Chapter 63: Kith and Kin

Julia August, President of Panem

I sit in my comfy armchair, the nice one that I had moved to this small conference room in Octavian's central command center. I figured since I've been spending intermittent periods of time here, I might want something a little more comfortable and familiar.

I'm nursing the remainder of my fourth cup of coffee since this morning. While the tributes have been having a respite, no such rest has been available for us. Secretly, I envy my brother for how little sleep he's run on over the last two weeks. Secretly, though, because I'm pissed as hell on the outside.

Ever since the production teams finished editing the district interviews for our final eight tributes, Octavian and Regina have been going back and forth, arguing about how they'll use them. Some around here, Octavian included, want the tributes to see their respective district interviews, while others like Regina think it would have negative results.

So Octavian is explaining his position, yet again. "…exactly what they need now, after days of relative inactivity. Seeing their friends and family will spark a strength and determination in them that we haven't seen before. They'll realize just how much closer they are to victory and seeing their loved ones."

I stifle a smile as Regina scowls, rubbing her forehead.

Looks like I'm not the only one affected by lack of sleep.

"Be that as it may, I really think the effects of actually seeing their loved ones could be too much for some of them. I mean, Tiny Tot's got next to no one rooting for him. And frankly, some of the other tributes' situations aren't much better. Remember, we do have other, more entertaining forms of motivation…" She pauses. Of course, we both know what she's referring to.

"Yes, Regina," Octavian replies dryly. "We all know how much pride you take in that ill-placed monstrosity of yours. Even after its unfortunate run-in with a little girl…" Octavian grins openly, and even I can't help the smile that now spreads across my face.

"Oh, yes, why don't you rub it in some more, for the tenth time? How was I supposed to know she was gonna go all kamikaze before I gave the go-ahead for it to move? Besides, it only lost its eyes, and its hearing and sense of smell were way better off to begin with anyway. But my point is, what more motivation do they need to fight each other than the threat of a gruesome death and devouring by a monster? I even prevented it from eating that bitch's corpse, so now it's positively ravenous."

"But, Gina," I reply, seeing an opening to provide input at last. "That's part of its problem. It kills so quickly that it instills little fear. At least that Byron boy struck fear in their hearts by promising a slow and painful death. If anything, a tribute with a death wish might come looking for it just to receive a quick death."

"Well that was hardly its fault after having its eyes mutilated. Next time, I promise it will provide a better show." She seems hopeful that she's won the argument.

"Well," Octavian interjects, "I personally would look forward to the chance to see the tributes' reactions to the interviews we've put together for them. The editors did an excellent job with what they were given. Most should respond positively for us, but there is a good chance that a few will be, well, demoralized, for lack of a better word. Now," he's looking at me now, "Wouldn't that just be perfect for the districts, to see their tributes destroyed as they realize how little they have left to fight for? And you know what they say about cornering a wild animal? Sometimes, desperation brings out a person's wild side."

Damn him and his perfectly rational mind….

He knows I can't pass up the opportunity to stick it to the districts whenever I can now. So much bad blood exists between us and the districts. Both of us have very personal reasons to loathe them. A small smile reforms on my face, and I give him a nod. Regina scoffs, gets up and storms out of the room.

"It's settled then," he says once she's left the room. "I'll go make the final preparations. I think I'll play each interview personally for each tribute, simultaneously, and right before we announce the end of the respite…Yes, that will do nicely…" he says, more to himself than to me as he gets up and heads toward the door.

"Oh, and Tavi," I stop him, remembering one more thing on my mind. He stops and turns to face me. "Masterful move in playing those sound clips for Tesla. She's so paranoid she didn't even realize she was actually hearing Vesper's voice aloud. And drugging her food and water…Just..wow."

"Oh…thank you, but it's not…it wasn't like that at all." He replies, uncomfortably. "Her food and water were always as sound as the other tributes'…no drugs of any kind. Tragic timing though…Food and water might have brought her back from the edge…"

"Even better. I look forward to seeing all the interviews and how the tributes receive them. Keep up the good work." I smile reassuringly. He nods, still distracted by his many thoughts and plans, and walks out.

