A beginning
The name of the primary subject of this enquiry is one that is most certainly not unknown to you, dear reader, nor is it unfamiliar to any other citizen of Panem. It has been chanted on the streets, from the degenerate slums of 12 to the vaulted, marble boulevards of the Capitol, enshrined in countless exclusive TV interviews, reverentially rasped in the throes of pleasure, tremorously announced as cameras swept over the aftermath of the slaughter of twenty-three children to the glorious trumpets of Panem's orchestral anthem. Once upon a time, that very same name first came to the attention of the highest-ranking official stationed in the prestigious District 1, leaving the lips of a rather flushed subordinate.
"It was Proserpina Actona, sir," the subordinate disclosed, pale eyes averted to the ground, a ruddy colour clinging to his cheeks. He wrung his reddened hands together, as if in prayer. "A student at the Academy."
"Actona," one Officer Marcellus Stern murmured contemplatively, glancing away from the footage of the inferno for a second to eye the harbinger of bad news, his thin lips pursed in thought. Officer Stern was an uncommonly tall man, broad and muscular from his training but strangely lithe, with the air of a panther lingering about him. His dark eyes were a stroke too far apart, dominated by a protruding brow, lending his stare an unnerving quality. He was clean-shaven, his hair shorn too short for its natural colour to be obvious. If anyone ever got close enough to his face to study it intently, though nobody ever had, they would discover that his skin was covered by light gingery freckles that almost passed as a tan, and that he had a mole right above his lip that had never been removed. "Hardly the mayor's daughter, no?"
"Unfortunately so, Officer Stern sir," he said, a vicious shake wracking his body as he convulsed with nervousness. Stern thought the boy's name must have been Darius, or something similar; the kind of name that did not binarily belong to the Capitol, District 1 or 2, though he clearly hailed from one of the three, despite his stature and anxious disposition. The records give his name as being Dexter and coming from 3; Stern was not one to pay much attention to his lessers. "The youngest of the three. Only goes by Pina - her father sent her to the Academy years ago, apparently not knowing what else to do with her. She has been an upstart since before she could walk, if you take what everyone is saying to be true."
Of course, as any socialite worth their salt knows all too well, any word that has been reduced to hushed whispers must contain a grain of truth, as there exists no other reason for it to be kept so secretive. Rumours were the glue that underlay every social encounter that occurred in the Capitol, an invisible web that tied all figures of notice to one another. Sometimes, it did not even matter how sizable the grain of truth in the rumour was: once it was heard, it cannot be revoked. In this instance, Officer Stern's young apprentice was indeed relaying the truth: the mayor's youngest daughter had always been a firestarter. Pina (as she wished to be known, finding any other moniker unbearably pompous) had started off with what her parents dismissed as "Youngest Child Syndrome": an unbridled urge to be the centre of attention at all times, no matter what it took. It was endearing to start with, her mother believed. Her prior two daughters left her well-equipped to deal with tantrum-throwing and everything else growing up entailed, even when Pina's tantrums went one step further than her sisters' ever had.
"Anything like this?" questioned Stern, examining the inferno once more. It had taken off unbelievably quickly, whirling upwards in a spiral of flame like a fiery tornado, consuming, angry, insatiable. If not for the desk-load of bureaucracy awaiting for him because of the fire, he would have admitted (albeit begrudgingly) that he was impressed. "There is usually a precedent when it comes to acts of arson. Vandalism, the like. Does she have a history of misdemeanours at the Academy?"
The Academy kept extensive files on every student to pass through their shadowed halls, no matter if they wound up as a victor, a Peacekeeper or in an early grave. Dear reader, I confess that they were quite the trouble to unearth: they are buried in the deepest recesses of District 1's Academy, in a secret basement not even its residents knew off - only the mentors and the Academy's board were privy to the secret of its existence. They are truly the thing of an archivist's wet dream: well-organised and colour-coded, categorised chronologically, and then alphabetically. Files belonging to victors occupied the smallest cabinet, each folio an effervescent golden colour, no more than fifteen of them in total. The largest cabinet, meanwhile, obviously housed files belonging to those who went into the Peacekeepers' Academy in 2, their folios a plain grey. There must have been nearly three hundred of those. Order of elimination predicated what the final cabinet contained, but even if I hadn't worked it out, the macabre black of the folios were not subtle. There were precisely one-hundred-and-thirty-three of those, though the number must have gone up by now.
