50th Hunger Games Novels & Stories

Hope’s POV The Omega Games. It is not even a game. More like a suicide, that’s what it is. Every 5 years, every pack in the land will send their wolfless omegas to fight to the death in an arena and the winning pack pockets billions of dollars in the form of tax free land, business commodities and a great big slice of the oil and gas industry. That is a lot of money at stake. But all this is done in the name of innocent omegas, all this is done in the name of bloodshed.

Tears prick at my eyes. She's right. I'm weak. Useless. Everything synonymous to it. “Besides, tomorrow is the Dance of the Dead tournament, and Olivia will be participating,” She adds quietly. My brows furrow at the news as I sign quietly. ‘What is that about?’ “It is a battle to the death, and it's held once every decade. Slaves and prisoners compete.” ‘You have to be joking. Olivia signed herself up for a death match?’ “Yes. And she's doing it to gain her freedom. Don't mess this up for her by adding to her worries. Stay hidden, Kyle,” Katniss says as she clears the empty plates and begins to leave the basement. “I will see you tomorrow morning.”

FIVE YEARS AGO Blood trickles down my legs, leaving a trail of crimson droplets on the rough gravel. My body is a canvas of wounds and bruises, each one a testament to the horror I've endured. My right leg is bent at an unnatural angle, broken and throbbing with every movement, but the pain is nothing compared to the terror driving me forward. I can't let myself be caught and dragged back to that hell. I have to run to escape, no matter the cost.

I expected to see the graveyard of my anniversary dinner, but the kitchen was spotless. Rosa, our house help, must have come in early. She had bleached the counters and scrubbed the pots until the scent of rosemary and thyme was replaced by a sharp, clinical lemon. My five hours of work had been wiped away like a common spill. My phone buzzed on the counter. It was Andrea. Andrea (10:14 AM): Okay, spill! How was the big anniversary dinner? I want all the tea, babe. Every single detail. I stared at the screen. I wanted to tell her the truth. That I had spent the night watching our wedding videos on repeat while drinking straight from the bottle because using a glass felt like too much effort.

He's watching and calculating as though he's waiting for someone to make the first move. And then I hear them. Obnoxious chortles and taunts. More than a dozen Rank five boys stalk further onto the arena in formation. They're taller and older, grinning as if they have just been handed fresh meat and told to go wild. They have the kind of eyes that say, ‘I've set people on fire and enjoyed it.’ They're already cracking their knuckles and stretching. One of them spits on the ground. Another licks his damn teeth. "Oh, fantastic," I mutter. "We're doing a full Hunger Games. Should I say something inspiring or just die quietly?"

Five years of humiliation and five years of being less than a person… Had I even been like a human to them? “You two! Check that side!” Voices echoed from the yard. They were closing in. I snapped back to myself and tore down the mountain path as fast as my legs would carry me. Back in the city, I flagged down the first cab I could find and went straight home, to the place Melissa and I once called home. My steps froze when I pushed open the study door, it was filled with monitors, all displaying live feeds of the estate. Every room, every path, and even the stable that I’d slept in for five years, were displaying right in the middle of the screen.