunks of you will sink down to seals
{ blubber rich in m o u r n i n g

She and Ivan both arrive early.

But when the latter enters Hades’ office, Maryn is already sitting there, one leg crossed over the other and her sharp chin resting in the palm of her hand. Bored. She regards the younger man with a flat glance, her blue eyes sweeping from his hair down to his shoes. None of it really impresses her, so she looks back to the vacant wall dismissively. He speaks, attempting a little humor. “Actually, you’re late,” she lies, hoping to get under his skin.

It comes naturally to her. Place undamaged flesh in front of her, and she’ll fantasize about all the different ways she can tear it apart. “Take it from someone who has worked with Hades before: when he tells you when to show up for a meeting, he expects you there about twenty minutes beforehand.” She still doesn’t regard him, gazing down at her nails, flicking away dirt that doesn’t exist. “The Gamemaker that Cricket Antoinette replaced in our 90th team had the same habit. I wonder what district rat he’ll swap you for.” Again, another lie, but this time she flashes a biting smile in Ivan’s direction.

Of course, neither she or Hades have the ability to boot anyone off the team, but she can certainly make this whelp think it’s a possibility. That’s half the fun of being a person who likes to hurt others. Raising your fist, watching your victim flinch. It all comes down to the anticipation. The swish of the switchblade before it enters skin. The door swings open, and she ceases her torture to turn her attention to Hades. Let the record show: it’s not that she’s obedient to the man, it’s just that she understands that he is capable of performing his duties. He is tasked with designing Games that are as deadly as they are bloody, and he delivers.

Why would she bother him if he increases the ways that she can bother others? Like any calamity, it all comes down to the amount of casualties where Maryn is concerned. She will spare the one to destroy the many. Hades makes no excuse for his lateness, but she’s not bothered by this. Her schedule was cleared hours ago, and she doesn’t mind waiting when the result is worth it. How else would she spend her time? Her new bride is alluring enough to capture her attention in the night, but Maryn needs her distractions. After all, toys aren't made to be played with constantly. "I called you both here because I finished the designs on the friendlies.” This makes her roll her eyes halfway, lazily accepting the file and flipping through the pages far too quickly to absorb the information.

"They have my sign off. I still say the cutest ones are the ones that can rip limbs from sockets, but everybody’s a critic these days.” Once he hands her the second folder of lethal creations, her interest is finally piqued. This is more her style. No beady little eyes, no fuzzy little bodies. She stares down at pure horror scrawled across a page, and she smirks. She craves the terror these beasts will bring. Hades mentions something about unfairness, Ivan pitches an idea that she nods her head to in agreement, but her focus is elsewhere. A cold arena somewhere far away. Monsters rattling in their cages, ready to be set free to wreak havoc.

"I think the wings are perfect. Dare I say the claws could be sharper, but we'll throw our future tributes a bone and keep it as is.” She offers a rare and approving smile. "You've outdone yourself, Lochlan."

they'll nosh you up
yes, they'll nosh the love away
but it's fair to say
{ you will still h a u n t me