Lanai Hollister, 21
Tribute Analyst / Future Head Gamemaker of Panem
Damage control, Silas said.
Damage control, my ass, Lanai thinks.
Gamemakers don't do damage control, at least not until the tributes are in the arena, and even then, they just set people on fire or sic some mutts on whoever is causing them problems. They don't worry about their tributes until they are in the arena. It's someone else's job. A job someone else gets paid to do. Hell, there's a whole department of Damage Control somewhere in the City Center.
She falls in step beside Silas as they make their pilgrimage to Graciela's office. She, too, wishes she could go home. It's not like she has anybody waiting for her or anything. She hasn't seen Cass or Sabre in several months. Her tiny apartment isn't anything to sneeze at.
But it is where she makes her plans. It's where she stays up all night, working away at her desk in the hope that way day she can pull all of this off.
And whatever Graciela wants them for, whether it be damage control, to discuss the Games or to play a board game, it will not change anything. For with the right plan, and a lot of luck, the One-Hundredth, Fifty-Third Annual Hunger Games will be a Games to remember. They won't remember the tributes, or the arena, or the mutts. They will simply remember it because it will be the last.
"Lanai," Silas says suddenly.
"Hm," Lanai hums, glancing at a window that they pass.
"Can you promise me that you'll behave in this meeting."
Lanai glares at him. "What, like I can't be quiet?"
"You can't be quiet, Lanai."
"I can be quiet when I want to be," Lanai says sharply.
Silas rolls his eyes as they come to a stop outside of Graciela's large pair of heavy oak doors. They both simply stand there for a long moment, neither speaking, neither moving, before Silas raises his fist and knocks.
"Come in," Graciela says from inside.
Silas enters first, Lanai not far behind. The door slams shut behind them with a sense of finality, as if they are now trapped in Graciela's office.
"So, I'm sure you both saw Navarro Lune's antics on the stage tonight," Graciela says, seated at her desk, a color which matches the doors.
Yep, damage control, Lanai thinks, fighting with herself to avoid rolling her eyes.
"Yes," Silas says with a pointed look at Lanai.
"And, because of that…" Graciela begins nervously. "I have a favor I need to ask of you."
"What kind of favor?" Silas says uncertainly, leaning forward.
"I need you to make sure that Navarro does not leave the Bloodbath alive."
Silas and Lanai share a look. "Surely we can't get away with rigging the landmines twice," Lanai says, arms crossed over her chest. "It's simply too suspicious."
"Yes, and that's not what I'm asking you to do," Graciela says impatiently. "I want a tribute to kill Navarro. Plant him between Careers, order someone to take him out, do whatever you have to. We can not run the risk of Navarro winning."
"It's a little bit late for that, President Purdue," Lanai says. "Caius already drew up the plan for the launchpads and we'll have no way to get a message to a tribute."
"I just need him gone," Graciela says carefully.
"There are better ways to kill someone than rigging it, Madam President," Silas says tightly. "Less…suspicious ways."
"I understand that, Mr. Euphemia," Graciela says, lifting her chin.
"But won't it be too obvious?" Silas answers. "If a tribute goes specifically for Navarro, with no prior knowledge of him, won't it be too suspect?"
Graciela suddenly stands up and exclaims, "I don't know, Silas! I just need him taken out before he causes anymore issues."
Lanai takes a step forward. "You'll only create a martyr."
It's not necessarily a bad thing, at least to Lanai: the districts are restless. They want change, but they don't know how to incite it. There has to be someone who proves to them that the Capitol is truly doing wrong. It doesn't matter who. Navarro wouldn't be ideal, but he would work just fine.
Graciela scoffs. "Nobody is looking to Navarro Lune to start a rebellion."
You have no idea, Lanai thinks.
Graciela shakes her head and continues. "I want these Games to go off without a hitch, Mr. Euphemia. We certainly don't need a disastrous Hunger Games on top of everything else going on."
"Everything else?" Lanai repeats. "What else is going on?"
