The Hunger Games Wiki


The 76th Hunger Games

Raeoki June 27, 2012 User blog:Raeoki

"Oh, so you thought the Hunger Games were over, huh?

Hah! They've barely just begun!"

-Final stanza of President Grey's inaugural adress.


Have you ever wondered: "What if Katniss and District 13 lost the war? What if the Capitol won, and continued to impose the Hunger Games on the districts?"

Well, welcome to the 76th Hunger Games, where you can satiate your dark curiosity. This is not your average Hunger Games. This is the return of Panem's darkest nightmare.
So turn on your television, ready your silver parachutes, and prep your tributes.
For the rebels have burned, but the Capitol still stands.

Rules & Information (Please read!)

  1. Be nice, please! <3
  2. Please, please, PLEASE critique me! I don't want to live the rest of my life writing a mixture of English and Gibberish (Engibberlish)!
  3. If you find mistakes, please point them out! Typos aren't just annoying to the reader, they're embarrassing to the writer! So please, point them out, for both your sake and mine. <3
  4. I'd just like to point out that, yes, District 12 has returned, just like it did in the book (kinda). I'm gonna assume that the Capitol forced out all the surviving District 12 residents out of District 13 and back onto D12's original location.
  5. Please note that I can't be on EVERY day. I'd like to be, Internet's suicidal. x_x Sorry!
  6. I just want people to take note that no, you can't be a mentor. For this game, it just wouldn't make much sense. Sorry. :(
  7. But guess what?! You CAN be a stylist! But mind you, this is probably the only time I'll let people make their own stylists, and instead recycle the characters in future Games.
  8. Stylist slots shall remain open until the chariot rides. I will not be waiting for slots to be filled, though, so we won't have to wait for any even more characters to sign up.
  9. To quell further rebellion, the age of reaping eligibility is now ten to nineteen, instead of the old twelve to eighteen.
  10. Instead of being destroyed, District 13 is now forced to contribute tributes in the Games.
  11. From this year on, three randomly selected districts will be forced to reap not just two, but FOUR tributes. This year, District Thirteen, District Twelve, and District 6 will be forced to reap two boys and two girls for the 76th Hunger Games.
  12. Please remember that you can only make TWO FOUR tributes!
  13. Unfortunately (to avoid the usage of characters from the book/movie and accidentally get their personalities messed up), Snow is dead, and has been succeeded by an equally sadistic woman called President Roseanna Grey.

Character Information


Age: (Please remember that ages now range from ten to nineteen)




Weaknesses: (And please, don't make your character unstoppable! I'm not saying you will, but I'd just like to take a moment to point out that "unstoppable" characters are a little annoying and gives the writer nothing to work with.)







Tribute You Work For: (if your stylist is working for a district with double the amount of tributes, then just select a gender.)



History: (Please remember that all of the stylists for this game will probably have to be new, as I believe that only Katniss's prep team survived the war. Sorry, if this is inconvenient. DD:)

The Tributes

District 1 Male: Bentely Emerson-Odair - Seventeen - Training Score: 9

District 1 Female: Shimmer Cashmere - Seventeen - Training Score: 10

District 2 Male: Cholo Werdair - Eighteen - Training Score: 6

District 2 Female: Jamelle Peterson - Seventeen - Training Score: 11

District 3 Male:

District 3 Female: Aria Camelliston - Sixteen - Training Score: 6

District 4 Male: Nicholas Davenport - Seventeen - Training Score: 8

District 4 Female: Seraphina Sage - Fifteen - Training Score: 7

District 5 Male:

District 5 Female: Demi Campbell - Fourteen - Training Score: 9

District 6 Male:

Other District 6 Male: Micky McAllister - Seventeen - Training Score: 5

District 6 Female:

Other District 6 Female:

District 7 Male: Gabriel "Gabe" DiPablo - Thirteen - 7

District 7 Female:

District 8 Male:

District 8 Female:

District 9 Male:

District 9 Female:

District 10 Male: Gunner Pan - 15 - Training Score: 8

District 10 Female:

District 11 Male:

District 11 Female:

District 12 Male:

Other District 12 Male:

District 12 Female: Jane Everdeen - 12 - Training Score: 7

Other District 12 Female:

District 13 Male:

Other District 13 Male:

