He had as much reason as anyone to hate the Capitol. And he did hate them, despised their vile and wasteful bloodshed and everything their Games stood for. But still he must cast his vote, a vote that could ensure pain to his tormenters and suffering to his captors. And he would vote to abolish the Hunger Games forever.
They wouldn't understand, not all of them. To Johanna and Enobaria it was payback, the cost of the atrocities they had suffered. To Katniss and probably Haymitch it was about vengeance, their way of ending the war. But it wasn't about revenge or justice. The Games had never successfully brought either of those things.
This Beetee knew more than anything. His entrance into the Games had been for the punishment of his District. His fight to the death would ensure another year of living for his people. But it wasn't something he volunteered for. He never would have chosen the path to victor on his own.
The Games had robbed him, an intelligent and quiet fifteen year old, of his innocence. In the arena he had faced death from other tributes and had directly delivered death to eight of them. Indirectly, he would never know how many other lives had ended because of his actions. He did know that twenty-three teenagers were dead because he lived.
A part of his soul was gone with the Games, along with any lingering semblance of a childhood. He became a murderer, a killer, a broken hero, a victor. His fellow voters knew that feeling as well as he. Each had life and future stolen from their grasp. They were the 'lucky ones', the survivors, but nearly all would have turned over their victory for one wish granted.
And the Games didn't end in the arena. No, the victor's task was to mentor other tributes, providing them with the knowledge and skills that could mean their survival, their entrance into the world of victor. Beetee had suffered little directly from the Capitol that held his leash. He was not as desirable as Finnick Odair, nor did his Games cause as much trouble as Haymitch Abernathy's. He was the perfect pawn and puppet mentor, aiding his tributes but never causing trouble. He was left alone.
And he felt alone. His once bright future was reduced to sending children to their deaths, with himself unable to defend them. He never stopped trying to save them, but after three years he lost hope of saving even one. His mistake had been to befriend a tribute. She was destined for death, but seventeen year old Wiress Hoit captured his attention from the beginning.
Wiress was bright and intelligent. Her creativity might save her life. She stood a chance, and Beetee seized it. He taught her all he knew, and she in turn taught him. It wasn't until the timer counted down to the bloodbath that he realized just what he might lose. That he had made a mentor's worst mistake. That he had begun to fall in love with his tribute.
He did his best to rally her support, to keep her alive another day. Her quick wit served her well, and despite the limited help he could offer, she survived to the final few. Beetee prayed she would make it out of the arena alive. That she would return to him, selfishly wishing that he wouldn't have to go through his bleak life alone.
Wiress' creative traps gained her a spot in the remaining two. Her opponent, a Career tribute from District One, approached the end of the Games with brute force. In their last combat he lashed out with a heavy blade. Wiress ducked but received a lessened force to the head. She was very nearly unconscious and would have perished under his second blow, but the Career triggered her last offensive in his eagerness to finish her off. The resulting explosion ended her opponent's life, but Wiress was unresponsive when she was rescued by the Capitol plane.
He waited anxiously outside during the many surgeries required before presenting her to the public of Panem. The combined head wound and shock wave had done brain damage, but she pulled through the treatment. Her sharp mind wasn't dulled a bit, and still she was the Wiress he knew. But she now had a difficult time expressing her thoughts. She would often trail off in the middle of the sentence, not because of lost focus, but because her brain couldn't order her mouth to respond. Her dizzying intellect far outworked her ability to speak.
Panem was unimpressed by her strength in overcoming her injuries. She would be forced to mentor tributes, but no special punishment would be allotted on her. She would be forced to his side once a year to prepare young people for death. But he loved her and wanted more from their time together.
When she became frustrated by her inability to communicate, he comprehended what she meant and could help translate. When the pain of his nightmares lingered far beyond the darkness, she understood and could offer comfort. The Games had ripped them both, but together they fit into one complete soul.
They had married and been happy. Children still died, people didn't understand, and they were captive to a using government, but there was happiness too. Their tears mingled for the young people they had failed to save, and they each confided in the other about their imprisonment. They were no longer alone, facing the nightmares and waking horrors without a friend.
