Hey guys! Sorry I've been gone for a while, but I'm back with a whole new fanfic! The characters are semi-OOC, but, hey, they are in totally different circumstances than they normally are. Anyways, enjoy! ~LilySheeran

"Ow," I mumble. I manage to pull my finger out of the machine, but it takes a good amount of effort. I'm bleeding, and my blood splashes into the palm of my hands and onto the floor.

Fuck.

"Hey, Tina? Can I have some of your water?" I ask.

Tina turns to me, her hands on her hips. She rolls her eyes. "Cut yourself again?"

"Well, yeah."

She sighs. She takes my hand, now drenched in blood, and wipes it off with water. Soon, my hand is completely clean.

"You might want to put a bandage on that. If the boss knows you stuck your finger in the machine again, he'll kill you." Tina states.

"Yeah, or he'll send me to a peacekeeper for a beating," I add.

"What a lovely district we live in," Tina murmurs sarcastically.

We go back to work, and I work in peace until I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"Mr. Hummel, may I look at your hand for a second?" my boss asks. Chills creep up my spine.

"Um… Sure sir…" I show him the hand that wasn't injured.

The boss laughs. His piercing, soulless blue eyes meet mine. "I think you know which hand I'm referring to, Mr. Hummel."

I gulp. My hand falls to my side, limp. I show him my other hand.

"Aha!" my boss says. "I suppose my sneaking suspicion was right."

"I'm… I'm sorry I just—"

"Mr. Hummel, what is the purpose of District Eight?"

"To create textiles, sir."

"Right. And do you know what it's not for?"

"I—"

"Medicine." My boss' face falls. His eyes are staring directly into my soul, and I shrink to the size of an ant. "Next time I'm going to take away half of your pay, and do you know what I'll do the time after that?" He inches closer me, his face centimeters from mine. "Well, you don't want to find out that, do you?"

I am silent. I am being choked from the inside. My voice box has shut down, terminated.

"Get back to work, Mr. Hummel. And, Miss Chang?"

"Yes," Tina says.

"Don't help your little friend next time, okay? If you do, you'll be suffering just as much as he is. Understood?"

"Yes sir," she states.

The boss walks away to bother another worker.

"I guess you'll have to be more careful next time, if you want to keep your job," Tina says.

"If this is my life, Tina, what's the point of living?" I ask.

"I don't know Kurt. I don't know."

"Ah, well isn't it Mr. Anderson's son!"

I smile. "Pleasure to meet you, President Snow."

"Call me Coriolanus, Blaine." The President says. He smiles, and I am suddenly frozen in place, unsure of what to do next. The President extends his hand, and I catch a whiff of roses and blood. I stand there, staring at his hand.

"Son, shake President Snow's hand," my father says. He turns to Snow. "My son's just nervous. He knows how important you are to Panem. He really looks up to you, you know."

Total bullshit.

I shouldn't complain, I guess. Bullshitting is how my dad got the job as Head Gamemaker, after all.

President Snow's smile grows wider. I notice how the wider his smile gets, the more frightened I am.

"Ah, don't worry boy. I don't bite." President Snow laughs. I gulp, and force the corners of my mouth to perk up.

My dad pats my back lightly. It seems like a friendly gesture to Snow, but my father is digging his nails into my spine, as if to say, "watch it".

"Would you like to meet my granddaughter, young man? She is very eager to meet you." Snow touches me lightly on the shoulder, and I have the urge to pull away and run.

"Uh, sure, sir… I mean President… I mean…"

"Coriolanus," the President says. President Snow laughs, and I can finally see them. Two sores almost parallel to one another, red and inflamed. I feel bile rising up my throat. "I'll be right back."

President Snow exits the room, the smell of blood and roses left behind. My father turns to me.

"Look, I know you hate Snow, and I know you don't like the Games, but could you at least try to act like you care?" My father asks.

"The latter isn't true, actually; I don't dislike the Games. I loathe them."

"Well it must be terrible for you to have your father be Head Gamemaker isn't it? It must be terrible to have food wherever you want, whenever you want. It must be terrible to have every luxury possible in the Capitol. It must be atrocious to go to the top schools, to attract the best looking women—"

"I don't even like women."

"Well, we can't let anybody know that, now can we?" My father says. "It will cause a riot in the Capitol. You know certain people aren't as… Accepting as others."

I shrug.

"Would you really rather be a coal miner in Twelve? Because I can send you there now, say you were plotting to start another rebellion. It's really that easy, kid."

My dad can truly be an ass sometimes.

"Fine. You owe me," I state, my arms crossed.

"If anything, you owe me."

The President enters the room, his arm around a young girl. She looks at me and beams. I uncross my arms and give her a half-assed smile.

Maybe I should take up on dad's offer, after all.