Chapter 1
For Your Entertainment
Let's go, it's my show
The first sensation that registered with my brain that morning was the killer headache, immediately followed by the instant regret over that last glass of champagne. Holy fuck! The very clearly articulated thought came out as only a low groan. Alright, alright! Regretting the last bottle of champagne, then...
What was I supposed to do? Kindly decline the compliments of the President of Panem? Hell, no. After all, I had managed to convince him of my skills yesterday afternoon, presenting my updated plan for the upcoming 72nd Annual Hunger Games to him in person.
He had, of course, seen the design of the arena months earlier, when it had been sent to him for approval before the lengthy construction process could get underway. At that time I had in fact still been a mere Gamemaker, without the 'Head'. You see, after seeing some of my best work over the years, and after facing the misfortune of having run out of fresh ideas himself, the former Head Gamemaker, Ion Bendwaithe, had asked me to craft a rough draft of an arena I would personally like to see used in the Games. When I had, he'd been very impressed with my ideas – so impressed, in fact, that he'd basically presented them to the President as his own. Asshole.
But the thing is, deceiving President Coriolanus Snow is a risky thing to try, since the man seems to have a disturbingly intimidating awareness of everything that's going on behind the scenes. So what happened was that he approved of the design, and personally came down to deliver the good news to rest of the Gamemakers the next day. Along with an announcement that because he appreciated the talent that had obviously gone into creating the concept of this year's arena, he saw it only fitting that its actual designer should get the chance to finish what they started, since due to unforeseen, unfortunate circumstances, Ion Bendwaithe would not be returning as Head Gamemaker as originally planned. He walked up to me and offered me the position right there and then, in front of all the rest of my colleagues. I accepted without hesitation. And Bendwaithe? I never saw or heard of him since. What happened to him, I didn't know. I certainly didn't ask. After all, I was still pissed he'd tried to use my hard work to advance his own career. So whatever his fate, the old fart had it coming.
I, on the other hand, was now even more eager to prove myself, and I had determinedly kept developing and conjuring up a pile of new, additional features and elements with a unique, personal touch to them – just so that it would be unmistakably clear to everyone right from the beginning who was running the show. Blood, sweat and tears had gone into planning all the twists, traps and nasty surprises this year's Tributes would encounter in the arena, but eventually I found myself pleased with and proud of the result. And apparently, so did Snow.
"Excellent work, Seneca", the President had said, giving me an approving nod. "Seems like you're going to give the audience their money's worth. I like it. Take the evening off and celebrate, you've earned it. But do make sure the televising of the reapings will go according to plan tomorrow. We wouldn't want to mess anything up on the first official day of a new Games. And a new Head Gamemaker. Dismissed." And when the President suggests that you party, you do, and when he has two bottles of the best champagne in the Capitol sent to your table, you drink. My point is, once you've made it to his good books, you should make the most of every second of it while it lasts. Because it's not exactly the easiest thing to get there.
With considerable effort, I finally managed to get on my feet and after treating myself to a generous dose of painkillers, I quickly cleaned up, got dressed and headed for work. Today it would begin then. The 72nd Annual Hunger Games. My first one in charge. I couldn't deny that it made me slightly nervous. Not in a bad way though. In fact it was an addictively energizing and exciting feeling, knowing that soon I would get to put all those plans and designs into action and turn them into reality. I had already impressed the President. Now it was time to wow the rest of Panem as well.
And I couldn't wait to get to it.
When I arrived in the Control Room, most of my colleagues were already there, checking and testing the equipment, instructing the camera crews in the Districts, and making sure everything was in place. The Reaping ceremony always took place simultaneously in every District, and so, besides supervising every one of them, it was our job to create the edited recap of all of them that would be shown all around Panem later in the evening.
"Good day, everyone. How are we doing?"
"We have Districts One to Four and Six to Ten standing by, sir", replied a blonde haired, middle-aged Gamemaker. "We are experiencing some slight technical difficulties in Eleven, but we're on it, and we're also improving the camera angles on Twelve."
Plutarch Heavensbee was a veteran Gamemaker of almost twenty years now, and he was one of the most experienced and most respected professionals in the team. He knew the equipment and the technology like the back of his hand, and he had a very creative eye for designing an arena as well. With that kind of combo up against me, I was almost surprised that Snow had picked me as Bendwaithe's successor and not him. Almost.
"Technical difficulties or not, you better make sure Eleven's aboard when this ship sails, Heavensbee", I told him. "And also, since we only have ten minutes before the start of the ceremonies, and I didn't hear you mentioning Five, I would very much like to know where we are with it."
"Yes, sir, I'll get on it right away."
"No, no, you stay on Eleven and Twelve. We agreed to have one Gamemaker supervising one, max two Districts, did we not? So who's on Five?" Taking a look around the room, I quickly found confirmation for my suspicion that there were indeed one too few pairs of eyes fixed on the holograms and screens before them. And I didn't have to ask which one was missing.