"Haven't you heard?" Graciela says tiredly. "The Districts are growing more restless by the day. There are whisperings of rebellion from over half of the outer Districts." She heaves a sigh. "The last thing I need is a full-fledged rebellion before I've been in office for five years."
Lanai certainly hasn't heard of rebellions brewing. Hell, she was in the Districts six months ago, and no one was trying to incite change back then.
"And Ezra isn't making it any easier," Graciela says.
"What's the problem with Ezra?" Silas asks carefully.
Graciela gapes at him. "He wants to solve violence with more violence. A group of rebels burn down fields of crops in District 11? Burn down their homes and execute their families. He doesn't seem to understand that he only creates martyrs by doing so."
"What, are you some kind of pacifist?" Lanai asks incredulously.
"Of course not," Graciela says flatly. "I simply understand that there are better ways to stop a rebellion than shooting at it."
Is that not what the Hunger Games is? Lanai wants to ask. Are you not quelling violence with more violence? By taking the Districts' children and forcing them to fight, are you not creating martyrs?
But, for once in Lanai's life, she keeps her mouth shut.
"If you want to quell dissenters," Silas begins in a careful voice. "Killing Navarro certainly will not do it."
"That's not my goal, Mr. Euphemia," replies Graciela. She drops heavily into her chair. "If I didn't know better, I'd put together a plan to get rid of the Games altogether."
Both Lanai and Silas freeze. Lanai looks to Silas for a long moment before she says, "…why can't you?"
Graciela laughs, but doesn't seem to find it humorous. "The Capitol likes its old ways. They don't want change. Besides, if we get rid of the Games, the Capitolites will have to come to terms with the fact that they are no better than the Districts."
Silas and Lanai eye each other.
"You know, these kinds of changes don't happen overnight," Graciela continues. "And if I didn't think the Capitolites themselves would stage a coup over it…I'd start working on phasing it out right now." She pauses, as if gaging Lanai and Silas's reactions. "There are better ways to punish a disgruntled public, you know. You don't just have to kill their children."
They are mighty brave words for the President of Panem to say to the Head Gamemaker and his trainee.
Lanai starts messing with a cup of pens on Graciela's desk. "…I agree with you, Gr—Madam President."
Graciela offers her a small smile. "I'm glad you do, Lanai." She pauses. "You know, I look forward to working with you, even on a project like this."
Lanai forces a smile in return. "Thank you."
The awkwardness of the moment is, thankfully, broken by Lanai knocking over the cup of pens. The various writing utensils go scattering across the floor, leaving Lanai to quickly kneel down and pick them up.
Hands full of pens, cup sitting beside her, empty, Lanai hears a gunshot.
Gunshot.
Glass breaking.
Graciela screaming.
A body hitting the floor, blood pooling from its forehead.
Silas's body.
Silas's dead body.
Lanai screams.
Pens forgotten on the floor, Peacekeepers swarming into the room, Lanai rushes to his side. She grabs his wrist, searching for a pulse. When she finds none, she grabs his neck. She goes so far to put her hand over his heart, but there is no denying it.
Silas is absolutely, unequivocally, dead.
Peacekeepers appear and escort her and Graciela from the room. Graciela orders them to lock down the city and send all available soldiers to search for the gunman. Almost as an afterthought, she tells them to find the tributes and keep them in their apartments.
A doctor suddenly grabs Lanai's arm and takes over to the wall. "Are you alright, Miss Hollister?" the woman asks. "Are you injured?"
Lanai doesn't meet the doctor's eyes, instead staring at the now-closed double oak doors that separates her from the body of her mentor. "No, no, I'm—fine."
She catches sight of a clock on the wall. It's nearly one a.m. Lanai didn't know they had talked for that long.
"What am I going to do?" Lanai says aloud. She isn't prepared to run a Hunger Games on her own. She was supposed to have months before she had to work on next year, if it happened at all, and even then would have had Silas there to fall back on. He was only supposed to be retired, not dead.
