Song Suggestion: TV on the Radio—"DLZ"

Thank You: slightlytwisted84, HeyBirdy, ShootingStar96, 3vlee, Prettyprincess45, Guest, PainAndPanicReportingForDuty, erstott2012, Karen, colorprism (for two reviews), SweetStarre123, tahirah, Obscure-Reference-Girl, ana, AnonymousRedhead, Coco, Flowers Can Have Thorns, Guest, and Guest.

A/N: sorry about posting late. I meant to post this Saturday, but this weekend was crazy. I hope to have the next update this upcoming Saturday morning. That would mean two chapters in a week!

Oh, and Happy belated birthday to AnonymousRedhead! I hope you like this chapter, though I'm sorry I couldn't get it out in time.

Bloody Redirection

She threw a ball against the wall. It bounced back to her, and she caught it. Two thousand one hundred and one. Two thousand one hundred and two. Numbers fought against the boredom inside her, a mental checkpoint.

If I make it to a million, I'll allow myself to go crazy, she thought.

Prim was in a cell. No, that was the wrong word; it was better than a normal cell. The prisons in District 12 were underground, dingy, cramped, and dark. Hungry rats hid in the corner, and prisoners were afraid to close their eyes because of them. The Capitol decided to go the insanity route instead of mortal fear.

The entire room was white: the floor, the ceiling, the bed, the door, the door handle, the toilet, the sink, the metal tray they brought food on. Hell, even the food was white: mashed potatoes and cream gravy, pureed turnips, marshmallows, fresh onions, cauliflower, egg whites. Prim laughed at it the first time she saw it, finding humor at the details. Since then, the joke had worn thin. When the guard brought her food, she wanted to splatter it all of his pristine white uniform, against the walls. At least then it would lend the room some texture, instead of smooth stone walls and solid quartz floors. There weren't even cracks or spots to count.

The guard brought her a white ball what seemed like a day later. It was supposed to be for mental dexterity and stimulation (After all, they didn't want their prisoners to go completely bonkers), but Prim suspected it was contributing to her looming madness.

A key part of mental health in human beings was interaction. The isolation was a worse torture than any she could think up. It slowly chipped away at her. The desperation grew until she began to make up games.

At first she talked aloud to her friends: Gale, Rory, Madge. But it started to become too pathetic, too painful. Since then, she had been trying to take her mind off the gnawing monster in her mind with with counting.

Clunk, clunk. She bounced it against the wall. Two thousand one hundred and three. Clunk,clunk. Two thousand one hundred and—

The door opened. The ball disappeared into the darkness.

The cell was kept bright all day and all night. Prim wasn't sure how many days or how much time passed. The bright surrounding made it hard to sleep or rest. The result was that her mind stung with lack of sleep. Brightness made the darkness all that more sinister when a guard stepped through the entrance and into her cell.

"The prisoner shall stand." He held his hands behind his back. His hair and eyes brows were shaved off, and his eyes were the palest shade of blue she had ever seen. Albino skin glowed under the artificial light like a new sun.

"Why should she?" Prim replied. Since the beginning of her incarceration, her looming madness made her almost brave. Or stupid. She didn't see the point of obeying anymore.

"The prisoner shall do what she is told."

"The prisoner shall do what she wants."

"The prisoner shall be quiet and stand." No emotion, no frown, or smile. He was like a robot in speech and actions.

"God, whatever, the prisoner shall stand. Let's just get this over with. Go quick, will you, I have important stuff to do." She gave a little giggle at her joke, fully aware of how crazy it sounded.

Prim stood with her arms out. She wore a standard white uniform, to go along with the theme. On the bright side, they were extremely comfortable for prisoner clothes, reminding her of pajamas. Usually, the guards came and patted her down for weapons, as if she could fashion them out of thin air; however, this time the robot man stood in front of her.

"The prisoner shall turn around and place her hands behind her back."

"What? I—"

The jailer decided to stop her talking by tugging her around, not waiting for her to follow instructions. He gripped both wrists together painfully, and slapped a pair of handcuffs, cinching them tight enough to cut off blood flow.

"Hey! Unhand me you—"

"The prisoner shall be quiet."

He tugged her out of the room without any more explanation.

"Where are you taking me?"

He refused to answer, and it would be a waste of breath on her part to continue speaking.

After a Walk down the Hall

The man in the white suit left her in a room smelling of artificial sunshine with an undercurrent of bleach. Everything about the capitol felt cold and clinical, with razor sharp edges which would prick your finger if you weren't careful enough.

After the man left, several people walked in to replace him. One held a hairbrush; another held waxing strips; and the last one held several cases overflowing with makeup.

One of them, a man with long, talon like fingernails and blue skin, gave the other two significant looks.

"We have our work cut out for us."

They approached her.

"What are you doing?" Prim asked.

They were too many, and she was too confused to fight them off.

An older woman with stripes running down her arms and hair that shot straight up placed a hairbrush into her tangles locks and tugged.

"We're tasked with making you pretty, cupcake. Now hold still. Your hair looks as if an animal nested in it. And, oh, those cuticles."