.

Tesla Sinclair, 17, District 1

"This is your official fifteen-minute warning, tributes. Fifteen minutes until your respite ends and fighting resumes. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

I open my eyes and look up at the ceiling. The world seems to be spinning around. I try sitting up slowly, but the spinning speeds up, so I lay back down.

I must have passed out on the floor while I was lying on my back. The last thing I remember is grabbing those turkey drumsticks and putting on that idiotic show.

Did I really do that? What in the world was I thinking?

The sudden sound of a voice in the room slices through my delirium like a knife through gelatin. I can't quite make out the words, but another voice speaks up, a familiar voice. I fight through the dizziness and sit up straight, which gives me a better view of the voices' source. It appears to be a video screen, and it has taken the place of a section of the wall across the room. Once I understand what I'm seeing, what appeared to be my imagination is confirmed as reality. "Archie?" I ask.

Am I dreaming? Is that really my brother?

It is, but he appears to be talking to someone else. This isn't a video call, like I first assumed.

Duh, Tesla. They said they would be interviewing our families. I guess this is it.

He's being interviewed by a Capitolite reporter with a huge microphone. I guess they figure the district citizens are so dumb and clumsy we can't even be trusted with classy things like lapel mics. I drink in the sight of my brother—tall, skinny, shaggy but well-maintained brown hair, warm brown eyes. It's only been a little over two weeks since I've left home, but it feels like months. The reporter's voice breaks through my reflection.

"Well, Volt, can I call you Volt? Is this all of your remaining family, Tesla's remaining family?

"Well, actually," my brother replies hesitantly, "Most people call me Archie, especially now, after…" He pauses, then moves on. "And yeah, we are Tesla's family, her siblings, and a few of her friends too."

"And who might you be, young lady? You look awfully familiar…" He now directs the microphone to my sister.

"My name is Wirea." She answers confidently. "And I'm Tesla's twin sister. We didn't look this similar when we were younger, but we look almost identical now."

"Very interesting. And what do you miss most about your sister being away?" His question really irritates me, like they're pretending I'm gone on vacation and will be returning any day.

"I miss being able to do pretty much anything with Tess. She was so supportive, and she was basically the glue that kept holding our family together. And.." She trails off, not quite sure she should continue.

"And what? Please continue."

"And she really took on the role of leading our family after our parents were…were gone." She doesn't want to elaborate further, for fear of bringing the Capitol's wrath down on them. Of course she doesn't want to mention our mother's death in the warehouse fire, or our father's death by torture and execution as a convicted rebel.

Smart move, Wirea.

Smarter than me, I reflect, as I realize that's exactly what I've done in making an open mockery of both our President and Head Gamemaker. I was so focused on myself that I didn't realize my family could still be harmed.

"And who do we have here?" The reporter continues, stopping at our youngest sister.

"My name's Electra, and I'm six and a half years old," she proudly declares in her innocent voice.

"Very nice to meet you, Electra. What do you miss most about your sister being gone?"

"Hmm," she actually contemplates his question while rubbing her chin. I miss how adorable she is. "I think I miss playing with her and seeing the cool toys that she used to invent for me. My favorite was the one that could help you make different shadow puppets."

"Very cool," he responds, expertly feigning interest. "And what would you say to Tesla right now if you could talk to her?"

"Oh, that's easy," she replies right away. "I would tell her to stop being silly and stop being mean, pretending to hurt those other kids. You're not a mean monster. Who would think that's an interesting show anyway?..."

The reporter looks like he's about to burst her bubble of innocence, but Archie steps in. "Ok, Electra, I think that's enough. Let's let the nice man talk to Tesla's friends now, ok?"

I feel my eyes start to well up with tears as Archie leads Electra out of the camera's field of vision. I feel my heart sink as the meaning of her words finally sinks in.

