Prepared

(adjective; in condition for immediate action, use, or progress)

Ritter Denken, Gamemaker, Psychologist and Environmental Manager

. . . . . . . . . .

A new window pops up on my desk, the edges a flashing crimson that tell me it's urgent.

DAPT meeting in 5

I check the sender; Misty. Lavender must've told her to send out the message. I wonder if this meeting was already scheduled or it's something new, but can't remember. I'm not exactly known for having the perfect memory span.

Jumping up, I start opening drawers and files, pulling out my bag and shoving whatever I may need in it at random―AT, stylus, the rare physical print-out. I call into the hallway, "I need an intern here NOW!"

Two appear at once: Quicksilver and Forsythia. "I need one of you to go to Kaye's office and get the elevation maps; bring 'em straight to DAPT for me." Nodding, they both disappear down the hall, leaving me to wonder how I could be such an idiot to leave the maps behind when I showed them to Kaye. Regardless, I grab my bag and head out.

Because of the late notice, it looks like everyone's beat me to the meeting; but… wait… no, I only count seven of us. Head Gamemaker's missing―interesting. And apparently I'm not the only one who finds it so, as Glisten, Rainshadow, Kaye and Francisco seem to be talking about it, the first two doing most of the talking. I quickly join in.

"And all this DAPT, or, sorry―" Glisten falls into a bad imitation of Lavender's voice "―'Designated Arena Planning Time' cr―" Thespian shoots her a look, even though he seems to be talking to Misty. See, we all sort of have this inside joke about not swearing or making "certain jokes" around Kaye, because she's pretty much the only one of us who never has. I can't even remember exactly how or when it started, but it was well before this year's Reapings, certainly.

"This is what we get for having a nineteen-year-old as a Head Gamemaker," I mutter. "Hiring kids now, they are. Barely even 'out of the Reaping', as everyone says…"

Misty jumps in, seeming something she rarely does―angry. It takes a lot to get her worked up, but she can be very protective over Lavender; I don't know, maybe it's a Head Gamemaker thing. Either way, I tune out what she's saying and instead reach for the elevation maps that the interns brought here. At least I can trust them on that.

My thoughts turn to the events of the Games yesterday, the bloodbath, the fight between the Careers and the District Seven-Eight alliance, ending in the death of the girl from Seven. I was hoping she'd go further, so I could see if there was anything else to learn about her selective-mutism deal. But the Games must go on. Who needs life when you have death? What would love be without hatred, happiness without grief?

Lavender comes sweeping in with her usual brisk manner, and the argument/discussion about her stops as everyone makes a wise move, and shuts up. I let my bag drop and fall into my seat as all the windows organize themselves on my display.

The lights go off, the table's brightness slowly increasing so that we can see it better. Thanks to that, the faces of all of us Gamemakers are illuminated, but not much else.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Lavender says, "welcome to the Arena of North, East, South, and West."

I was aware before that these walls could be video screens, but even I gasp and gape in awe as the table display fades, leaving the walls as the only lighting. It appears as if we are all but one tribute standing on their plate at the Cornucopia.

"Great Panem, Lav! How―?"

"Explains why you were late."

"You didn't even hint at it!"

Only Thespian, Francisco and Kaye are able to form words for a few moments. I'm not among them. I've been a Gamemaker for years, but never, ever, have I seen something like this done before. It's like we've finished the arena already, and are watching the Games themselves from a tribute's perspective. From the Cornucopia view, even with the other tribute plates vacant, I'd say maybe… someone from Five?

When I turn to look behind me, there's land going one direction, a different landscape taking up most of the wall to my left. The sky―ceiling―above is a brilliant azure, with fast-moving cumulus clouds. I glance down at the floor to see grass that looks so real I could just touch it. The arena has come to life.

Part of me wants so badly to know how she pulled this one off, but my thoughts stray too much for me to ask. The childish part of me doesn't want to know, just wants to bask in the perfection of it all.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot our Head Gamemaker nodding at Thespian, and he says, "Five… four…"

Most of us join in for, "Three… two…"

Only Thespian speaks last: "One."

The gong goes off, and then the wall displays fade, the table coming to life again, and Lavender Flame has seven shocked Gamemakers staring at her.

Let the four-hundred sixth Hunger Games begin, I think to myself. If the actual Games are anything like what I just saw, we'll definitely top this year's performance, and probably the work of most other Gamemakers before us. My negative thoughts on Lavender are blocked out. Panem doesn't see us―the insane ones―working day and night to create the ultimate fight, so what does it matter what we do here? All anyone knows of us is the final result.

Glancing down at the table, I can see the familiar arena design, a bit more mundane in its usual form of maps and scattered notes I've saved. The basic shapes and lines and dimensions are all still there, but not so… real. I'm left with the feeling that we're going to see the arena from this new perspective again, though, and I have to say, I'm looking forward to it.

"Eager to start the next Games already, huh, Lav?" Thespian asks.

We all laugh at that.

. . . . . . . . . .

"You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view…"

–Harper Lee