"About what?" the doctor asks in surprise.
"About everything," Lanai says, almost defeatedly. She needs Silas's cool head when it comes to making plans. Lanai wants change to quickly; she knows that. She knows that she should not be in the seat planning a full-blown rebellion, yet here she is. The only one left.
Nayra is dead, has been for years. Aristotle defected. Cass and Sabre don't know anyone. Divinity's heart is in the right place, yet is still untrustworthy. Arthur is of no use to them. Macy is content.
And Silas is dead.
Lanai is alone. She has nothing, no one. Absolutely nothing.
"I need to talk to Graciela."
Macy Barker, 15
Victor of the One-Hundredth, Fiftieth Annual Hunger Games
Being pulled out of bed in the middle of night is never a good thing, but even less so when the Games start in a few hours and Peacekeepers are pounding on your bedroom door.
And so, here Macy is, shuffling behind Larken into the Mentoring room at one a.m., holding one of her signature coffee cups because Panem knows she won't be going back to sleep after this.
As it turns out, she and Larken are the first to show up. The pair tiredly file into their seats, shortly before Will and Hestia arrive, arguing far too loudly for this time of night. Rocket and Thalia are the next to enter, both also toting steaming coffee mugs. They are quickly followed by Koren and Travers, hand-in-hand, and Meadow and Brice, who both look about half-asleep. Rhett appears next, practically holding up Celinda who appears to be midway through drunk and hungover.
Within five minutes, all twenty-three mentors are seated and grumbling unhappily. Macy overhears Arthur tell Chance, "It's too early for this shit." and she would be inclined to agree.
"Don't they know the Games start in a few hours?" groans Meadow. Brice launches into some form of speedy tirade that Macy quickly tunes out of.
"What could possibly be important enough for them to drag us all here at this ungodly hour?" Macy catches Dixie saying.
Lanai Hollister, followed by a pair of Peacekeepers and Graciela Purdue, enter the room and stand in front of the large screen, which still displays the Capitol seal.
"Hello, everyone," Lanai says carefully. "I'm sure you're all wondering why you've been called to this meeting at this time of night." She looks down for a moment. "I regret to inform you all that our Head Gamemaker, Silas Euphemia, has been murdered."
The Victors collectively gasp. Macy and Larken stare at each other. "Surely they can't be planning for the Games to go on?" Macy says in a quiet, shaky voice.
Larken looks back at her with sunken eyes are Lanai speaks again.
"And, despite this development, the Games must go on with myself acting as Head Gamemaker."
"You can't be serious!" Larken yells immediately.
"This is ridiculous!" cries Koren.
"You have to postpone the Games!" Gracyn adds.
Graciela steps in front of Lanai and says, "I know, I know. But unfortunately, we cannot postpone the Games. No tribute is injured, and Miss Hollister can act as the Head Gamemaker perfectly fine. The Games will go on in the morning."
"What do we tell our tributes?" Thalia asks.
"Has a suspect been caught?" Neapolitan says.
"Please, please, one at a time," Graciela says gently. "The tributes cannot know. They cannot know that these Games are anything but normal."
This brings about another wave of outrage.
"What the hell?" Macy says loudly. "What is going to change to the tributes because there is a different Head Gamemaker?"
"We've discussed this, Miss Barker, and decided it is the best course of action," Graciela says impatiently. "Whoever ends up winning will be told that Silas simply died of natural causes sometime during the Games."
"The man was in his thirties!" Kalina suddenly says. "He lived in the most technologically and medically advanced place in Panem! Who in their right mind would believe he died of anything natural?"
Graciela sighs exasperatedly. "Neapolitan, didn't you ask something?"
"Yes," Neapolitan says, sounding rather annoyed. "Have you caught the murderer?"
Graciela and Lanai share a look before the latter answers, "No, no one has been caught. But the Peacekeepers are currently combing the city and—"
"How can you expect us to send our tributes into the arena with a murderer still at large?" Hestia exclaims angrily. "What's to say they won't sabotage the Games?"
