Cleome Walker was already sick of the 57th Hunger Games.

It hadn't started yet, but she was prepared to kill the next Capitol 'journalist' who tried to interview her about her relationship with Scion Carver. He approached her at a party not long after her victory; he made her laugh and she made him see hope and beauty in a world he thought had none. He was also the reason she hadn't yanked out her phone from the wall and thrown it through her next-door neighbour's window. Well Marc – of the 36th - wouldn't happy about the broken window too and a broken window would mean more Capitolites to come close to her house and she couldn't think of anything worse than another one of those colourful freaks near her while she was in the safety of 7.

It was different in the Capitol. She couldn't say no to them.

"Open up!" Sycamore banged on her front door. She was one of the first victors, of the 7th games, she liked to bake and read and openly resented those in power.

"No one's home!" Cleome called, not wanting to think about Hunger Games today.

"Get over yourself and let us in." Another voice, younger and more resigned, called. Mahogany – Hog - of the 47th. A broad, serious man who never slept. He was also her mentor in her games, in a lot of ways he was her mentor outside of the arena too. He was kind of like a moody older brother to her; they loved each other and in the same breath, were perpetually annoyed by each other's existence. With a sigh, she got up from her desk and greeted 7's three other living victors. Taut who won the 3rd had killed himself around a decade after his win. Sycamore said he was pretty pathetic as people went, nothing compared to the unwavering pride of the 1st victor, Xerxes from 2, and resolute pride of the 2nd, Delphi from 1.

"You guys ready to get to work?" She asked, trying to summon the trademark bravado that helped her win sponsors in her 54th. It was always an ordeal, planning for the games. Learning which of the rich had lost money, who had gained money, any young entrepreneurs who'd recently gotten wealthy and wanted to help an underdog, people once middle-class who'd inherited large sums of money. It was a science that they were determined to master. That, and it helped them feel in control of a situation that was inherently chaotic. Her and Hog would mentor this year, the weight of keeping two likely hopeless kids alive was a burden they had to carry.

She didn't miss the iciness Sycamore and Marc regarded her with as they spread out around her large dining table. The nickname 'District Traitor' had been used in whispers by the outer districts since gossip magazines reported on her and Scion flirting at that damn party. The term became widely used when the couple had established a close friendship with the most recent victors from 1; Quartz – and 4; Apt.

No one from the outer districts, aside from her mentor, liked her after that.

"Should we see who are most likely to be reaped this year?" Sycamore asked quietly, stiffly. Marc turned on a projector, immediately starting to compile data from tesserae applications and gamblers on Capitol social media. Already, numbers were showing the odds weren't in the favour of oldest children in families from 7's paper factories, and the children of criminals and drug addicts. Children of lumberjacks didn't tend to sign up as much, while Paper City, riddled with crime and illness, had kids frequently do so out of sheer desperation. Usually, they'd sell their tesserae to those too old or too young to sign up themselves. Sometimes the money would be used for medicine, most of the time it'd go to fuelling their parents or their personal drug addictions. Most districts did it. Why should the Capitol care? They gave the districts the bare minimum and still complained. Completely unaware of, or unempathetic to, the men and women in 2's quarries suddenly dropping dead from exhaustion or dehydration while working 18-hour shifts without break, the lumberjacks that were lucky if they made it to 50 without losing at least one limb. There were other far more important matters to tend to in the Capitol, silly district deaths were unimportant to them.

Hours crawled by. Small talk was polite. Hog tried to force humour into the room, it fell flat. It was easier to mutually decide to target new money instead of old, people under the age of 40, people who wanted to hire them, gamblers who'd sunk money into believing 7 was on a roll after the miracle of producing two victors in ten years – they refused to acknowledge District 11 had the same luck with Chaff and Elluria. It wasn't much, but it helped them feel under control.

Head Gamemaker Phaesus Monere was rather pleased with his reign so far. He had been in his position since the 42nd, and his 15-year reign he had personally seen and facilitated countless broken records and moments that be talked about for decades to come. During the 44th, a twelve-year-old from 9 killed two in the bloodbath before a Career descended upon her. The 46th made it impossible for anyone to access conventional weapons through the cornucopia or sponsors, leading it to be the most talked-about games so far, and the question of if it was possible the second Quarter Quell could top the events of the 46th.

Then the Quarter Quell did happen, and a surly boy from 12 won and Phaesus barely survived with his life and his job. He kept both after telling President Snow secrets that brought down countless adversaries.