District 13 Female: Anastasia King - 15 - Training Score: 2

Other District 13 Female:


Bentely Stylist:

Shimmer's Stylist:

Cholo's Stylist:

Jamelle's Stylist:

D3M Stylist:

Aria's Stylist:

Nicholas's Stylist:

Seraphina's Stylist:


Demi's Stylist:

Micky's and other D6 male's Stylist:

D6F's Stylist:

Gabe's Stylist:

D7F Stylist:

D8M Stylist:

D8F Stylist:

D9M Stylist:

D9F Stylist:

Gunner's Stylist:

D10F Stylist:

D11M Stylist:

D11F Stylist:

D12M's Stylist:

D12F's Stylist:

D13M's Stylist:

Anastasia and other D13F's Stylist:

The Reaping

District 4

Seraphina Sage

Seraphina lay sprawled out on her mattress, her eyelids twitching. Her hands clenched her thin blanket tightly, her knuckles blanching as her grip grew tighter and tighter. She pressed her lips together, and allowed a small murmur to crawl up her throat and out of her mouth. A small draft cooled the bare bedroom, but perspiration beaded on Seraphina’s forehead, and trickled down her tan cheeks. Her heart hammered in her chest, as if it was tired of its cage and was trying to break free.

The fifteen-year-old jerked, her eyes flying open. Seraphina listened to her heavy pants for a moment, allowing the sound of her own breathing relax her tensed muscles and calm her violent heart. She squeezed her eyes closed, and slowly released her sheet.

The nightmares were always the most terrifying on reaping day. The churning torrent of water that shoved her father’s ship into the unforgiving sea and swept her mother’s limp form away from the beach became more vivid and tangible on reaping days, as if it had exploded out of her nightmares and was rushing madly towards her, to drag her away from Aurora and the living world. But last night, the nightmares insisted on terrorizing Seraphina more than it usually did on the accursed holidays. The intricate details of the dark dream had seeped out of her mind the moment she woke up, but she could remember clinging onto a thin rope that drooped under the added weight with one hand, the other clenching her sister’s little hand as tight as Seraphina could muster. She could hear the churning of water beneath them, harmonizing with her parents’ far-off screams. Aurora’s hand started to slide out of Seraphina’s, and no matter how hard Seraphina squeezed her younger sister’s hand Aurora just kept slipping and slipping, until finally she lost her hold on Seraphina and plummeted towards the crashing waves.

Seraphina opened her eyes, a grimace forming on her face. She sat up, tore her sheet off, and lowered her toes down onto the cold floorboards. The fifteen-year-old stood up, and hugged herself tightly as she padded over to her wardrobe. Seraphina opened it, her eyes drifting side-to-side, scanning the clothes carefully. Her hand shot out toward a brown dress and yanked it off of its hanger.

As she dressed, she stared at a small, black-and-white photo taped to her bedroom door. A man and a woman grinned at her from their photograph, their arms entwined. Fully dressed now, Seraphina edged closer to them, the corners of her mouth creeping up into a soft smile. She took the photo between her thumb and forefinger, and peeled it off the door carefully, as not to hurt it.

Seraphina’s eyes drifted off the photo as she opened the door. She tip-toed away from her bedroom, and hurried over to the kitchen, the stench of scorched food wafting into her nostrils. She pushed open the door, and halted dead in her tracks. Aurora sat at the small, circular dining table, two plates of charred pancakes sitting before the young girl.

“I made you breakfast,” Aurora grunted, staring up at Seraphina with hollow eyes.

Seraphina’s eyes darted from Aurora to the pancakes, then back to Aurora. “Oh,” she said, striding over to the dining table. “That’s very considerate of you, Rora.” The fifteen-year-old flopped down in a chair, placing the photo carefully on the table.

“Sera?” the younger girl piped up.


Aurora cast her eyes down to the pancakes, and fidgeted in her chair. “I-is there any way we can…NOT go to the reaping?”

Seraphina lifted her brows in surprise. “Why?”

Aurora scowled. “Nothin’,” she murmured.

Seraphina cocked her head to the side. Her head jerked suddenly, as if she remembered something, and slid the photo over to Aurora. “Here.”

Aurora stared at it for a moment, her eyes widening. She reached for the photo with a shaky hand. “Mom and Pop?” she whispered.

