The people of the Capitol wait with bated breath. The president's long fingers snake into the box that holds the twist for the first Quarter Quell. Carefully, he draws the slip of paper out and reads the words, nodding his head. No one can move, they just wait and watch.
The president slides his chair back and the people startle at the sound. He strides to the microphone, taps it once, and then speaks.
"As a reminder that it was the Districts who instigated the Rebellion against the Capitol, every man, woman, and child over the age of 12 will be required to vote for the tributes to be sent to the Capitol." The president pauses and stares out at the crowd. Most citizens of the Capitol are wearing feral grins. "You have one day," he finishes silkily.
In the districts the people gasp and clutch at one another. This is the worst, to be forced to betray two of their own. But others in the districts realize who will be chosen. Not the innocent who are reaped every year, but the outcasts. The criminals. The worthless. The unwanted. The despised. The feared. The people line up, grasping pencils so hard they leave red marks on their skin. They scrawl names of the ones they hate. The escorts, with their outlandish costumes and plastic smiles, note down the names of the unlucky ones.
By dawn of reaping day, there are twenty-four winners.