They all had their reasons.
The male tribute from District One was nursing a broken heart. Yes, even Careers had hearts, and anyway, this was in the early days before being a "Career" was even an easily-defined thing. What was the point of going home if Maya wouldn't be there waiting for him?
The female tribute from District Four did it in defiance of her abusive father. He had taken away everything that had ever meant anything to her, so she was going to take away the one thing that mattered to him—a child who came home as Victor. Here's what you get for the years of relentless training and beating and withdrawal of affection, Daddy. I hope it was worth it.
The male tribute from Six was an orphan. He had no siblings, no real friends. No future except that of a life of backbreaking labor. So to him, it just wasn't that big of a deal. He might have done it anyway, if he had thought of it.
The male tribute from Nine had just been informed the week before the Reaping that he was suffering from a fatal disease, so he had volunteered to take the place of a boy who might actually have a future. Death was imminent for him anyway, and this seemed like an easy way to go.
The girl from District Eleven had pure motives—she would die a martyr for the Rebellion, and that made it all worth it. She would not be a piece in their Games.
They all had their reasons.
Nobody ever knew whose idea it was, or how it had spread. Normally the tributes didn't mingle much among themselves, and this year had seemed no different. The plan must have been whispered from ear to ear, in stolen moments in elevators and in passing from one station to another.
Or maybe they had somehow found a place to congregate in the night. Someplace the cameras and microphones didn't reach. Most of the District Twelve tributes in the years that followed could have told them where that place was, but they were never asked, and so access to the roof was never blocked.
In the minutes before the noose was placed around his neck, the Head Gamemaker of that year was still trying to figure out who the ringleader had been. District Three? They were always smart, and boy this year had seemed especially sharp. The girl from Five? She had had a sly look about her. The girl from Eleven? She had glared at him with naked loathing during her individual scoring session.
He was still pondering the question the moment the rope snapped his neck.
That year had seemed normal almost until the last minute. The Opening Ceremonies were more spectacular than ever. The individual scoring had had some interesting twists, and the betting had proceeded in a frenzy up to the moment when the tributes had emerged onto the arena floor.
Then the countdown began. And never finished.
At exactly thirty seconds in, thirty seconds to go, all twenty four tributes had stepped down from their plates. Not even one had hesitated.
The ensuing explosion had been felt for miles around. The Games were over before they had even begun. There was no fighting, no killing, no drama. No Victor.
There was no way to cover it up…all of Panem had watched it live. The Capitol did their best, though. The tributes' families were all killed, and it became a crime punishable by death to even mention that year's Games. But memories are long, and vigilance never complete. The Year Without Games was never truly forgotten.
They all had their reasons, but that was the one they had all shared—to be remembered.