Two Hours Later

The two women and the man had seemed harmless enough, but so far they had put her through the worst torture she had ever experienced. The plucked her brows, waxed her entire body, buffed her skin free of bruises or scars. After, they did up her hair into intricate braids.

"They make her look more innocent, don't you think?" The man asked, not looking for Prim's opinion; they were talking amongst themselves. "Let's go light on makeup. Cupcake, we're going to make you glow like a star."

Perfect, Prim pouted. She wondered at the treatment. Why would Snow get her dressed up? The conclusions her mind pointed to didn't sit well with her.

She bit her lip until one of the women reprimanded her for ruining all the work.

One Hour Later

Prim brushed at her dress, feeling the cotton, typical district attire. It had been so long since she had worn such a base clothing material. It felt glorious against her skin, reminding her of home.

"Perfect," One of the ladies whispered.

"Wonderful," The second lady said.

"You're welcome," the man said, preening. He wore a large smile and put a hand over his heart. The other two swatted him in retaliation, and Prim almost smiled at the spat. Capitol citizens were such odd, light-hearted creatures. It astounded her they could be entertained by the murder of children with how they acted.

"So where to next?" Prim asked, swishing her skirts. She was in an odd mood. Calm settled over her, an acceptance of what had happened to her. Time alone in the cell made her mind sharp and focused like standing in the rain, the energy buzzing her brain.

"President Snow, little dear. You have the great honor of having a private audience with him," the older woman said.

"I'm so jealous," the second woman, named Bunny, whispered excitedly. She had inlaid whiskers to go along with the chosen moniker, and her button nose twitched when she talked.

Prim expected panic to rise in her. She waited and waited. When nothing came, she allowed herself to breath. She no longer felt afraid to die, though whatever death Snow chose, she hoped it would be painless.

Twenty Minutes Later

"District 11 and 9 are in open rebellion. Your own district is teetering on the brink of anarchy, as well as District 6." President Snow said when she was ushered in a room and the doors shut. "Who is to blame?"

Prim didn't answer. She glanced at her surroundings. In the middle of the room was a large round table. On it was several paper maps with pins stuck into several locations. Some of the pins were red, some yellow, and some green. Prim assumed they represented levels of instability in Panem. Bright Red Curtains covered one whole wall, blocking any sun from entering.

Not me, you sniveling pig, Prim's mind snarled. Time spent in jail shed her decorum. Her thoughts almost spewed from her mouth, but self-preservation still reigned supreme. There was brave and then there was stupid. A loose tongue would not be wise. A honeyed tongue worked better magic.

"The districts themselves," she said with sarcasm.

"True," the president agreed. He was just as intimidating as the last time she saw him. He faced the curtained wall behind the table and refused to turn around as if he was looking out a window. "The districts are very much like children: incorrigible, messy, ignorant. Their only value comes in their projected future output. I have worked many years to tame them, thinking I could raise them into adults. Treating them well has seen no positive outcome. So what should I do now?"

"Respect the reasons they are rebelling or at least continue to try and distract them," Prim said. She would do anything for her district. She would don a wedding dress. There would be no complaining. She would fall all over herself in front of the cameras, gush about her fairytale. Anything to make it right again.

"No, no, no," President Snow said, his tone sharp, "The time for distraction is over. The illusion has been ripped away. They've see through the smoke and mirrors we erected."

"But we could just tell the media it was a lie. It wouldn't be hard—"

"Do you think this is all because of you?" President Snow turned around. He was groomed impeccably. He dressed in a grey suit with a white rose attached to his lapels. She could smell the cloying metallic bite from here. "Though Cato is wallowing in the dumps of public contempt, never fear; you are a still a media darling. If we had to, we could work an acceptable angle. However, it has reached beyond your pathetic, faux relationship. There were other leaks, prompted by yours, coming from more reliable sources than my dear, head-strong daughter. In your absence, the underground rebels in District 2—The Circle, they like to call themselves—hacked our system, sending information out about several politicians, scandals which have rocked Panem. But that is not all. Can you guess what they also exposed?"

"Something about you?" She guessed.

"Not quite," he said, "The scandal is a little closer to home. A little closer to Cato Carthage... They exposed the practices of their victors. They showed proof that they hand-pick and train future victors."

"That was already known."

"Yes, but not by the Capitol, and it hadn't been proven by the districts. It had been a rumor and nothing concrete."

Prim's mind zoomed, trying to connect the dots.

"So how does this hurt you?"

"It doesn't," he smirked, "The Circle has hated their ruling class almost as much as it has hated me, and because of this, it will be their downfall. Have you ever heard of the saying: a house divided cannot stand?" He stared at her for a moment, "No, I don't suppose you have. It is an ancient saying, proven by history to be true. The ingrates haven't hurt me like they want. They unknowingly helped me. They gave me a sure victory."

"How?"

"By this," He flicked a wrinkled hand, and the curtains began to separate, "Smile sweetly for the camera and answer yes if I squeeze your hand," he said out of the corner of his mouth, "Or I shall throw little Coral in The Pit."