"We'll hopefully find them before the Games begin, but if we don't, security will be locked tight," Graciela says, likely in an attempt to assuring.
It certainly does not work for Hestia.
"I don't care about security!" Hestia shouts. "I want my tributes to get the same chance that everyone else gets, and you know how the rebels hate District 2—"
"Sit down, Hestia!" Will commands, seeing embarrassed to be associated with her.
"I'll sit down when I'm ready, Will!" Hestia yells. She and Will go back to arguing about whatever meaningless things they spend their time yelling about, leaving Lanai and Graciela staring at each other.
"Okay, so, moving on," Lanai says. "To recap: don't tell your tributes anything. We need them to think this is a completely normal Games, understood?"
Several of the Victors nod or voice their assent. "Alright," Lanai says, glancing at Graciela. "You are all dismissed, however, make sure your tributes all stay put. We don't know where the murderer is, or who they may attempt to strike next."
A third Peacekeeper suddenly runs into the room. "Madam President," he says. "There has been another attack, likely by the same murderer."
Graciela's eyes widen. "Go, all of you. Stay in your apartments until further notice."
And then she runs from the room, Lanai not far behind.
?, ?
?
His hands are shaking like mad, making it impossible to take another shot. His ears are ringing from the blast, and his head is spinning, and his vision is blurry and holy fuck he just killed someone—
He drops the gun and runs. They'll be on him any second, the Peacekeepers will, and then the whole operation is over and he'll be dead. He has to get out of here. Away from the mansion. Away from the City Center. Away from everything and everyone, if he could.
But no. He has somewhere he has to be. And they will not be happy with his failure.
The wildly partying Capitolites provide easy cover for him. He fears that he stands out too much, wearing almost all black, a dark vest over the suit he wore to the interviews, but no one spares him a second glance.
He weaves his way through the brightly colored and brightly light partygoers until he ducks into an alleyway. Quickly, he pulls off the vest and stuffs it into a dumpster. As he is about to leave the alley and head in the opposite direction, two men in neon orange suits stop him.
"Hey, dude! You're one of those Gamemakers, aren't you?" the man on the left says. "Oh, man, I've always wanted to meet a Gamemaker!"
"Oh—oh-h, no, no, I'm not a Gamemaker, please—please let me through," he says hurriedly, trying to push his way through the pair of eccentrically-dressed men.
"Why, you got somewhere to be?" the man on the right asks.
"Yes, I'm going home to my wife and my kids," he says, quickly trying to come up with an excuse. "I've had enough partying; I have to go into work tomorrow."
The men finally let him through, and he rushes off down the street.
How is he going to go into work tomorrow? How is he going to look at Silas's seat, Silas's empty seat, and know that he caused that? How he is not going to give himself away?
As he goes, he mentally composes his alibi. He was out partying with some friends. If he has to, he can get those two men to vouch for his story. It's the only way to explain him coming home so late. It's the only thing the Peacekeepers—and his wife—will accept as an answer.
Oh, how he wishes he could go home. His family lives in a nice, large penthouse apartment. His children receive the best Capitol education caps can buy. Oh, what he wouldn't give to be crawling into bed beside his wife right now…
He shakes his head. His job is not yet done. He can't allow thoughts of his family to cloud his mind right now. There is still much to be done. Once he goes to his meeting, he can go home to his wife and make sure his kids are alright. He just hopes his youngest hasn't had any nightmares while he has been gone…
(Unbeknownst to him, a young girl named Cassania is lying awake in her bed, knowing that her daddy isn't at home to comfort her.)
Eventually, the crowds on the streets begin to thin out. He is entering the worst part of the Capitol, which is equivalent to the nicest part of District 1. He passes homes that are only worth a million caps, as opposed to his warm, cozy penthouse which cost him more money than even the wealthiest District citizen will see in their entire life.