And they had a son. A beautiful boy with her sparkling eyes and his dark hair. Beck Latier. He was a welcome joy, but both Beetee and his wife feared for their son's safety. And once a year, they had to leave their child in an attempt to save the children of others.
Few people outside of their District knew of their marriage and fewer still of their son. Not the most popular victors, Beetee and Wiress escaped much of the publicity, but the other victors knew. Some scoffed at their arrangement. His was the worst of mistakes, to grow to love a tribute. Others resented their luck, that such a love had been given a chance.
It was a mistake Finnick Odair later understood. As he grew to love Annie Cresta and she became a player in the Games, it was Beetee he asked for advice.
The happiness lasted until Beck turned twelve. It was common for a victor's offspring to find their way into the Games, and his parents worried. But he survived his first Reaping, and it was another man's child Beetee had to prepare for death.
The next year's Reaping was not so kind. Beck Latier was chosen as the male tribute from District Three. At age thirteen, he would go into the Games. Wiress held his hand tightly, and he felt the tears slide down his own cheeks, but their son walked dry eyed to the stage, accepting of his fate.
The train ride and training time was precious. They taught everything they knew. They taught and encouraged Beck's fellow tribute as well, but Beetee couldn't help but selfishly feel he'd sacrifice this girl's life to bring his son home.
Beck was strong for thirteen, and he handled his interview well. Cesar Flickerman brought up the topic of his victor heritage, unintentionally making Beck the greatest target in the arena. But his son responded with poise that victor or not, he hoped to make his parents proud. Before he entered the Games, Beetee made a point of telling his son how very proud he was.
And he was forced to watch along with the rest of Panem as his only child was cut down for the bloodlust of a 'civilized' people. Beck had fought well until the end, but what consolation is that for the grieving parents of a thirteen year old?
After Beck's death, Wiress grew worse. She slipped more and more frequently into the world of the Games, imagining and reliving either his, her own, or their son's. There was little Beetee could do but hold her close, reminding her that he at least still needed her. Seven years after Beck's Games she would still call out for him to run.
They had lived in recovery for a while, adjusting to life without their son, and pouring themselves into their work with the tributes. Still, they were able to bring only one home alive. They clung to each other in those long years, back to the beginning when the nightmares were the worst. They rarely had to speak to communicate, so close were they, their completed and shared soul comforting and grieving for them both.
There was the birth of the resistance, or at least the growth of it, and they had little debate over whether or not to join. The Capitol needed to fall. The Games needed to end.
Then came the Quarter Quell, the announcement that victors would become tributes once again. District Three had five victors; Wiress, Beetee, a middle aged woman paralyzed from the waist down, a positively ancient man on his death bed, and the twenty year old woman they had mentored. Three women and two men; the odds were not in their favor.
There were plans surrounding the Quell, a rescue mission was rumored, but nothing specific and nothing concrete. Should they go into the arena, odds were they would not come out. The day of the Reaping arrived, the victors were roped off like the cattle in District Ten, and the names were drawn. Wiress Hoit Latier and Beetee Latier.
They expected death, might even have looked forward to it. It would end. The pain, the frustration, the grief, none of these would last if they died. And they could at least die together. There was no time for good-byes, but no point either. They were each other's only family and they would stay together till the end.
He didn't take training very seriously. He had survived once before on luck, there was little chance of such luck now. Mostly he and Wiress enjoyed each other's company. They'd been married for twenty-two years and soon they would die. They evaluated the other victor/tributes, spoke with some old friends, and made new allies like Katniss Everdeen.
They were aware of their nicknames among the others, and they often had a good laugh at them. Nuts and Volts. Wiress decided they were probably right, and they would chuckle whenever Johanna Mason walked by.
The interviews were a stroke of brilliance. Every victor/tribute brought attention to the injustice of the Games, carefully drawing a reaction from the audience and country. Despite Wiress' communication barrier, she skillfully expressed regret and sorrow for the watchers. Beetee couldn't have been prouder of her. Himself, he methodically questioned the legality of bringing the victors back to the fight. The overall effect was masterful.