Each file was arranged in the same manner: a page detailing name, date of birth and gender, accompanied by a photo of the subject in question, followed by an evaluation page. For whom it was relevant, there was an in-depth description of their Games' performance, with an ensuing report on their victory or on their death, depending on their success. As well as this, beside their evaluation sheet, was a note on any misdemeanours; some markedly more extensive than others. The victors' files were the most well-read, as evidenced by the dog marks and fingerprints dirtying the cream pages - my hypothesis that these are used as study material for attendees of the Academy has since been confirmed by a former student and mentor.
In the case of one Proserpina Actona, this list of misdemeanours was deceptively brief, as was noted by the boy who most likely went by Dexter. "Not really, sir, no," he said, delivering the colourless folio to Officer Stern morosely. "It only says here–"
"Prone to arrogance and an inflated sense of self-worth," Officer Stern read out loud with a huff, snatching the file from his subordinate. "Not unusual for District 1. Her scores are truly something to behold though - no real affinity for anything close-range, but Gloss Yarbrough seems to think of her as some sort of prodigy with a spear. And of course, that is ignoring–"
"-her academic scores," interjected Dexter, his cheeks flushing bright red as he was once again subjected to Stern's scrutiny. "Sorry sir, Officer Stern sir. I just figured. . . Here it says she received top marks in physics and chemistry in her most recent exams. Surely that suggests–"
"I know precisely what that suggests, boy," snapped Stern, "I am perfectly capable of reading the report myself." If possible, Dexter went even more luminous. "The girl better be in custody, I want to see her right now. It would also be a good idea to fetch Mr. Yarbrough for this encounter. I expect it will get ugly, having a familiar face at hand would do no harm."
"Of course, sir, right away, sir," replied Dexter, practically curtseying as he bustled away, face still glowing bright red. Officer Stern focused his gaze on the video once again as it replayed: in the corner, the camera caught the girl, her face illuminated yellow by the inferno, grinning in wild glee as the flames spiralled out of control. She had made no attempt to hide her identity and now that he knew her name, he thought he recognised her face from one of his formal meetings with the mayor: a tiny girl, too petite to pique his interest, with dark hair stacked in ringlets and strange, pale green eyes just like her mother's, invisible between her elder sisters. One would not be inclined to connect her to the largest arson in the recorded history of District 1.
If this instance of arson is surprising to you, my dear readers, then count yourselves among the majority, as it was never reported upon outside of 1. Indeed, news of it did not even make it to the Capitol. It was covered up by one unfailingly loyal, principled Officer Marcellus Stern, its true cause never publicly released until now. However, that was not to say that its inciter escaped entirely unscathed without punishment of any kind.
The minutes of this meeting were reportedly incinerated, but I am lucky enough to be in possession of an accurate account of the event. Officer Stern met with Pina Actona and her esteemed mentor, Gloss Yarbrough, in one of the conference rooms in the bowels of the Justice Building, beneath where tributes typically bid their goodbyes to their families before departing for the Capitol. It was a spacious, sparsely-decorated room, with unremarkable grey-painted stone walls and an ovular steel table that occupied most of the space. A tapestry of our beloved President hung from the wall, his beady eyes glaring out as if he himself was present and presiding over the meeting. Stern sat directly in front of his president, Proserpina's file splayed out on the table. On the very opposite end of the long table sat Gloss Yarbrough, a polished, blond man in his late teens wearing a serious expression that did not seem to belong on his face, and Prosperina herself, whose eyes glittered with fox-like mischief despite the otherwise rather sombre set to her face. They waited in silence for nearly a minute, each expecting the other to start: Stern perfectly still, Gloss stoic but clasping his hands, Pina fidgeting with her fingers. Finally, Stern spoke, raising himself up from his seat and leaning forwards across the table.