At last, he finds the address he is looking for. The house is surprisingly quaint for the Capitol, but it's clear that the residents are poor. He finds himself wondering if they even have both a pool and a hot tub in their backyard. The front door's accent clearly isn't even real gold.
As he slowly makes his way up the walkway, he looks out at the city. There is little he can see, from such a bad angle, but the top floors of the Tribute Center are visible from almost anywhere in the Capitol. Most of the windows are dark. It is, after all, the middle of the night, and the Games do start in the morning. He doesn't exactly know what he expected; all of the tributes would be awake and moving around?
Actually, it seems as if the entire city has gone silent and dark. He certainly hopes there isn't an order that he has missed.
Just as he is about to ring the doorbell, his phone starts to ring. He pulls it out and finds that his wife is calling him. He longs to answer, to assure her that he is alright, that he'll be home soon and he's simply been held up by the crowds, but instead he refuses the call and knocks on the door.
The moment he steps inside, there is a gun pressed against his forehead. He freezes and says, "It's done, Mr.…Renius."
All of the lights are off, making it nearly impossible to make out Ezra through the darkness. But he can tell he is there, holding a gun just inches away from his face, hand on the trigger and bullet in the barrel.
"Please, come in. Let's discuss…this, in the kitchen," Ezra says, removing the gun and taking a few steps away.
He reluctantly follows, nervously looking around at the house. He is amazed that Ezra would settle for something so…quaint, but he supposes that it is unassuming enough that no one would ever notice it.
"Have a seat," Ezra offers, pulling one of the chairs away from the table.
Nervously, he sits, watching as Ezra turns on a lamp and joins him at the table.
"We had an agreement," Ezra says tartly. "You would do as I told, and I wouldn't let out your secrets." He fingers his gun. "You are this close to being found out. You wouldn't want that, would you…?"
"No! Please, don't tell anyone. You have no reason to—I, I did what you told me to," he stammers. If his affairs get out, he won't be able to go home…
"I have only heard about Silas Euphemia," Ezra says curtly.
He swallows thickly. "I—"
Ezra cuts over top of him, holding up a finger and sending him a glare. "My sources tell me that Lanai Hollister is still alive, not even injured in the slightest." He gets to his feet and looks at him. "You had one job to do, and you couldn't even do that. What part of "kill both Euphemia and Hollister" did you not understand?"
"I don't understand why you wanted it to happen the night before the Games begin," he replies, looking down.
Ezra reaches out and lifts up his chin. "Chaos makes transitions easier. And when everyone I have planned comes to fruition, I'm going to need chaos on my side. You ruined it all tonight, you useless coward."
"I still got Euphemia, didn't I?"
"That's hardly good enough. If anything, I would rather you have gotten Hollister and left Euphemia alive."
"Are they not equally dangerous?" he asks nervously, noting that Ezra is still holding the gun, hand over the trigger, bullet in the barrel.
"Of course they aren't, you idiot! Euphemia wants change but was too careful to ever act on it. Hollister—oh-ho-ho, Hollister is a danger to everything I have planned," Ezra says angrily. "She must be eliminated for it all to go smoothly."
"Perhaps if you tell me about your plans I can—"
Ezra whips around and slams the gun against his throat. "You'll what, huh? You'll help? Oh, buddy, you've helped plenty tonight."
"P-please, don't kill me," he begs, hands up in surrender.
"I'm not going to kill you," Ezra says mockingly. "You're far too useful to my operation for me to do that. No, I think I'll just go for the stomach."
"What?" he says in horror as Ezra moves the gun down and—
He pulls the trigger, sending a bullet ripping into his torso. He cries out in pain, crumpling out of his chair and onto the floor. He curls out the wound, trying to stop the blood flow.
"Please, tell my wife I love her," he says desperately, clutching at the bullet hole in his stomach.
Ezra kicks him lightly. "Oh, Caius, I wouldn't worry about that. When you wake up, you can trust me when I say your wife won't be by your side. After all, she'll be too busy signing the divorce papers."
And then Ezra is gone, leaving him sputtering on the ground.
…
