The Cost to People

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to Suzanne Collins.

NOTE: Spoilers for up to Chapter 14 of Mockingjay. Do not read further unless you don't mind the spoilers.

Way back in the old days, when Panem was two different countries, they had all sorts of weapons; most of which we don't have anymore. Some physical, some psychological. It's fascinated me since I was a kid, and over all my years as Gamemaker I tried to adapt them for the Arenas.

Now I'm adapting them to this rebellion.

We've got to win.

There is no other choice. I'd rather take some nightlock than wait for what the Peacekeepers will do to me, never mind what Snow's twisted little mind will come up with. After what he did to Seneca Crane, I've little doubt what he would have in mind for me, and it's best not to think too hard on it.

And what he did to Finnick! That poor guy. Even so, I'm still pushing for more information, more stuff we can use for the propos. But I can see the cost to him to tell those stories. Some of those people who bought him were my fellow Gamemakers. In fact, to my horror I suspect one of them had Finnick tied up in his room on the day I visited for a working lunch. If Finnick ever puts two and two together... well, I'll be moving my large self as fast as I can out of his vicinity.

But the cost to people... that brings me to Katniss Everdeen.

At first I thought she was unbelievably dense when I showed her my watch with the mockingjay on it. Hadn't she gotten the message? It turned out later, of course, that she had picked up half of it: the design of the Arena based on the hour hands of the clock. But she hadn't realized I was one of the rebels in the Capitol.

But she's learning. There are sparks, coming more and more often now, proving that she, and only she, can truly help us drive this rebellion forward. My assistant, Fulvia, doesn't seem to quite grasp how I need to be flexible, just as I was when I was a Gamemaker – especially Head Gamemaker. Adapt. Roll with the punches. Keep my eye on the big picture. If a tribute starts getting deranged, use the terrain of the Arena against him or her. If the audience favorite starts having it too easy, tilt the odds a bit – make a building strategically collapse or send some muttations after that person.

And now I've got to adapt again. Roll with the shifting waves of Katniss Everdeen's emotions. She wants to do things on her own? Fine, I can live with that. As long as I can plant my ample self in President Snow's chair because I don't trust President Coin, even if it has been necessary to stay in contact with her for the materials, supplies and a base of operations we rebels needed.

So when Peeta comes back, and he's been so warped, so changed, I force myself to be upbeat. Relentlessly. Because she loves that boy, and if he breaks completely, it'll break her too. Even Haymitch can see it, and he's become more somber, less arrogant about how to handle Katniss.

If there is a God, he, she or it has probably long since stopped caring about humanity. So I can't even find the solace in prayer like our ancestors used to. All I can do is hope, day by day, that Peeta Mellark comes back. Or our Mockingjay will go up in flames instead of catching on fire.