Seraphina smiled and nodded. “I thought you would like to take them to the reaping.”

“Oh,” Aurora mumbled, picking it up gently. “Thank you.” Her eyes scanned the picture for a moment, and then darted up to her older sister. “Sera, PLEASE don’t go to the reaping!” she breathed.

Seraphina flinched. “B-but I have to, Rora,” she explained gently.

“I don’t care – j-just…” Aurora’s shoulders slumped. Seraphina frowned deeply, her eyes clouding over with worry. She flung herself from her chair, wrapping her arms around little Aurora’s neck. The younger girl closed her eyes, resting her cheek against Seraphina’s. “I dreamt about you last night, Sera,” she whispered. “Th-there was this boy – and he had this…this…this knife, and…you were there...and he…”

Seraphina squeezed her sister tighter. “It’s just a dream, Rora. A silly little dream. All it means is that you weren’t sleeping well, Rora.”

Aurora nodded her head slowly. “I don’t want you to go to the reaping, Sera,” she echoed softly.

After that, the only noise in the house was the scuffling of two pairs of feet as Seraphina and Aurora hurried to fix their hair and hurry out the door. They walked towards the District Square hand-in-hand, Aurora slipping her mother and father’s photo into the chest-pocket of her sky blue dress. When they had reached the Square and signed in their names, Seraphina bent over to talk to Aurora. “I have to go now. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Aurora’s grip on Seraphina’s hand tightened. “Sera…”

“Rora – please,” Seraphina murmured. Grimacing, Aurora released her older sister and watched her walk away to join her peers. Staring down at her shoes, the young girl shuffled off to step in line with children the same age as she.

A man dressed in a blue jumpsuit skipped onto the stage, the pearls and rubies imbedded in his skin glinting in the sunlight. “Hello, hello, hello, hello!” he sang into the microphone. “My name is Angelfish Maracas, and it gives me full pleasure to announce that I – Angelfish Maracas – shall be District Four’s…BRAND NEW ESCORT!” He held his head high, grinning down at the assembly of District 4 residents, as if expecting them to be pleased.

The crowd stared up at Angelfish, not making a noise.

Angelfish scowled. “Yes, well, let’s get onto the reaping, shaaaaaaall we?” He popped on his large grin again, and danced over to the girls’ bowl. “Ladies first, of course!”

He shoved his hand into the bowl, digging through the small slips of paper. Aurora sucked in a deep breath, making her cheeks puff out like a chipmunk. Not Sera, not Sera, not Sera, not Sera…

Angelfish’s hand stopped suddenly. He looked up, his smile growing. With a flourish, the escort pulled the slip of paper out, lifting it up high in the air for all to see.

Aurora squeezed her eyes closed, and entwined her index finger with her middle finger. Not Sera, not Sera, not Sera…

Angelfish lowered the slip, and slowly opened the folded piece of paper.

Standing with the clustered fifteen-year-old girls, Seraphina felt a shudder run down her spine as images of Aurora slipping out of her grasp flashed through her mind.

The escort sucked in a deep breath, and proclaimed, “Aurora…SAGE!”

It was as if an icicle had cleaved Seraphina’s spine in two. Her mouth opened, as if she was trying to choke out a scream that didn’t dare come out. The fifteen-year-old dropped to her knees, her arms dangling listlessly at her sides.

The crowd of young girls parted for Aurora. The young teen trudged up to the stage, her skin prickling as the cameras fell on her. The soles of her shoes thumped a little as she stepped onto a pair of steps that led up to the stage.

Seraphina’s body jolted. She scrambled to her feet, shoving her way through the crowd. Her teeth ground against each other as Aurora stepped onto the stage, striding over to Angelfish. The escort grinned down at her, his dark eyes twinkling. “Well, well, well, hello there! You must be-”

“RORA!” Seraphina screeched as she burst out of the crowd. “RORA, WAIT!”

Aurora spun around. Her eyes bulged as she gasped in a sharp, urgent breath. She turned around. “Quick! Call the other tribute!”

Angelfish blinked. “Ah, I will, but it seems that-”

“Now!” Aurora hissed.

Seraphina bounded up the steps. “I VOLUNTEER!” she cried, rushing over to Aurora and Angelfish. She skidded to a halt behind her sister, her hands landing on Aurora’s shoulders. “I –vol – un - teer,” she repeated between pants.