At the end of the interviews, after Katniss' wedding dress had transformed into the secret symbol of the rebellion, the victors turned tributes had joined hands. Beetee reached out to his left to Gloss and squeezed Wiress' fingers on his right. She continued the train to Finnick beside her. And for that moment they were untouchable. All victors, all survivors, all pawns refusing to play by the rules.
But the feeling didn't last, and in the morning they were in the Games again and the woman whose hand he held in that moment of unity became one of his beloved wife's killers.
The arena was the deadliest they had seen for a while. The Capitol wanted no mistakes and only one surviving victor. He found himself on an island surrounded by potentially deadly water a fair distance from the sandy Cornucopia with Wiress nowhere in sight.
He knew he couldn't protect her. Not forever. There was no protection in the Games, no mercy. He would do all he could to save her, but ultimately they were at the power of the ruthless Capitol.
Beetee managed to reach shore with the aid of his floatation belt. Many of the other tributes were still confined to their islands, so he deemed it safe to examine the Cornucopia. Nothing but weapons; they expected the Games to be short.
He searched the platforms for Wiress. After going nearly full circle from his island, he found her. She was paddling to shore, relying heavily on her belt to keep her afloat. Her distance and progress suggested she had the idea the same time he did, but it had taken her more time to swim ashore. Glancing around to ensure there were no enemies yet, he awkwardly splashed out to bring her in.
When they reached the sand, she sent him a grateful smile. "Love you," she whispered, the last time she would ever say it. He smiled despite the circumstances. "And I love you, Wiress."
The other tributes were beginning to discover that there was no harm in the water. District Six's morphlings were doing nothing but splashing contentedly in it, but the Careers, significantly bigger and stronger than Wiress and Beetee would reach shore in mere moments.
Hurrying along the shore, they tried to determine where relative safety might be. Wiress pointed to the jungle, and he nodded. New horrors undoubtedly waited there, but it was away from the soon to be bloody beach.
Looking to the piles of weapons as they hurried past, Beetee spotted a coil of golden wire tucked into the deadly mound. There was a weapon he could fight with. And if any part of the rebellion's plan was to work, he would need to fight any way he could.
He turned away from the jungle and sprinted to the Cornucopia, trusting Wiress to understand his motives. Lunging for the wire, he pulled it free from the pile and felt pain shoot through his back. Beetee dropped to his knees, turning to see a District Nine tribute swing a second time with his long knife.
It would have been the end if Johanna Mason hadn't placed an axe in his attacker's head. Wrenching her weapon free, the District Seven victor gave a cursory glance at his injury and hauled him to his feet. Beetee was surprised at her rescue, but determined Johanna was playing the same game against the Capitol that he and Wiress were.
The other District Seven tribute, a large man called Blight, grabbed his other arm, none too gently. The two of them hoisted him toward the trees and away from the others. The pain was intense, but Beetee's worries were for Wiress. Johanna called for Nuts to join them, and she followed closely behind him. With her beside him again, he succumbed to the darkness of pain.
He awoke only briefly to the screams and the blood. It poured down from the sky and seemed to bubble up from the ground. It wasn't hard to imagine that it was the lifeblood of every past tribute, including his son. Their screams were drowned in the downpour, and but he heard hers echo inside his skull. Again he surrendered to the pain.
When he next woke, they were back on the beach. Blight was gone, but they were joined by both District Twelve victors and Finnick Odair from Four. His wounds had been treated and most importantly, Wiress was there.
She sat in the water, singing softly to herself and rinsing the blood from his coil of wire. The song was for comfort, he knew. She remembered children's songs the best, little things she had once sung to Beck. Her singing was a comfort to him as well. It was a reminder of better times.
This last trip to the Games had hurt her badly. Physically, she looked unharmed, but the damage was there. Her spoken thoughts were even shorter, even more vague. She looked peaceful enough for now, but he could imagine the rolling turmoil of her mind.
She was pleased to see him well, far more than her manner or words conveyed. But they no longer needed such things to communicate. He knew her heart, and for whatever time they had left together they would be grateful.
