Caspian Ashwood (President of Panem)
"What do you mean you still don't know who did it?" I growl, my voice low and tinged with anger as I stare across my desk at the pathetic excuse for a peacekeeper who's doing her level best to disappear into the chair. "You've had eight hours to figure this out, Captain."
"I understand that, sir," she stammers, her words dripping with uncertainty and fear as she sits there and squirms under the oppressive weight of my harsh, angry gaze. "But I don't think you understand just how difficult this investigation is for us."
"And just what, might I ask, makes it so difficult?"
"Well, for starters, all of our suspects and most of our witnesses are avoxes. And, as I'm sure you know, an avox can't answer questions. We can't torture or beat information out of them either.
"That means we have to do things the hard way, and that takes time. Especially since the commander and most of our senior officers were caught in the blast."
"Those are EXCUSES!" I scream, the force of my words ripping the fresh wound on my left cheek wide open as I bolt out of my chair and race around the edge of my desk in a flash. Pinning the officer's arms to the armrests of her chair as I stare down into her soft, terrified hazel eyes. "And I'm done with excuses.
"Sixty-three people are dead, Captain. And dozens more were wounded in the blast, myself and Tranquila among them," I growl, my voice hard and angry as I tear my eyes away from her and look over at the bruised and battered face of the woman I love as she sits there and stares over at me with tears in her eyes.
"Fifty-four of the dead are former victors. The other nine were among the most respected and influential people in Panem. I can't overstate the importance of figuring out who did this and why. The people of Panem will accept nothing less.
"And if you're incapable of getting me those answers, I'll find someone who can. Do I make myself clear?" I ask, my unspoken threat hanging thick in the air as I pull back out of her face and stare down at her with an angry sneer on my face.
"Crystal, Mr. President," she stammers, her voice shaking with every word as she fights back the urge to cry by the skin of her teeth.
"Good. Then get the hell out of my office and do your job, Commander," I growl, my soft, angry words giving life to the promotion she had assumed she had been called here to receive before I tore into her for the lack of progress in the investigation.
"Yes, sir," she mumbles, pushing herself out of her chair and saluting me before turning on heel and marching out the door with a look of pride mixed with terror burning in her eyes.
"Was that necessary, Caspian?" asks Tranquila. The question slipping past her lips just as soon as she's sure our newly minted commander is safely out of earshot.
She's been waiting to ask me that one for a while. I can tell.
"Probably not," I admit, a weak little smile on my face as I slump back into my chair with a pained groan that brings her racing to my side with a terrified look burning in her beautiful eyes. "But sometimes fear is a better motivator than praise.
"And I'm fine," I assure her, my words soft and loving as I take her by the hand and pull her down into my lap before planting a soft, tender little kiss on her lips.
"You don't sound fine," she mumbles, her words soft and filled with pain as she looks up into my eyes with a light dusting of tears shining in hers. "And you definitely don't look it.
"What the hell happened last night?"
"Something that shouldn't have," I say, my voice low and tinged with anger as I look down at her and run the tips of my fingers over the scrapes and bruises covering her face.
"The blast was supposed to be concentrated in the back left corner of the ballroom. And it wasn't supposed to be powerful enough to get anywhere near us," I lie, knowing full well that the blast was actually slightly smaller than it was supposed to be and that we had been caught in it on purpose.
"That's why I thought it would be safe for us to go out there and dance," I whisper, my finger tracing softly over the cut running from the corner of her left eye to the tip of her nose that will almost certainly scar over. "And I'll never forgive myself for being wrong about that."
"I don't blame you for this, my love," she whispers, her hand resting gently on top of mine as she carefully pulls it off her face and plants a tender, loving little kiss on my fingers before continuing. "I just wish so many innocent people hadn't been caught in the blast."
"I know," I say, a genuine pang of guilt surging through my body as I think about how unfortunate it was that victors like Angus and Amethyst had gotten caught in the blast.
They weren't supposed to die last night. They had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. And all of the chaos surrounding the blast made it impossible for help to get to them in time — Just like Tiberius and his poor wife. And don't even get me started on how close we came to losing Andromeda.
She had been within three feet of one of the bombs less than ten seconds before it went off. So the fact that she made it out of there with just a broken knee and a lacerated kidney is nothing short of miraculous.