Angelfish smiled and nodded. “Very good, very good!” He turned to the crowd. “It appears we have a volunteer on our hands, folks!” The escort smiled at Seraphina. “Tell us your name, hon.”

He tipped the microphone in Seraphina’s directions. “Seraphina,” she said. Her eyes wandered over to the crowd. Aurora could feel her hold on her shoulders tighten.

“Your full name, honey,” Angelfish said.

“O-oh.” Seraphina closed her eyes for a moment and swallowed down a lump in her throat. “S-sage.”

Angelfish’s eyes widened. “Ah! Sisters! Or, at least, cousins. Very interesting!”

Aurora wrinkled her nose, her eyes flashing in rage. She wrenched herself free of Seraphina’s grasp, and whirled around. “Why?” she hissed.

Seraphina flinched. “I had to – for you…”

“So I can live in an orphanage?” the young girl spat.

Seraphina stiffened. “I thought-"

Aurora snorted loudly, cutting her off. She shoved her small hand into her chest-pocket and slid out of the photograph. Aurora snatched her older sister’s wrist and shoved the photo into her palm.

Seraphina’s eyes darted from the picture to Aurora. “Th-thank you,” she breathed.

The loud thump of Peacekeeper boots banged in Seraphina’s ears. She glanced up, her muscles tensing as she watched the white-uniformed men march over to them, their grim eyes set on Aurora. We’re taking too long.

Aurora snorted again. She wrapped her arms tightly around Seraphina’s waist, tears swelling in her eyes. “Stay safe.”

Seraphina returned the embrace. “I will.”

The Peacekeepers grabbed Aurora by the shoulders and jerked her back, prying her away from Seraphina. They snatched her by her forearms, and hoisted her up into the air. “PROMISE ME!” she wailed as they began to carry her back to the crowd of District 4 residents.

Seraphina nodded her head furiously. “I promise I will! I promise!”

Angelfish let out a loud, obnoxious whistle. “My, my! This will certainly be an interesting Hunger Games this year, won’t it?” He grinned at the crowd. “And now…for the gentlemen!” he chuckled, prancing over to the boys’ bowl.

District 10

Gunner Tan

It all began in the 71st Hunger Games. Gunner must’ve been around ten that year. Back in those days, he would’ve been considered safe from the Hunger Games and its bloodshed. But nobody could ever truly believe that they’re safe in Panem. Gunner realized that at an early age.

The fifteen-year-old stepped out of his family’s small, grimy shack. He wore the same clothes his eldest brother, Machiavelli, had worn when he was Gunner’s age: a white, button-up shirt; black trousers with matching, polished shoes. Gunner glanced down at his apparel, and grinned, his chest swelling with pride. He remembered over-hearing some of his schoolmates grousing about how they were getting hand-me-downs from their older siblings. Gunner wrinkled his nose, his grin turning into a smirk. Either they were idiots, or their siblings were nothing like Gunner’s.

He heard his father close the door. His mother latched onto Gunner’s shoulders, her nails digging into his flesh, as if she feared he was going to go on a rampage any minute.

Gunner’s eyes darkened. Don’t worry, Ma, he thought. I’m saving my energy for the arena.

Five years in the future's past....

At the age of seventeen, Machiavelli Pan had been reaped for the Hunger Games. Things had looked bright from the beginning: he was a handsome, strong young man, and the Capitol couldn't get enough of him during the Chariot Rides and the interviews. Even in District Ten, where the majority of the people were jaded and pessimistic compared to the people of the Capitol, the residents had hope that Machiavelli would return as District Ten’s sixth victor.

In District One, the people were not so pleased with either of their tributes. Their female tribute, Artemis Lite, had been stabbed to death by the wispy twelve-year-old from District 8 in the second day of the Games. Her district partner, the fourteen-year-old Apollo Shine, failed in avenging her: it took the elegant sixteen-year-old of District 2 to shoot down the young tribute with her bow and arrow as he attempted to flee the scene. In the meantime, Apollo cowered in the background, clenching his axe but too terrified to use it.