"So, Miss Actona, I hope you understand who I am and why I have brought you here," he began, pausing to see if she would answer.
Her eyes darted to her mentor and then back to Stern, and then to Gloss again, as if she was unable to focus on any one thing for more than a microsecond. "You are Officer Marcellus Stern," she answered promptly. "My father knows you. You oversee the Peacekeepers here, though you used to be stationed in 7. Since you quelled the uprising there, Snow upgraded you to 1. And you've brought me here because I interrupted your new comfortable life." The corners of her lips quirked upwards, amused by her own words, and her eyes glinted. Beside her, Gloss seemed to let out a minuscule groan. "It was an accident, sir, I swear it."
If Stern was unnerved by her verbose response, he did not show it. It was not common for some random district girl, even one from District 1 who happened to be the mayor's daughter, to have so much information on him. Instead of questioning her on where she learned of his career history, he moved on to the matter at hand.
"The fire," he said, "was no accident. Clearly, it was an act of arson. As you noted, Miss Actona, I spent quite some time in District 7. Fires are something I became accustomed to." True, that, even if the fires in 7 were rarely fuelled by chemicals and acts of arson were often just exacerbated by being in the vicinity of so much flammable material. "If I may ask, Miss Actona, how did you start it?"
She shrugged, her eyes - still gleaming - widening in faux-innocence. A lesser man would have bought the act. "As I said, Officer Stern sir, the fire was an accident," she said, her voice quivering. "I didn't mean for it to get so out of hand, and I promise you it'll never happen again - you can enjoy your new comfortable life in 1, no fires in sight, I promise!"
"Considering the identity of your father, Miss Actona, that is exactly the narrative I want to be maintained," said Stern, smirking widening at how Prosperina jolted in surprise at his words while Gloss' jaw tightened. "This little fire can remain an accident in the eyes of everyone outside of this room conditional on one thing." Stern leaned so far forward that his eyes were level with Prosperina's. Gloss was as tense as a spring. "You will volunteer for the Hunger Games at the next Reaping. I don't care who accompanies you - so long as you volunteer, this fire will remain just that. A fire. Your father's career will stay intact. Your sisters will be unharmed. Your mother will be able to continue hosting her frivolous parties without consequence."
For the first time since the meeting began, Pina frowned, her brows furrowing in consternation. "I don't understand," she said, her first honest words of the night.
"I thought you were a clever girl, Miss Actona," replied Officer Stern, standing back. Behind him, the President's eyes gleamed. "Work it out for yourself."
"She probably would have volunteered anyways," Gloss interjected, still tense, his blue eyes inscrutable. Since winning his Games three years ago, he had not been able to rid himself of the Capitol polish. "If not this year, then the next, or the year after. She is one of our top students."
Officer Stern looked genuinely surprised to hear him speak. "So what is the harm in doing so this year?" he questioned, his dark eyes alight with their own sinister brand of mischief. He gathered up the scattered sheets of Prosperina's file and bid them adieu with a wave of his hand, sweeping out so quickly that the door stayed swinging behind him like a foreboding timer, each swing getting lesser and lesser until it stilled completely, leaving mentor and mentee in silence in the conference room.
It goes without saying that when someone asks you "what's the harm in doing something", it is often in reference to an easygoing, casual activity, and not one wherein twenty-four teenagers fight to the death. Particularly when the individual asking that question of you is one of a standing such as Officer Marcellus Stern, a man who was in command of the largest fleet of Peacekeepers in Panem. Truly, one would have to question the motives of a man who covered up the crimes of the mayor's daughter while also dooming her to a very special, televised form of execution.
To you, my dear readers, it may not be immediately apparent why I commenced this enquiry with an account of arson. After all, how could one little fire inspire a piece as great as this one? For now, darling audience, I will tell you only this: this is not the last time you will hear the name Prosperina Actona, or indeed the other names that appeared in this passage. A tale such as this requires an all-star cast, after all.