The name shocked her on the spot, frozen as a crowd was revealed outside the curtains. The glass between them opened like doors, and they walked on to a balcony. The public roared when they saw her. Cameras on hovercrafts zoomed above the mass withering below her.

Slowly, shakily, her lips did as they were told and rose up into a smile.

One Minute Later

"Welcome, Panem," he said, his deep voice booming through the speakers, "I have come to promise you blood; I have come to promise you justice; I have come to promise you equality."

Prim could just imagine her district at home. The people watching the television in the square probably nodded along with his speech, for Peacekeepers stood next to them with guns. The viewers watching in their homes, in contrast, probably snarled at the word equality. She bet Greasy Sae spit at the screen in anger.

"District 1 and District 2 have worked in secret like worms digging in the dirt. All of these years, they have tried to cheat the system, raising victor after victor like weeds, while the other good districts sacrifice." He paused and the crowd thrummed with their approval. This time she recognized the bloodlust, the pulse of the crowd like a heartbeat. This was the same type of crowd that reveled in the games.

For the first time, Prim saw what Snow was trying to accomplish, and it was as stroke of horrifying genius. After The Circle hacked the system and provided proof of corruption, the anger of the districts, and even the Capitol, were on him. But like Snow said, a house divided will fall, and that was what he was planning on doing with this speech. There was only one group the rest of the districts, at least the ones rebelling, hated more than the Capitol, more than the President... and that was the careers.

It was deflection. He was centering the injustice on the district instead of on himself. Prim would be in awe at the strategy, except she felt a growing coldness in her fingers, the beginnings of horror. He had many things planned, and she wondered how much of it involved her. The President calmed the crowd and continued his speech.

"To get rid of the weeds, you must get rid of the roots. The roots of this problem travel deep into the fabric of District 2. For too long, they have sought our favor above the other districts. For too long, they have avoided the realities faced by the other Districts. Due to popular demand, and centered on the elimination of corruption, I will no longer allow this gross travesty of injustice. No longer will they flout the rules. No longer can we allow strings to be pulled behind our backs. No longer can we allow such arrogance."

"From this day forward, Districts 1 and 2 shall no longer have a system of volunteers. They are stripped from the honor to participate willingly. Their bodies shall remain untrained, their minds unsure."

The crowd had been silent, so silent she heard individual coughs and sniffles. But as his last sentence was uttered, the crowd went apoplectic, a frenzied rush that was almost violent. Garlands dropped from the sides of buildings. Confetti sprayed into the air. A raucous celebration: as if this was the dessert they had been waiting for.

"However," President Snow said, and he waited for the crowd to quiet,"The punishment must extend beyond the district. The effects must sting the Victors as well, for they are the ones who have done the most damage. Just ask our beloved Primrose Everdeen. She was stolen from her home and forced to lie to the public to survive a madman. Tell me, Primrose, should Cato Carthage be punished?"

President Snow gripped her hand underneath the railing, and he squeezed hard.

"N—" she almost answered, but was given another swift, hard squeeze, and she remembered his threat about Coral, "Y-Yes."

"Then it is settled. From this day forth, every other year, starting this games, a victor from every district must take the place of a tribute until the scales are even. It is the victors who chose the tributes, so as punishment, they must sacrifice themselves."

Two Minutes Later

She could still hear the roar of the crowd when the curtains shut. Two guards grabbed her arms and began to tug her backwards, but she fought them, struggling against the exit. She had to say her piece.

"You won't be able to do it. He won't volunteer," she screeched, kicking her feet high into the sky. She found her fight, and she wasn't going to let it go. "You can't make him go into the games again!"

Snow gave a motion for the jailers to release Prim. Instantly, the hands let go, leaving her panting. She felt wild in the moment, ferocious.

"I have to disagree," he paused for a moment, "Guards, bring me the bowls."

Two guards walked out the room, flinging their arms and legs straight out, clutching guns to their chest. They came back several minutes later with two clear bowls, the bowls meant for the reaping. Folded scraps of paper almost overflowed and spilled onto the ground.

"As you will see," he said, after the bowls were placed on the table in front of him, "I can make any person do what I want, as long as I have the right motivation, including Cato Carthage."

Prim walked forward and picked up a piece of paper, one that had floated to the ground. The white parchment crinkled under her fingers as she opened it. The name on it made her lose her breath.

It can't be! Prim walked over to the bowls, ignoring both the guards and President Snow. She started rummaging through them, pulling out name after name after name. Then she went to the second bowl and did the same thing. Scraps of paper fluttered to the ground as she discarded them with her hunt until it resembled winter on the ground. President Snow did not stop her, he stood off to the side with a confident smile upturning the side of his mouth; eventually, she stopped herself, panting with emotion. Tears stung her eyes. There was no use to search anymore. She understood what he meant to do.

You bastard, her gaze screamed. The feeling she had for Snow was beyond hate, it was a pointed loathing, the wish that he could pop into nonexistence. You fucking bastard.

There were only two names within the entirety of the two bowls, one female, one male:

KATLA FARROW, said one.

HANNIBAL CARTHAGE, said the other.

"You shall find that my version of redirection is quite bloody," President Snow said. He turned back to the curtain and clutched his hands back together, dismissing her.