Phaesus spent the next year with his head down, working relentlessly, aiming to break records for viewership, ratings and victor popularity. He achieved all three with the volunteering and eventual victory of a charismatic comedian of a boy from 2 – Scion. He was as merciless as his mentor, Brutus, and wildly funny - rare for those from his stoic, humourless home. The 55th brought the most beautiful tribute the Capitol had ever seen. Elluria Yeon, age 16, from 11. She was moved with dancelike grace, spoke with quiet mystique and won through calculated manipulation and a knack with knives. For the first time, the bid for a first night with her turned deadly. While she recovered in hospital, a politician with the highest bid on the young victor was found murdered in his apartment. Phaesus got to enjoy her instead. No one found the true culprit. The story was immediately turned into a dramatic thriller film that the head gamemaker himself got to star in.

Yes, the games were interesting indeed. And yet, the Capitol wanted to know more about the melodramas surrounding the victors, the politicians, the gamemakers, the people involved in bringing it all to life. He spread rumours and encouraged his employees to do the same. His marketing team had advertising up and had shown him the posters the tributes were going to feature on. Their mentors would have more focus too and he'd make sure they were excited not only to see the flawless 1s, 2s and 4 or even the 7s and 11s who had an underdog streak going, but he also wanted the old victors from 6 and 9 to be lauded, wanted the Capitol to fall in love with them all over again.

He'd noticed the districts had become rowdier and more hopeful. He needed them to think of their victors the way 7 saw Cleome; that was with coolness from the knowledge their victors may live in the districts, but they will always belong to the Capitol.

And then there was the matter of the outers and a select few victors. Hope was starting to burn out of control and Snow had told him and a handful of politicians to stifle that excitement. Substantially more Peacekeepers had been hired and transported to the districts. Punishments for breaking laws had been made worse than they already were. Work hours extended, wages cut. It still wasn't enough. He and his rebel-prevention team would have to start killing instead.

Pirn wasn't an idiot. She knew what Snow, Phaesus and their cronies were doing the moment she and the other mentors were called for photoshoots. Propaganda thinly veiled as 'advertising' even though everyone in the entire country was forced to watch the games. She nodded and smiled as her prep team smeared foundation onto her skin, complaining about her wrinkles and dyeing her hair so the greys were no longer visible. It was a truly exhausting process, especially when she could hear others enjoying the ordeal, talking to their prep teams like they were family. She liked the plum pantsuit they put her in though. It was made her feel strong. Together, dressed in persona-appropriate garments, all 23 the mentors stood and posed. On one side of her was Woof who'd won the 13th, she won the 20th and they were the only victors to come out of 8 so far. On her other side was Hog and he was polite enough. They hardly knew anything about the other. Pirn kept to the outers from her generation. Specifically, Karah and Elyce from the 23rd and the 28th respectively; they didn't see each other often. It was always an event when they did. They'd book an expensive hotel room while drinking the finest wine Panem had to offer.

Once the shoot was over, they all got to eat lunch and she got to say hello to her friends properly.

"It's been so long!" Karah beamed, while they walked to a great table of food.

"I've missed you both." Elyce smiled. Someone once said the trio spoke in their own language. It was hard to disagree with them. Short, mumbled sentences, words blending into each other and vowels pronounced strangely. They observed the room. There had been a screaming match between Eris and Porter at a recent fashion gala, tensions were high between the two women. Pirn thought it was rather funny, watching them fight the desire to kill one another.

The mentors were then remade, put into get-ups that represented their district and made to start the very long process of individual and dual photoshoots. Once, Phaesus floated by to remind them how much their loyalty to the nation was valued and how the 'images of hope' would help inspire everyone. The posters were a stupid distraction from people dying, a result of more peacekeepers and worse punishments and new laws that suddenly existed without anyone being warned. Everyone, including the lapdog careers, knew he was lying through his teeth. Still, they all smiled and nodded through because everyone knew what happened to heretics. The memory of what happened to Haymitch was all too still fresh in their minds.

Mags was concerned for her friends.

She was concerned the moment Phaesus entered the photography hall. A display of dominance.

It wasn't uncommon for victors to be involved with the network of rebels. Some of them were starting to get overconfident, lazy, not as concerned with meticulously covering their tracks as they were in the early days. Sycamore's anger had made her complacent and Durum thought he could relax now they had a handful of 1s on their side. At the present moment, the two were repeatedly showing themselves to be security risks. Marc had tried to pull her into line. Winnow had reminded Durum to be less brash. Even Hector was getting lazy, despite the increase in capital punishment. She tried to warn them. She truly did. They had no option.

Mags and the others slowly erased any connections from the three, pinning their ties to already known Capitol rebels.

All they could do was wait to see what would happen.

Hey! It's Mist here, just wanted to say thank you so much for reading and to ask to submit a tribute using the form in my profile! I'm so sorry about any possible formatting issues. Hopefully it's okay.