Seneca storms into the meeting, "Last year's Games were horrendous! No backbone, no story, nothing to root for!" he yells. He looks around the room, "We're all lucky President Snow doesn't have our heads on a platter! If we don't give him a good Games this year, we're all dead. Remember that! We need ideas!"
"Seneca," says another Gamemaker, "this isn't a Quell, we can't!"
Seneca gets even more frustrated, "We are Gamemakers, we make these Games! If we want a damn twist, we'll give Panem a damn twist!"
Everyone is silent, "Remember a few years ago, we flooded the arena! We killed a perspective victor from six when he turned rogue and started eating tributes! If we want something to happen, it will happen.
The room echoes his voice. The tension is great. But what can they do? It's not a Quarter Quell, so they can't have a fun twist to add. The only thing they can do is influence deaths.
A Gamemaker named Plutarch Havensbee stands up to break the silence, "We can fix the Reapings." He quickly sits back down.
Fix the Reapings? The idea bounced around Seneca's head. But who to fix it to? The young? No, too much room for an uprising. How about only kids on their last reaping year? No, too upfront. Whatever they do, must be subtle.
"I like the idea," Seneca says his tone calming down, "but we have to direct it to one person, not a group."
Everyone looks around. Then, a female Gameskeeper speaks up, "The audience loves a sob story."
This is true, everyone loves a great underdog, especially if they come from a broken home.
"Ok, Plutarch, I need you to search for suitable candidates. We need someone who is young, poor, and has either one or both parents missing. Oh yes, they have to be cute." Seneca says pointing to Plutarch.
Plutarch nods and quickly gets to work.
"Abbey," Seneca continues, "how much longer until the arena is complete?"
"About three month's sir." Says a skinny black woman with short black hair.
"Good, considering the last Games just ended!" Seneca says
"Seneca," Plutarch says in all seriousness, "I have found our victor."
The room quiets down, "Her name is Primrose Everdeen, she's twelve, and she is from District 12."
Seneca smiles; this is exactly what he needs, "Is she cute?" he continues, still smiling.
"Very much sir," Plutarch replies.
"Gentlemen and Ladies, I present to you, the victor of the 74th Annual Hunger Games, Primrose Everdeen!" Seneca says as her picture is presented in the middle of the room, "This will be the best Hunger Games ever." He mutters under his breath, anxious for what will come.