I, personally, like this one-shot. I don't know if you do. If you do, tell me! Review. If you don't, still tell me! Review. So review no matter what.

"Hello? Mr. Crane!" I shout across the room. "Stop looking at the next mutt release! Look at them!"

Seneca turns. And swears. Loudly.

"What the ––– are they doing?" he says, loudly enough for everyone to hear.

We watch are the girl digs around in her pouch. The boy looks puzzled, slightly wary.

"They put the nightlock in that pouch," someone says in a hushed whisper.

"If she commits suicide for him the Denizens will love it," Maia says, grasping at a straw. I smile wanly. Maia is our newest Gamemaker. She is untrained, inexperienced, and doesn't realize the potential of this. The Denizens of the Capitol will not love both of them dying, even if it's for each other.

"She's not killing just herself," I say, and turn up the volume.

She – Katniss Everdeen, our star, our Girl on Fire, our flame of love – offers the boy some nightlock. They exchange a few words.

Maia, Alayna, and Marcellus all gasp as they go back-to-back.

Seneca grabs one of his twenty-odd microphones clipped to the pockets all over his Head Gamemaker's suit.

"CLAUDIUS!" he thunders. Lania winces and covers her ears.

"What?" Claudius Templesmith sounds horrified.

"One." The boy and girl's voices blend, filling the room.

"STOP THEM!"

"Sir – President Snow says, blow them up!"

"I don't care what the ––ing president says! I said stop them!"

"Two."

"But sir –"

"Who's Head Gamemaker, Claudius?"

"Sir –"

"Kierana," Seneca tells me, "get it done."

"I can't, sir."

"Fine!" Claudius yells.

"Three!"

Oh, dear.

But Claudius stops them. I almost sag in relief before…

"Seneca."

The voice – the hissing voice – fills the room, reverberating from every speaker.

"Mr. President, sir!"

"I hear from our dear Claudius that you…went against my wishes."

"Sir, it was the only option."

"Miss Kierana Valance, you are appointed Head Gamemaker until we comb through your records and appoint a different one. As for you, Seneca Crane, we need to talk. Make your way to my quarters."

Seneca, looking dumbstruck, gets up.

"Please take off your uniform and give it to Miss Valance."

Still silent, Seneca pulls off the suit, revealing a plain white shirt and cotton pants. He numbly hands it to me.

I take it just as numbly, and pull it on.

"Thank you, Seneca. Now, come talk, and let's seal your fate for that little mistake."