One: A Day Like Any Other
Amelia Hawke, 23| Praetorian Guard Agent, Presidential Detail.
October 30th, 2161 (98th HG)
District 1
"And that was uhh… "Monster Mash" by a Mr. Bobby Pickett – an oldie from way back when! Good afternoon District One, welcome back. It's me, your fabulous host Gemma Rankin, kickin' it in the PBC-1120 studio right here in Downtown Helena!
It appears we're in for an action packed day, or should I say week! The big man himself, President Kane is paying District One a visit as he begins a tour of the nation! With schools being let out mid-day throughout the city, crowds are expected to line the parade route in the hundreds! Following a speech at the Justice Building and a tour of LaGuardia Academy, the president and his wife are to host a function at their family retreat a little ways north in the vineyard country just in time for Halloween tomorrow!
For those of you who hate Mondays, I'm sure this specific one could serve as*quite* the exception!"
"Agent Hawke?" calls the voice of Mrs. Cruella Kane through the train door, "Do you mind coming inside for a moment? Another woman's opinion is very much needed!"
Muting the radio on my communicuff, I pivot on my heels and enter the private compartment of Panem's First Lady. Upon seeing me the older woman rises from off her seat, turning around slowly as she showcases her ensemble. Her dress was coloured peacekeeper-white with a tint of pink, alongside her beret that sat on top of her head. It contrasted well with her brown, grey-streaked hair that was styled in a neat bun. For a woman of seventy years, she took care of herself well.
"Well Agent Hawke," Mrs. Kane inquires with a smirk on her lips and an eyebrow quirked, "Does it look nice? I would've gone for a more festive orange given the season, but District One citizens tend to dress brightly, so I figured this'll do nicely."
With my hands clasped in front of me, I offer a single nod. If she was looking to catch a few eyeballs, she most definitely would. "You look perfect as per usual, Mrs. Kane. You'll be the subject of all the couture magazines I assure you."
She places a gentle hand on my shoulder. "I'll take your word on that."
A beep from my communicuff prompts me to glance down at the wrist gauntlet. "This is Agent Hawke?"
"Amelia, it's Tiberius," Responds a gruff voice on the other end. "We're coming up on Orchid Edenthew, ETA thirty minutes. Is Exciter ready to go?"
A tradition that goes way back when even before Panem was formed, those who were in charge of the President's safety among other very important persons were given a codename. Unassuming and ambiguous, the protected person and their families' codename start the same letter. Exciter is the special codename we use for Mrs. Kane, Elder for President Kane. For a Victor, their codename would be a 'V' then the number of their Games.
Glancing up from the gauntlet, I watch as Mrs. Kane mumbles something along the lines of 'Just need to get my purse…', "Affirmative, Exciter is ready to go. Are Oracle and Elder down there?"
"They're currently finalizing the rundown of today's events." The head agent in charge replies. "We'll meet you at the lead car."
"Copy, see you there."
After securing her matching white gloves and clutch, Mrs. Kane was ready to go. Supported by fellow agents, we make our way from the sleeping car all the way to the first car just before the locomotive. The car was empty, save for the agents and aides wandering about. The president is probably still going over the itinerary with his aides, so I escort Mrs. Kane to a nearby chair.
"Hey Amelia," calls a fellow Agent. I turn to see that it's just Odysseus, placing a PiPad in my hands. "Get a load of this. Apparently some peacekeepers and our guys at the local field office found a bunch of these stapled up throughout town."
On the PiPad screen was a photo of President Kane. Below his head were a series of less than flattering statements about the man.
AGESILAUS KANE
'SEDITIOUS TRAITOR: THIS MAN is the most treasonous president to have ever taken office. He has failed to uphold the Treaty of Treason (which he swore to uphold)'…
I can't help but let out a slight 'hmph' at the pamphlet. It's interesting how they protest against the things that help them.
"I expect stuff like this to be from a District like Two…" I muse, giving the image another look over while scrunching my nose in confusion. "This pamphlet is so fervent, not something you find a lot of in One."
