President Kirkland's office was the typical politician's prison. The giant fan rocked around with every rotation above the mahogany desk. Small rays of sunlight peeked through dust-encrusted bamboo blinds over bay windows. Bare mocha walls ran around the room, enclosing it with a copper din that constricted the room. The floors were polished and shined, giving off a small gleam that reflected off the mirror behind the President's desk. In front of the desk sat one leather chair, a slumped figure resting on it.

Helen Quinn's face aged decades over the span of months. Wrinkles etched into her forehead as her coconut hair tangled itself into matted wisps. Her cheeks swelled into puffs of brick red skin from hours of venom torture and manual smacks with steel bars and batons. The rest of her frame, covered in a loose tangerine prison jumpsuit, was starved from meager rations thrown at her in the black site prison masked Peacekeepers escorted her.

Her sleepy honeysuckle eyes glared at the thin man tapping his finger on the desk. Anxiety was par for the course for the President however.

"So anything to say?" President Kirkland asked in a shaking voice.

Helen raised a thin eyebrow. "Place hasn't changed much. New carpet?"

President Kirkland a shy man both in voice and appearance. The roots of his blonde hair had already been kissed by gray. Fat had left his cheeks and formed a sunken, almost dead gaunt look. His green eyes were frantic and weak with nerves as he stared bewildered at the prisoner in front of his desk. Helen almost laughed at the charcoal business he wore; a size more than the man with a loose button threatening to fall. His black tie hung in a soft clump around his prominent adam's apple.

He slammed his fist onto the table. Helen hardly budged. She had grown used to loud noises and shouts in prison.

"Where is the Victor?"

"Everdeen?" Helen shrugged. "Insane asylum. Didn't your military keep tracers on her?"

Kirkland gasped. "You know who I'm talking about."

Helen sighed. "I don't know where Aslovee is. Any contact I had with Rebellion members ended the moment the arena blew up. I can't tell you anything else."

Kirkland walked past her, his dress shoes beating on the hardwood. Helen twirled the cut short locks of her hair with a stubby finger. He was growing desperate to find the Victor. He was a man who had been appointed to the presidency after the deaths of the previous Presidents. No Capitol citizen had voted for him. His legitimacy, already in question beforehand, evaporated with the biggest disaster the Games had ever faced. The Capitol did not have a Victor in the last Games, nor were the Games longer than fifteen minutes.

Kirkland was one mistake away from being kicked out of office for good. And by kicked out of office, Kirkland knew it meant death.

Standing by his door, Kirkland grabbed a white box from a nightstand. He walked back to Helen, who gave him an inquisitive sneer.

"Giving me a gift?" Helen asked.

Kirkland shook his head. "I don't have much time left, Helen. The Victor's popularity is the only thing keeping me afloat. You almost bankrupted us from those failure of a Games. And to top it off, you have no information for us to use. The Rebellion is still out there. We were only able to clear out the bases, but we couldn't find the headquarters."

"They already moved," Helen said. "Even if I told you the old location, you won't find anything there."

"You bitch," Kirkland shouted. He shook the box in her face. "Don't you realize the problems I'm faced with. We can't even put together a real fucking budget for the year. We have nothing. Our banks are crumbling. The markets are in free fall. The only thing keeping this society afloat is the Games. Both morally and economically. Even if you succeed I whatever your goals are, it's useless. You want to save this country? There won't be a country to save. If the Games fall, Panem falls with it."

Helen scoffed. "And you don't think that was happening already? After Snow died? Lanarsus? Katniss was the first crack in this shitty facade. The 'Capitol.'" She mocked. "The fame and money and fortune of all you morons. You never had any of it. You just made it up. Your currency? Your television shows? Worthless. The only reason you're king of the hill is because you got their first. You and your Capitol cocksuckers."

"And you think you're any better," Kirkland whispered. "We wouldn't even be here if your precious Rebellion didn't fall apart the first time around. If Coin wasn't just like Snow. If Everdeen hadn't killed her. If Paylor had a spine. You're entire charade is an exercise in 'if' and it's never going to work."

"It will," Helen said, her teeth gnashing at the President. "Our Rebellion is smarter. They've already hidden away, and they're already planning the next move. So go ahead! Prepare the next Games. Hire a Gamemaker and try to distract the public from the fact that the Panem treasury has run out of money."

Kirkland lowered the box onto Helen's lap. It was heavy.

"Open it."

Helen carefully opened the lid of the box. Inside was a beautiful ring. A lavender gem was cradled in the simple golden band that sat in a plush foam.

She laughed. "You asking to marry me?"

Kirkland sat on his desk, shaking his head. "I'm offering you the chance to live. That ring unlocks a room. It's in the basement of the President's mansion. I want you to live in that room."

"What?"

Kirkland sighed. He reached over and grabbed Helen's hand. She grimaced, but looked intrigued at the turn of events. "I'm not a monster. And I'm also not very smart. I was the minister of education not one year ago. That's all I am and will be. I'm not a Games fanatic. I'm not even a Capitol fanatic. I just want to survive. And you do, too. I admire that in you."

Helen cleared her throat. "So you want me to live in your basement?"

"It's under my security's watch all day and night," Kirkland said. He squeezed Helen's warm hands. "You'll be more secure in there than being beaten every night by prison guards. And I think you would be far more useful if you were under my watch."

"Useful?"

"The basement of the President's mansion has documents of our deepest secrets," Kirkland said. "I want you to study them. Learn them."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Kirkland said with visible frustration. "I just feel like you being alive would benefit me the best. You're less dangerous if you know more and are less idealized. You're less dangerous if you're right where we can control what you do. I imagine the Rebellion might try to break into your prison and free you one day."

"Doubt it. They don't care." Helen snapped.

"Regardless," Kirkland said. "You have the choice to either be my advisor and help me organize the next Games, or we can just kill you right now."

Helen rolled her eyes. "I ruined you as Gamemaker, and now you want me as a secret advisor?"

"That, or we kill you."

"The Rebellion is going to win," Helen said. "Katniss Everdeen was the crack in the glass. Aslovee Chesed...he's the rock. And this whole thing will fall like shattered glass."

Kirkland crossed his arms. "Well, when he does show up again on our surveillance, I'll be sure to tell him that."

Helen collapsed as the needle of tranquilizer fluid pierced her skin.

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