That time was shorter than he wanted to accept. For a while they were untroubled and everything was calm. He helped their allies form a plan, and she sang having already contributed the key to their continued survival. But the singing stopped. He recognized it a second after Katniss did, and knew his songbird would sing no more.
The next few seconds were a blur. Still injured and without a weapon, he was lucky to have stayed alive. Then the Cornucopia began to spin and finding no purchase on the sand, he was thrown out to the sea. Coming up from the salty water, he caught a glimpse of his wife.
Her already lifeless body had been flung from the beach into the water twenty feet from him. It sunk home then. That the woman he made the mistake of loving, the one who had given him the best years of his life, the one he didn't think he could live without, was gone from his world forever. As he said his last farewell, his salty tears joined the salty sea.
Then Finnick was dragging him to shore, and Katniss was swimming back with the coil of golden wire. She placed it in his hands, and as he ran it through his fingers Beetee thought of his own lost Wire, far more precious than this stretch of metal.
He didn't cry for her in the arena again. Time was pressing and it was now clear what had to be done. The wire, her last gift to him, would end the Game. At the end, before the lightning strike, he was attacked and wounded again. Not so grievously that he couldn't be saved, but still part of him wished for the death that would reunite him with his beloved.
But nothing about the harsh, stark light and stiff hospital bed brings him any closer to Wiress. He heals enough, at least physically, to continue work with the rebellion. Because of his talents in invention, he builds weapons, devices to maim, and destroy, and kill.
He does it to prevent the slaughter of another thousand innocent young people in the Hunger Games. But he knows full well that his actions could kill a thousand young people in the streets. Such is war.
He tries not to think of her while assembling bombs or blades. He's trying to stop the sort of death she experienced, but he can't make himself believe that when he's fitting the wires that will bring down an occupied building.
But there is the hummingbird room, a room in the depths of District Thirteen filled with exotic plants, flowering trees, and hundreds of fluttering hummingbirds. It was designed for research, as was most everything this far into Thirteen, but Beetee uses it more for reflection. These tiny birds inspire him more than the Mockingjay. They remind him of another delicate creature far stronger than others could guess. They remind him of his Wiress.
In the lab he develops weapons with Gale, and in the hummingbird room, with the pretense of inspiration and the quiet cover of the whirring wings, he cries painful and silent tears. There is little healing to be found in the business of warfare.
And then it is over. He is grateful for the victory. He has waited long for the end, because he can't imagine a new beginning. The fighting, the bombing, the war all end. And, he thought, the Games.
But it was too much to wish for. The Capitol has fallen; Snow is captured, and still lies the question of punishment. Could the Hunger Games be the best way to subdue their enemies, ensure an end to wars forever?
As a victor of one Games and the survivor of another, he is called on to vote. Do the Games end, or does the cycle begin again with someone else's children? The children of his captors called to die? The true murderers of his wife and son forced to experience the horror of powerless torture for themselves? He has reason to hate the Capitol as much as anyone.
But acts of hatred have to stop somewhere. History has shown the result of that traveled path. Such despicable actions against one's fellow humans had to stop. Renewing the Hunger Games would bring on another age of distrust, poverty, and futility. No problems would be solved, and he knew the former victors would make the worst sort of Game makers.
Still he owed something to his loved ones, people who suffered and died to please a bloodthirsty crowd. But to them he owes, not vengeance for their deaths, but testimony to their lives. Not revenge for their suffering, but a future for their people.
For himself, the boy he had been, who was forced to become a killer to stay alive. For him he would vote no, so that no other child would have their dreams and future stolen as he had.
For Beck, his son, who had faced death with courage, honor, and pride. For him he would vote no, so that no other parent should ever have to prepare for the brutal murder of his child.
For Wiress, his love, who had carried on through the worst of tragedy and heartbreak and had still stayed strong. For her he would vote no, so that no other man, no other human being, should have to bear the sort of memories they had.
For them, he would vote no. No more Hunger Games. No matter what the others chose, Beetee would say no to the injustice and the deceptive trap of punishment. He, at least, would vote no.