She still doesn't know. She thinks this is a fabricated television show, that all the children are fine, and that I'll be coming home soon. What's she gonna think when she finally finds out that I might not be returning?

"And who might you two be?" The reporter now turns to my two best friends.

"I'm Dayta, and his name is Technick. And I want to tell Tesla that we understand why she's doing what she's doing. What I want her to know is I think it's completely stupid that she's not eating or drinking. What are you thinking Tesla? Are you waiting for something better to come along? Maybe some prime rib, or some cupcakes? We care about you and we want you to have the best chance you can at returning home. So eat, drink, and then kick butt!"

She smiles and turns to Technick, who takes this as his cue. "Oh, um, hi Tesla. Yeah, what Dayta said. We care about you. You're usually an eating machine, when you have the time to be in your busy schedule. So, channel your inner pig and have at it. No one's judging you. We love you." He stops talking, realizes what he's just said, and I notice his face has turned a light shade of pink. He's blushing.

I'm smiling because, as usual, he's trying to make me laugh. But his words ring true. Now, I hardly remember why I wasn't eating. My spazz out hardly seems logical to me at the moment. Earlier, when I was making fun of the Capitol, I had all but given up any hope at making it home. Now that I've seen my family and friends again, I'm reminded of what I started fighting for, the reason I did those horrible things to Vesper to begin with. I've come too far now to give up.

I turn around and walk to the table that still contains some food. I'm embarrassed now about the ridiculous things I did earlier. I have a massive headache from just standing after going without food and water for so long, so I drink some of the water, then start assessing what I'll eat now and what I'll save for later.

.

Andromeda Eriae, 18, District 2

I happen to be looking at the back wall opposite me when the image appears. I've spent most of the past six hours meditating, calming my body, preparing for the impending battle. I see a woman from the Capitol, standing in the middle of what is no doubt District 2. She's taller than average with a slim build, blond hair and hazel eyes. Her outfit is relatively normal for a Capitolite, and her make-up is surprisingly fitting for a reporter. She's standing near where our reaping took place, holding a microphone. The camera pans a little to the left to show another figure. A small gasp escapes me as I recognize my brother, the only surviving member of our family besides me.

"Here we are in District 2," she begins in a cheery voice, "where word has been sent out to gather any family and friends of Andromeda Eriae. Due to the little information we have on her, it was most difficult to track down people who knew her. But two individuals finally showed up for our interview. Our first one is…what did you say your name was?" She asks my brother.

"Tony. Tony Powers." He responds.

"Ok, Tony. How are you acquainted with Andromeda here in District 2?"

He waits three seconds, then evenly responds, "We're friends from way back. Years ago we met at the market down on Fifteenth, and I remember thinking, 'Wow, this is one of the coolest girls I've ever seen.'"

Well done, little brother, I say inaudibly, well aware that in the arena, someone is always listening. He knows the protocol for staying safe. It's nothing less than I've taught him over the last few months, and it's what has kept him relatively safe since the rest of our family was lost in District 4. For the sake of the interview, and his own safety, not only has he changed his name, but he's stuck to the cover story we've constructed as well. If anyone were to find out his identity as the brother of a spy, he would instantly become the target of every nearby rebel sympathizer. But as a close friend, he should be relatively safe, right?

"Well," continues the Capitol interviewer, "I daresay any friend who can get past Andromeda's tough exterior must be a friend indeed. What would you say to Andromeda now, if you could?"

He pauses, no doubt thinking over how to safely word whatever is on his mind. "I would tell her she has nothing to prove to anyone but herself."

That's it, short and simple. I'll have to ponder his words later, because he steps away from the woman as another person enters the camera's frame of view. This girl I also recognize, and I wonder how she will explain her story, especially because I don't actually know her name or identity.

"And what's your name, Honey?" The Capitol woman is clearly going out of her way to put her at ease.

"My name's Delilah," she replies. "And I attended school with Andromeda. We were in different grades, but still spent a lot of time together. I remember her favorite subject was history, and I thought that was odd because no one else seemed to care about it much, least of all me."