Despite District One’s disparagement of their male tribute, Apollo managed to survive to the finale. Throughout the entire game, the career pack had protected him from what most believed his unavoidable demise, until the second-to-last day, where they finally turned on each other. The only reason Apollo survived that day was because he chose flight over battle, not looking back as his allies butchered each other. The last career to die that day was the aforementioned girl from District Two – the girl who had stepped up to Caesar Flickerman as the Survivor, the Probable Winner, the Princess of War – who fell due to massive blood loss right before the anthem.

As for Machiavelli, he had taken refuge in a cave during most of the game, only to be drawn out for his battle with Apollo for the position of victor.

The finale was intense. Apollo, despite his shaking hands and his preference to dodge instead of attack, managed to chop off Machiavelli’s arm. Screaming in rage, the boy from Ten thrust his dagger at Apollo’s head. He jerked his head to the right just in time to avoid a fatal blow, but Machiavelli’s attack was not in vain: Apollo gnashed his teeth in anguish as his ear fell to the ground with a soft pumph.

Apollo squeezed his eyes tight, trying to hold back the hot tears that threatened to spill out. Without opening his eyes, the boy swung his axe at Machiavelli, the cruel weapon making a whooshing noise as it whizzed through the air.

A sound that vaguely reminded Machiavelli of a butcher chopping his meat filled his ears. He went completely still for a moment, his brow creased, as if he was having trouble registering something. He slowly lowered his eyes down to the axe buried in his hip. He looked up at Apollo, his eyes growing as wide as the moon.

Apollo opened his eyes, and sucked in a sharp breath as he stared at his bloody weapon. His whole body trembled as he yanked the axe out, blood promptly spraying out like water gushing out of a hose. Machiavelli fell to the ground with a sickening thud, his eyes blinking rapidly.

The District 1 tribute stared down at Machiavelli’s grizzly wound. He staggered back, his head shaking slowly. “You told me it wouldn’t be like this.”

Machiavelli glanced up at Apollo. His vision was blurry, forcing the dying boy to squint at his killer.

“You told me it wouldn’t be like this, Gloss!” Apollo wailed. His axe slipped from his hands. He wrapped his arms around his chest, and fell down to his knees. “You said – you said it would be like being a bird freed from its cage! But it isn’t! It isn’t!”

Machiavelli blinked, and then allowed a soft smile to slip onto his face.

His body went limp.

Into the future's present...

Gunner stood in the crowd of fifteen-year-old boys, his eyes locked onto the stage. He blocked out everything: the boys swarming around him; the sound of the escort’s tall heels clicking against the stage as she strode up to the microphone and the small speech she gave in her squeaky voice. Gunner even ignored the escort as she stepped up to the girl’s bowl, shoving in a multi-colored hand into the slips of paper.

None of those things mattered. The interactions of potential friends and allies were nothing. Some silly woman of forty who liked to think she was twenty squeaking about how ‘absolutely supericiously excited’ she was to be here was, in actuality, some goofy ditz wasting his time. Not even the selection of what would surely be his district partner meant much to him. In the end, District Ten’s girl tribute would just be another sensitive fool who was sure to be the first to die in the Bloodbath.

Gunner smiled a little. Now that he thought about, not a lot of things mattered much to him – except, of course, avenging his brothers.

District Ten’s female tribute stood on the stage. Gunner ignored her, finding the escort more interesting. He watched her stride up to the boy’s bowl, his eyes widening. She stuffed her hand into the slips of paper, digging around for what she thought was the perfect one.

Gunner’s muscles tensed. He slowly rose onto the tips of his toes, his strong hands curling into fists. Gunner Pan, Gunner Pan, Gunner Pan, he thought. C’mon, harlot, say “Gunner Pan”!

She pulled out a slip. The escort lifted her gaze towards the crowd of District 10 residents, and twisted her violet lips into a smile. “My, my, I wonder who the lucky boy could be?” she giggled.

Gunner wrinkled his nose. “Shut up and keep going,” he hissed.

Keeping her eyes on her audience, the escort opened the slip of paper. She looked down at the paper. Her grin grew, and she looked up at the crowd.

Her voice rang in Gunner’s ears, repeating itself in his scarred mind. “Zoren Torto! Zoren Torto! Zoren Torto! Zoren Torto! Zoren Torto!”

Gunner’s fists shook. The faces of his three doomed brothers flashed through his mind.

It’s not me. It’s not me. It’s not me.

Four years into the future's past...

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