The office sat between the fine walls of oak and anxiety. With the fan ricketing above while it wafted the warm air, President Lanarsus sat in his white leather chair. His head was resting in his hands. The sun outside covered the unlit room in the lukewarm sunlight, reaching beyond the large skyline of the Capitol outside. Surrounding the layers of books carved deep within the pristine bookcases, pictures and paintings of bloodbaths and slaughters coated canvas. On his desk lay a giant plastic binder and a curved computer screen.

President Lanarsus was at a complete psychological standstill. He was stuck in a hill of muck larger than the fields of District Eleven on a rainy day. Looking up, he examined the highlights of the previous Hunger Games circling the room. Glorious fallen corpses, tributes, and interviews taunted him, dangling an idea over his head like a man searching for money. The problem was that the last Hunger Games was a complete bore. After the hype behind the Quarter Quell and the special rule designed for it, he figured it would be the most thrilling Hunger Games yet.

Sadly, his hopes were dashed. The bloodbath had not even ten people involved. Most of tributes died under natural circumstances. One even died from tripping and snapping her neck on a jagged rock. It was such a bore, Capitol citizens started to bet how long the games would last. Eventually, there was a throwdown between the final two tributes, and it almost made up for the boredom preceding it. However, it was not nearly enough for him.

After disposing of the last Gamemaker, President Lanarsus was busy writing the new rules to make up for the lackluster year before. He had hit a brick wall. Nothing came into his mind. A Games involving prisoners? Too inconsequential. A Games with only Capitol children. He threw that idea in the furnace the moment he got it. That was unthinkable. An all-star edition where they brought together the previous winners? That didn't sound too bad. Maybe another time, though.

Just as he reached for his headache medication, the oak door burst open. A man with greying hair and thick-rimmed black glasses trotted in. President Lanarsus just about keeled over. Head Gamemaker Jerome Bentwon flung a folder onto the desk.

"Do you knock?" Lanarsus shouted.

"No. I've been waiting a week for your 'suggestions', and nothing has come out. So i decided to put my mind together and come up with something."

"Do not use that tone of voice with me." Lanarsus said while pointing at Jerome.

"Or what? You'll kill me. You realize nobody else in the world wants this job anymore, right? Not after last year. You should be grateful."

"What do you have in mind, idiot?"

Jerome reached down to the folder and opened it up. Inside, a small stack of papers lay. Many scientific inquiries and notes were compiled together. On the front, a picture of a large circular space station was clipped onto the front. It was a white horizontal wheel with a large mirror dome in the center. Eight pathways led to the circular ring surrounding the dome. On the sides of the picture, two smaller replicas of the main station appeared.

"Space?"

"Exactly. I know you probably won't understand the scientific aspects, so I'll dumb it down for you. We are launching three space stations into, where else, space. We'll knock out the tributes, send them up, and the bloodbath will be in the large dome in the middle. We haven't decided what will be in the middle, and we haven't decided if we will turn on and off the zero gravity. Regardless, everybody loves space."

"I don't."

Jerome rolled his blue eyes. "You don't love anything except your books."

"Those books are antiques."

"I found a copy of your precious 'Ulysses' at a dive on the west side."

"That's probably worth a lot. I would sell it, if I were you."

"The point," Jerome loudly said. "Is that I feel this will be fascinating. Not only that, but I guarantee it has never been done before."

President Lanarsus sighed. As much as he hated Jerome, he was right about everything he said. He was the best man for the job, and space did sound like an excellent idea. Even if he was not a huge fan of it, it was much better than his whole-arena-is-quicksand idea. Who knows, maybe the districts will actually like it so much, they can join in on the fun, instead of being forced to. It would also boost the economy with high-tech jobs by bringing in the space program. It was te perfect plane from the worst person possible.

"Let's look into it. I'll call a meeting on Wednesday, and we'll seal the deal."

"Just as I thought. By the way, your receptionist yelled at me for walking in. You should fire her."

"Or maybe I should execute you, instead."

Jerome turned around and started to leave the room. His dress shoes clanked on the hardwood floor. "Working with you, I may just do you a favor."

He slammed the door behind him. President Lanarsus poured he remnants of the bottle down his throat.