"Yes, of course, who else", I mumbled under my breath, before turning back to Plutarch. "Alright, Heavensbee, take care of Eleven and Twelve. Cora?"
A younger, female Gamemaker supervising District Four turned her eyes to meet mine.
"Look after Five for a moment, would you."
"Will do, sir."
I rolled my eyes as they both went back to work and shot a glance at the doors, as if expecting my fiery glare to drag in the last member of the team. Apparently, someone else had enjoyed last night's celebration a bit too much as well. Which wasn't really a surprise – truth be told, given his usual habits with parties and drink, I should have expected nothing less from this particular colleague of mine, especially after seeing him downing champagne like water by the end of last night. But the fact that I kind of knew to expect a no-show from him wouldn't by any means stop me from strangling him personally if he dared pull one today.
The sound of the doors being opened, and that of quick footsteps approaching the working stations just a couple of minutes before the start of the ceremonies indicated that to his fortune, he didn't.
"You're late, Levenridge", I snapped as he strode to his station and relieved Cora from fulfilling his responsibilities.
"Yes, I'm aware of that", he replied, ruffling his messy, green hair (he seemed to have a different colour for every week). Then, after meeting my gaze, he shot me a mischievous grin. "You look dreadful, Crane."
"You're addressing your superior, so there should be a 'sir' in there somewhere", I replied, suppressing a grin of my own. "And just so you know, you're not exactly the spitting image of fresh energy and health yourself."
Brett Levenridge was the one member of the team of Gamemakers here today who I had known and worked with for the longest. We had gone through the training and internship simultaneously, and had both started as Official Gamemakers the same year. And even outside the Control Room, we somehow seemed to always end up in the same circles and same social events. So I guess in a way, over the years, Brett had become the closest thing to a friend I would allow there to be – since I did generally figure that with Gamemaking being a business with a lot of competition, having such things as friends and family would seriously jeopardize your career if a competitor cunning and ruthless enough decided to use your personal life against you in order to sabotage your professional one. But then again, I also figured it was more than useful to have allies, and that it couldn't hurt if one of them was someone I actually got nicely along with.
"Eleven and Twelve are sorted", said Plutarch's voice from the other side of the room. "One minute and we're live."
"Good work, Plutarch. I guess I'll have to let you keep your seat around that table after all. Brett, you got everything under control there?"
"Well, the nausea is starting to wear off, but the headache's still a bitch. I would also kill for a buffet lunch."
I shook my head and rolled my eyes. "I'll rephrase: how's Five?"
"Oh, the usual: sunny, dry, boring… And standing by."
"Good. Alright then, people. Let's get to it, and let's enjoy the show while we're at it. And let's not screw anything up, shall we. Three, two, one. Go."
The beginning of the Reaping ceremony was the same every year. First the anthem of Panem. Then a short welcome note from the Escort of the District in question. Then the video montage of the rebellion, the war, the Capitol's triumph, the destruction of District Thirteen and the creating of the Games – the beginning and background of the concept. And then it was finally time to get to the real business.
Standing behind Brett (whether it was because I wanted to breathe on his neck as a consequence of his late arrival, or because I simply feared he might pass out on his station if I didn't), I watched the people of District Five gathered in the square, stiff and still, waiting for the names of their Tributes for this year's Games to be read. They were grouped around the square in the usual manner, the girls on one side, the boys on the other, and the parents and those not eligible for reaping in the background. And then of course, the District's own Victors of former Games on the stage, along with the Escort, Delanna Frickett, and the Mayor. In Five, there were only four former Victors still alive: Dell Friwell, a stocky built, bald man, the winner of the 47tb Games, now a forty-something mentor; Shirley Whiss, the elderly female Victor of a thirty-something Games; Kay Bott, the male Victor from six years ago; and a strong and healthy looking head turner with short, fiery red hair and the form of a warrior goddess. The Victor of the 59th Games. Arya Cobb.
"Joining me in drooling over her?" inquired Brett with a smirk. "Damn, she's one hot piece of work, isn't she."
"Yeah, she's a looker, alright", I agreed. "Very determined and hot tempered as well, if memory serves. Beautiful and deadly."
"You would know", Brett grinned. "Having survived to tell the tale."