"I'd imagine District Two would be marginally worse, no?" replies Odysseus. "I wonder how they'll go about life without the Hunger Games dominating every aspect of it. Luckily we're going from the highest district to the lowest, better to get the angry Careers out of the way…"
I jostle my head, giving a non-committal grunt. It isn't all that bad. After President Snow's death following the Second Rebellion, there was an acting president for two years or so before President Kane took over. I wasn't old enough to live under Snow, but when I was attending District Two's academy many of the people old enough to have lived through the era credit Kane for modernizing the country.
More and more people owned autos, standard housing, disposable income…Apparently, he was transparent and caring where Snow was a 'micromanager' and 'totalitarian'. Somehow Kane managed to reform the constitution to allow free elections – District-born senators, judges and representatives. This is all supposedly taking place after the year of the 100th Hunger Games…which is why we're touring the Districts, to explain and drum up support for Panem's 'new era' - as President Kane calls it. Although…As this 'new era' is being ushered in, the Hunger Games are to be done away with.
Not everyone is happy with the change, being most of the Capitol, District One, Two and to an extent, Snow Island and Four.
From what I know, District One's academy would continue focusing on the arts while District Two's military academy would continue pumping out peacekeepers. As for me, a hundred years of punishment seems like enough. Like what President Kane said when he announced the decision, 'One hundred years of penance is more than enough guilt to bear'. With the majority on his side, is anyone willing to risk another rebellion of sorts?
I hand the tablet back to Odysseus, content that everyone will settle down sooner or later. Besides, with the Games affecting two people from those districts each year, that's what the majority of them move on to do anyway – be actors, models, stylists, or peacekeepers in the case of District Two.
Within minutes, gone were the open plains in place for residential houses and buildings. People lining the route to get a glimpse of the presidential train grew thicker and thicker as we arrived. Audible cheers, albeit muffled, could be heard as clear as day as the train screeched to a halt within the station – named after the District's first victor, Orchid Edenthew. Within seconds, President Kane made his way into the car with Tiberius and other agents in tow.
"Ready, dearest?" I hear Mrs. Kane say as she entwines her hand with the president's. He replies with his signature 'Ready as I'll ever be…' as I divert my attention to my communicuff, syncing it with my earpiece as the other agents do the same.
"Alright agents," begins Tiberius, "The platform will be clear but when we enter the station towards the street keep it tight."
This is where we come in.
The Praetorian Guard, Capitol agents assigned to protect government officials and other VIP's such as tributes, mentors, escorts and victors. Like the Peacekeepers and their white uniforms, the Guard is known for our rather fashionable black leather tunics.
With that being said, the train doors open with a slight hiss, the cheers from outside flooding into the train as we disembark onto the platform and quickly make our way into the train station. As the grand entrance doors are held open by saluting peacekeepers, the other agents and I escort the president and his wife towards the welcoming party. If the crowd wasn't fervent when the train first rolled in, I'm not quite sure how to describe them now.
Split two ways behind velvet ropes and a red carpet leading towards the motorcade, the crowd becomes absolutely unhinged at the sight of President Kane and Mrs. Kane. 'WELCOME TO D1!', 'GO KANE GO!', 'PRESIDENT KANE FOR 2162!' were just some of the many signs the spectators waved to and fro. Snow…One of them even held drawn portraits of the duo – drawn by themselves perhaps. The president and his wife were more than happy to veer off to the side, greeting and shaking the hands of their adoring public.
It was a good day today. The sun was bright, the breeze was cool and the people were just as pleasant. However, guarding the president, his wife and some victors can't be placed on the backburner regardless. We're in a district after all. And as per that poster about the president, rabble-rousers reside everywhere.
"Eyes on the crowd, ladies and gents…" Tiberius says over the earpiece. "Agent Hawke, you take passenger on the Stagecoach. I'll take the Spare for today."
Through the tint of my sunglasses, my eyes scan the crowd for any possible threat to our leader's safety. Having frequented District 1 on numerous occasions the region was best described as a miniature Capitol, having little to no political grievances or animosities. My point is proven when Mrs. Kane is presented with a small bouquet of roses from an admirer.
