pantheon of corruption | 96th gamemakers
Jan 16, 2024 12:02:55 GMT -5
Post by dars on Jan 16, 2024 12:02:55 GMT -5
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 violencesong: gods