Another falsification. Even though I don't know for certain, I doubt her actual name is Delilah. The other part is partially true, but no one could know that the school we both attended was actually a front for the Red Roses, a society dedicated to eliminating rebel cells before they could do any real damage.

"What do you think of Andromeda's performance in the Games so far, Delilah?"

"I think maybe nobody even has an idea of everything that Andromeda is capable of. But I know everyone is looking forward to her upcoming fight." She pumps her fist, which, along with her ridiculously energetic enthusiasm, is totally out of character.

"And what would you say if you could talk to Andromeda, face to face?"

"Um, I would say, 'Hi Meda! Do you remember that one night we hung out at the fair with those boys, I think their names were Allen and Chuck? We were both so into them, and they were into us, totally. That night was so fun, but the next day we found out that Allen was bisexual and Chuck had just been dumped by his girlfriend because she found out he was a eunuch.' Yeah…those guys were such douchebags." She sticks out her tongue, then turns and walks away.

"Uh-huh…" the reporter woman offers, clearly confused and at a loss for words. But she recovers surprisingly quickly. "Anyway, this is Melanie Prinkley, and these have been your District 2 interviews."

The image fades away, leaving the wall looking just as the other walls. I realize I'm standing, which must have happened sometime during the interview. But what occupies my thoughts now is the message given to me by the girl calling herself Delilah. It's clearly for me to understand and no one else. Of course there was never any Allen or Chuck, or any of that stuff.

Allen was bisexual and Chuck had just been dumped by his girlfriend because she found out he was a eunuch.

Meaning, Amellius has two allies currently, a girl and a boy, and Chance had an alliance with a girl, but is now on his own. Not only that, but he's unarmed.

Those guys were both douchebags.

Well, duh. Of course none of them can be trusted. This is the Hunger Games. There can be only one Victor, and it's gonna be me.

.

Chance Hensley, 12, District 2

"This is Melanie Prinkley, and I'm here in District 2 for our tribute interviews."

These words come from just ahead of me in the tunnel I'm walking down. It's the second voice I've heard since I've been walking alone, getting ever closer to the locked door. I heard the fifteen-minute warning a little while ago, and I picked up my pace. I've been wondering who they would interview ever since they made the announcement, and now I'm gonna find out. I rush ahead to find the source.

I notice a glow midway between two torches placed in the tunnel. I hurry up to it and stop, trying to make sense of what I'm seeing. It's a video panel embedded in the wall, just like something a wealthy citizen of District 2 might have. I see a woman on it holding a microphone and talking. She's dressed in a women's dress suit, so I can only assume she's a professional reporter. Apparently she's talking about me.

"…an announcement calling for people to be interviewed for Chance and Andromeda. While we have a couple individuals waiting to be interviewed next on Andromeda's behalf, none have appeared in support of Chance. And while that might seem sad to many of our viewers, to those in District 2, it's not at all surprising."

I feel like I've been sucker-punched right in the gut, and I hope she leaves it at that. But she doesn't…

"For those of you who don't know, Chance's parents were far from model citizens. During the war, his mother transferred to District 11 in order to help support the rebels. She was killed along with many other rebels when a hospital was bombed. In response, his father went insane and murdered five peacekeepers before he could be detained and promptly executed…"

What she's saying is so unfair. Yeah, mom went to District 11 to help out in one of their hospitals, but she went to help everyone, not just the rebels. And what did they expect my dad to do? We didn't receive any restitution or even an apology after mom died. Who wouldn't be mad? I expect things to get even worse, but nothing can prepare me for the surprise that comes next.

I hear the sound of running footsteps from off-camera, and then the sound of a man's voice, breathing hard. "Am I too late? Did I miss the call for interviews?"

"No, sir." The reporter replies with a smile. "I'm assuming you're here for Andromeda?" She asks, seeming almost afraid to hear the answer.

"No," he replies. "I'm here for Chance. I'm sorry I'm late, but this is the earliest I could get permission to leave my work shift."