"Welcome to District One, Mr. President, Mrs. Kane!" greets Governor Westenfluss, a Victor-slash-politician. With her stand a number of local officials and fellow Victors, some of which I instantly recognize such as Kaiser Von Neumann and Zenira Inchcape. The Kane's, being their usual warm selves quickly enveloped the hand of the Sixty-Sixth Victor and those beside her.
"Thank you Serene, for the warm welcome. It seems we got a good program today!" says President Kane.
"Oh yes, most of the students are very excited for your tour of LaGuardia today." She replies with an incline of the head.
"We can't wait, it's a shame we don't venture out here often. Regardless, it makes for quite the adventure!" Mrs. Kane chimes, linking elbows with her husband as I guide them over to the parade car.
The Presidential Parade Car, code named 'Stagecoach', was a top-of-the-line 2155 PMC Ambassador limousine.* From the front bumper to the back, the automobile was an absolutely beauty, painted black and draped with the Panem banner and the seal of the District he was visiting. Due to President Kane's love for the people, he requested that his car be a convertible so he could interact with the crowds more. So instead of the hardtop, the car was fitted with a bubbletop which is currently off. With a luxurious cream interior containing all the frills of a luxury limousine, there were handle bars and a bulletproof screen just before the driver's seat for the president to hold on to.
At any given time in presidential motorcade, there are usually two of these parade cars in use. The first is the 'Spare', a secondary limousine just in case as well as for decoy purposes and the 'Stagecoach', the limousine in use for the president. Usually, especially in the outer Districts, the procession was fitted with many heavy-duty automobiles. Being that this is District One; the motorcade was adjusted as if we were in the Capitol – fifteen autos, one of which is a Peacekeeper SJ-7 Assault Transport fitted with Gatling guns because you never know when a situation may get terse.
"So you're my passenger for today?" The driver asks as I slip onto the seat beside him. He's younger, most likely older than I.
"Indeed I am," I reply, extending my hand towards him. "Amelia. Amelia Hawke. And you are?"
"Augustus Philips." He says, pumping my hand. "I'm a recent transfer from the Chief Magistrate's detail. I was her driver."
I smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Augustus." Through the rear-view mirror I watch as the president and his wife alongside Governor Westenfluss get comfortable. "Are you OK back there, sir?"
This earns thumbs up from the president in response. "Thank you, Agent Hawke. I'm more than comfortable."
With a nod from myself, I ease into my seat, craning my head back as the aides, local officials and press are herded into their assigned automobile. It doesn't take long for Tiberius to make his presence known once again.
"Alright pilot, you can move out now." He says, as the lead peacekeeper cruiser and its squad of motorcycles pushes off to begin clearing the route. Slowly but surely, we begin our procession towards District One's central city. From the station we were directed onto the highway, as taking the main roads to the city would prove impractical for a procession so large.
Even though we were on the outskirts of town, those whose houses lined the highway took the time to hop their fences and watch the motorcade go by. The crowds consisted of fathers with their sons or daughters over their shoulders, people in lounge chairs waving Panemian flags while others captured the affair with their cameras. And of course a couple of local Careers, identified by their leather jackets, bandannas and greased-up hairdos , turn their backs toward the president as a sign of apparent protest.
…They'll get over it.
A cool gentle breeze envelops my face as I drape my arm over the door with a sigh. Regardless, it was a good day for a motorcade. "Driver, do you mind slowing things down a little?" says President Kane whilst scooting over towards us. "Cruella and I are going to greet our adoring public."
"Absolutely sir, bear with me for one moment." Replies Augustus as he decelerates the vehicle. As President Kane and his wife take their place standing up, two additional agents hop onto the runner boards on the rear of the car. The limousine begins to accelerate, but stops abruptly. As I glance toward Augustus, I watch as he fumbles with his earpiece. As if he was trying to listen to something. I adjust mine, but hear nothing from Tiberius. Craning my head, I turn towards the two Agents assigned to the rear of Stagecoach. Odysseus and his partner shrug in confusion as they retreat back to the sides of the SJ-7. President Kane and his wife are unaware, waving to either side of the highway as Governor Westenfluss does the same.