I grinned at the memory as well. Brett was of course referring to the aftermath of the Victory ceremony after the 59th Games. At the time, exactly thirteen years ago, I had just turned seventeen and started working as an assistant to an Official Gamemaker, in order to gain experience needed for finishing my training, and to establish connections that might help me get in the inside circles once I made the permanent move from the classroom to the Control Room. My mentor had given me the chance to accompany him to the celebrations after the Victory ceremony, to meet people in the field and to experience the lighter side of the job. That's where I had met Arya Cobb, that year's Victor. She'd been a mere 16-year-old, but even then she'd appeared as strong and fiery as ever. Like now, she had captured my attention immediately. And in the light of what had followed, it seemed safe to say that at least to an extent, I had captured hers as well. There had been drinking, dancing, drinking, flirting. More drinking. More flirting. To put it diplomatically, it had been a great night, and we'd had fun. A lot of extremely good 'fun'. Which was why I thought it a great pity that she had never set foot on the Capitol again since the end of her own Victory Tour (was it her own, personal way of going as far as she could without actually disobeying orders?). Because even though I wasn't the least bit the affectionate, monogamous type, even I wouldn't have said no to recurring rounds of 'fun' with that high a quality. The way I saw it, there could never be too much of that.
"And a fine tale it is", I said under my breath, loud enough for only Brett to catch the words.
"I bet", he replied. "Oh, right, they're moving on to the actual reaping now..."
As usual, the female Tribute was chosen first, and in District Five's case it was a girl of approximately fourteen or fifteen years old that got picked this year. She looked as terrified as they always did right after being chosen as Tribute (well, except the Career Tributes from the wealthier Districts, to whom it was a great honor to represent their District in the Games), and she barely got a word out when Delanna attempted at some small talk with her. Pathetic, I thought. With that level of panic, she wouldn't last one day in the arena. But then again, not a lot of them ever did.
Then it was time for the boys. Delanna picked a single piece of paper from the second large glass ball full of little pieces of paper, this one containing all the eligible boys' names on them. "Aden Cobb", she read the name out loud. The camera angle switched, so that the group of boys standing in the square were now placed in the spotlight. There was a collective sigh from those who had avoided becoming a Tribute this year, and the expression of relief spread on their faces so quickly it was relatively easy to spot the single one in whose favor the odds were not anymore. He was standing in the very back row: a little, quite slender built, pale boy with hair as red as flames. Only then did one plus one finally equal two, and the name registered with my brain. Cobb. Could he be related to Arya? He had to be. The same fiery red hair already said that much.
Escorted by Peacekeepers, the boy slowly approached the stage and as he climbed onto it in silence, the cameras picked up a glimpse of the former Victors standing in the background, and I could see an expression of utter shock and disbelief in the usually so stern face of Arya's. And when the boy stole a quick, pleading glance at her direction, there was no doubt about it. They definitely shared more than just the last name.
"Hello, Aden", said Delanna cheerfully, steering the boy gently closer to his female counterpart. "How old are you, sweetheart?"
"Twelve", a shaky voice replied.
"And excited to represent your District in this year's Hunger Games, I'm sure. What do you think, are you going to have your mother as your mentor? Or would you rather have someone else train you?"
He stole another glance at Arya, who gave a simple, quick nod in reply. The shock and panic seemed to have given way for steely rage and her trademark determination.
"I guess… I guess my mother will be my mentor", he told Delanna.
"Excellent, excellent!" she beamed. "So here they are, ladies and gentlemen, the Tributes from District Five: Leah Parmin and Aden Cobb. We all wish you two the best of luck. May the odds be ever in your favor!"
At this point, the Mayor of each District stepped forward to read the Treaty of Treason, after which the new Tributes shook hands, and eventually the playing of the anthem came to conclude the ceremony.
"And we're out", I announced as the live coverage was cut. "Twenty-minute break and then we'll start with the editing."
The room emptied quickly, as over half of the Gamemakers headed out the door, most likely to grab a bite or a cup of coffee to keep them going for the next undefined period of time. After all, the edited recap of the reapings was scheduled to be aired later this evening, so we only had a few hours to get the job finished.
"Well, that was interesting", said Brett as he stood up shakily, apparently planning on following the example of the others. "The Cobb kid being picked, I mean."
"Can't disagree", I nodded. "Should be interesting to see if he's got any of his mother's old tricks up his sleeve. If he does, who knows, he could even make it through the initial bloodbath."
The grin that spread on Brett's face was somehow disturbingly knowing. And consequently, extremely annoying.
"Not the only thing you're interested to see this year, is it though?" he winked. "Since it looks like Miss Cobb will be returning to the Capitol as well this time. And when she does, who knows, maybe a certain 'fine tale' should get the chance to expand into a sequel."
He was right, of course. But I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of having me admit it.
"Just get out and stuff your face, so you won't have to complain about being hungry for the rest of the shift", I told him.
"Now that's an order I'll be happy to obey. Sir."
"You'd better be back on time though, Levenridge", I called after him as he disappeared in the corridor.
Then, before heading out in search of a huge cup of coffee myself, I quickly glanced at the last, paused image of the District Five Tributes and former Victors that remained on Brett's screen. Intriguing, I mused.
Very intriguing, indeed.