"Well, in that case, come over and join me." She's excited now. She must have been disappointed at the lack of people to interview. "What's your name, sir? And how do you know Chance?"

A man appears in the camera's view just as she's finishing her question, and my heart drops. He's dressed in the pristine white uniform of a peacekeeper. And when he turns around to face the reporter, I realize I know exactly who he is. I'm staring at the very same peacekeeper who escorted me to the reaping just a few weeks ago. He's still breathing hard, and I notice he's sweating profusely and his face is flushed.

He must have run a long way to be so out of breath, especially as a peacekeeper. I think this is about to get a whole lot worse.

"My name is Cornelius Peters, and as you can see, I'm a peacekeeper."

"Right," replies the woman, though her face says Well, duh! "And how is it exactly that you came to be acquainted with Chance? I know our viewers are just as curious as I am to find out how a peacekeeper knows the son of convicted rebels."

"Well, being a peacekeeper here during the war, of course I knew about the Hensleys. I mean, his father killed five of my fellow officers. We knew Chance was still in district, but we never could catch up to him, even after receiving various tips from people. I met Chance the day of the reaping, but I didn't know it was him."

"You didn't know it was Chance, is what you're saying?"

"Right," he replies. "We didn't have an updated image of him, and you know how some kids change so much in appearance? He was wandering around near the city center on Reaping Day. I saw him and assumed he was just another street kid. I even bought him an ice cream cone on our way to the reaping. It wasn't until they checked him in and scanned him that I realized it was Chance. It totally explains how nervous and standoffish he was the whole time, like he expected to be shot any second…"

"Yeah, any kid would be nervous in that situation." She continues. "So, what did you learn about him from that encounter?"

"Well, like I said, I mistook him for just another kid living on the street. He was obviously underfed and dirty, but he seemed kinda nice, in a painfully shy way. When I found out he was Chance, I remember thinking to myself: 'Geez. He's been on the street for three years, all on his own? This kid must be pretty ballsy.' But, if you're asking me, 'Did he seem like the son of a rebel sympathizer and convicted peacekeeper killer?' Then, no, he didn't seem like that at all. And as I think more about it, I don't even know why we were chasing him for so long? Did we really expect him to pay for his parents' actions? What would that prove? And to whom?"

He's looking at the reporter, expecting an answer, and I notice now what's going on. She's looking at the camera, but her eyes seem to be focused elsewhere. She has a finger pressed to her ear, and she's nodding, like she's having a completely different conversation. She looks away to her right, and nods to someone there. Then, finally, turns back to her interview and takes back the microphone. "Thank you, Cornelius. That will be all."

He looks at her with a look of bewilderment, but when he looks away from the camera in the same direction she just did, his face pales, and he mouths a silent Oh.

He turns to walk out of the frame, then seems to change his mind. He grabs the microphone out of her hand, looks right at the camera, at me, and continues to talk. "Hey, Chance, I don't know if you will see this, probably not. But if you do, I want you to know that I don't hate you for what happened with your parents. The rest of District 2 might, but I don't. What's happened to you, it's..." He hesitates. "It's not fair. No kid should have to go through that…"

That's as much as he gets out before I see two men walk deliberately in plain view of the audience, forcefully grab Cornelius, and rush him away, causing him to drop the microphone. The reporter doesn't even make an effort to pick it up. She merely slides her finger across her throat, and an instant later the image goes black.

I'm left in the relative darkness that exists between the two closest torches. I don't think I've felt more alone in all my life than I do now, except for maybe after they took away Dad. The one person in District 2, possibly in all of Panem, who I might have called friend, has been hauled away to who knows where. I'm desperately hoping that he isn't punished for standing up for me, but I'm almost certain he will be.

He didn't just stand up for me. He stood up for all of us. He stood against the Games.

The thought horrifies me so much that I start to run. I run as fast as I can, barely holding my backpack upon my back. I run, trying to escape the fear and guilt that weigh me down. But I can't. Ever.

—

Rest assured, this is only the first of two chapters of interviews. It would have been much too long to have all the interviews together.