"What's going on Philips?" I inquire as the limousine begins to accelerate once more.
"Tiberius wanted Anderson and Odysseus to stand down. Something about 'maximum visibility' as we reach the centre of town." He says as I shrug, continuing to keep my eyes peeled as the motorcade progressed down the road. The Kane's weren't fans of security constantly hovering over them…it made sense to call them off.
And as we began to approach the city centre, the skyline could be seen as clear as day. Being a lover of history myself, 'Helena' used to be such a quaint city if one looked back at the archival photos. What was once a small town before Panem was now pristine city that rivaled the Capitol. On either side of the highway were a cluster of condominiums and buildings that varied in shape, size and colour. Right in the middle of it all was the Prospect Avenue Overpass – eager citizens lined up across it with a giant 'WELCOME TO DISTRICT ONE, MR. PRESIDENT & MRS. KANE!' splayed across for him to see. Spectators filled the promenade and their balconies on both sides, confetti raining down onto the road as they attempted to gain the attention of their leader. Turning around, I see that the president and his wife were glowing with happiness at the display – grinning from ear to ear.
"What a lovely welcome." He says warmly.
"You haven't seen anything yet, Mr. President." replies Governor Westenfluss.
As I turn my head towards the windshield, a loud crack could be heard as my face is splattered with a copper-tasting liquid. Only until I discard my sunglasses do I see my hands doused with blood. Before I could recover, I find my body lurching forward, the audible sound of the limousine's engines abruptly roaring to life could be heard as clear as day. As I turn to my left, I look on in shock as Augustus slumps against the wheel – the back of his head ...blown open. The windshield was literally plastered with blood and gore. Before I know it, my head slams against the dashboard as the driverless limousine collides against a median. The gasps and shrieks of the crowd are heard as clear as day.
"CORIOLANUS C. SNOW!"
"SWEET PANEM!"
"OH MY GODS!"
With my vision swimming and my nose oozing blood, I duck as loud hammering assaults my eardrums. Like construction on a warm day, the noise was akin to a hammer striking a nail in rapid succession. Gunfire. As a cacophony of cries and shrieks fill my ears, I manage to reconnect my earpiece.
"-Elder has been shot, I repeat Elder is down!"
"The president…!?" I splutter, whipping my head back towards the rear cabin. Everything was splashed with red – an eerie contrast with the once cream interior. Governor Westenfluss lays slumped against the left hand side of the limousine while First Lady Kane lays over her husband, howling with anguish. I couldn't see the man, but the deep red that painted the once pinkish-white of Mrs. Kane's suit stated enough about his possible condition.
My fellow agents and peacekeepers are quick to act. The SJ-7 peppers the surrounding buildings with turret fire as agents on the runner boards and peacekeepers on their motorcycles disembark, plasma bolts firing in every conceivable direction as they offer suppressive fire. The scenes around me are best described as pandemonium, civilians cowering in fear and running in every direction to escape the shootout.
As the other agents provide covering fire, a followup car screeches to a halt beside the besieged limousine - a squad of agents disembark and quickly mount the limousine to shield the bodies of the occupants. Odysseus slips in from the passenger side, prompting me to unceremoniously move Augustus' body to the middle of bench seat as I scramble over his lap towards the driver's side. As I clutch the steering wheel, I find myself frozen with awe, as the wheel and the console were coated with blood, bone and flesh, seeping between the spaces of my fingers and dripping onto the floorboards.
Plasma rifle in hand, Odysseus violently jostles my shoulder prompting me to snap out of my trance. "To District 1 Civic, I'll mark it on the GPS, GO GO!"
He doesn't need to tell me twice. Even though the front grille was destroyed, the limousine was built to last. As I shift the gear, Odysseus and I lurch backward as the car zooms in reverse. Flanked by two SUV's I mash my heel against the accelerator as we streak down the highway – our sirens blaring all the way.