"But I'd like to think that they and their families can take solace in the knowledge that their sacrifice will be for the greater good of Panem. Just like the families of the twenty-three tributes destined to die in the arena over the next few days."
"Maybe," she whispers, her voice soft and sad as she carefully untangles herself from my arms before sliding off my lap and starting towards the door. "We'll just have to wait and see how this all plays out."
"I guess we will.
"You headed over to the arena?"
"Yeah. I want to run everything through a system check before the bloodbath.
"What time are you supposed to meet with the mentors and the escorts?"
"Just as soon as I'm done meeting with Adrianna and Alexander," I say, my tone shifting from kind and loving to cold and professional as I push myself up out of my chair and turn around to give myself a quick once over in the mirror.
"Why are you meeting with them separately?"
"Because I have to tell them what happened to Amethyst, so they decide how to break the news to Bellatrix."
"Oh.
"Well, good luck with that," she whispers. "I'll see you in a few days.
"I love you, Caspian."
"I love you too, Tranquila."
Adrianna Theirin (District 2 Escort)
"How are we supposed to tell her that her mother is dead?" I ask, the words catching in my throat as I sit there and fight back the urge to cry on Bellatrix's behalf.
"I don't know," replies the President, his tone flat and matter of fact as he reaches across the table and carefully pours himself and me a glass of water before sliding the pitcher and an empty glass over to Alexander.
"To be perfectly honest, you might be better off not telling her until after the Games."
"That's not an option, sir," growls Alexander, his normally stoic and unshakable resolve hanging by a thread as he sits there and tries to digest the earth-shattering shitstorm the President just dropped in our laps.
"Alexander's right. We can't send her into the arena not knowing what happened to her mom — She'll snap."
"I hate to be the one to ask this, but isn't she just as likely to snap if you do tell her what happened?" he asks, his tone still just as insultingly flat and neutral as it's been the entire time he's been talking to us.
You'd think we were discussing something as simple as the weather or where to have dinner tonight, not how to break it to one of our tributes that her mother was killed in a terrorist attack.
"There's a chance she might," admits Alexander. "But that's a chance we're just going to have to take, Mr. President. She deserves to know the truth."
"Very well. I'll defer to your judgment on this matter. The two of you know Miss Harvey better than I do. If you think she can handle this, then, by all means, tell her what happened.
"But I'm going to insist that you keep the more ... unsavory details of what happened last night to yourselves. And that you go tell Miss Harvey what happened right now. That way, she'll have as much time as humanly possible to process what you tell her before she goes into the arena.
"So I'm excusing the two of you from the meeting with the rest of the mentors and escorts. Go take care of your tribute."
"Yes, sir," we say in unison, my voice cracking under the strain of keeping it all together as Alexander and I quickly push ourselves away from the table and exit the room in stunned silence.
And that's how we stay until after we exit the Presidential Mansion. We don't even stop to exchange pleasantries with the others on our way out. We just leave.
It's not until we're in the car racing through the empty streets back to the compound that one of us finally says something. And, true to form, it's Alexander who breaks the ice.
"I think I should be the one to tell her what happened."
"Why?" I ask.
"Because it makes the most sense. I know it's hard to do right now, but we have to look at the picture here. And if Bellatrix makes it out of this mess alive, she's going to have to work with you next year. And she's not going to be able to do that if she hates your guts."
"It's not going to matter. We both know she's not making it out of the arena alive," I mumble, the words slipping out of my mouth before I can stop them as the reality of the situation finally comes crashing down on my head.
"What did you say?" he asks, a look of genuine shock and confusion plastered on his face.
"Nothing," I lie, my answer way too quick and defensive to be anything but.
"It didn't sound like nothing."
"Well, it was," I say, pouring every ounce of calm and confidence I can muster into my answer as our car rolls to a stop in the garage of the compound. "I was just thinking out loud."
"Alright," he says, clearly not convinced but also not in the mood to press the issue. "Have it your way."
"I will," I say, my voice calm and confident despite the inferno raging in the pit of my stomach as we slowly make our way across the garage and over to the elevator. Each step bringing us that much closer to a conversation neither of us wants to have.
"I also think we should tell her together," I say, my finger reaching out and softly connecting with the up button on the elevator. "That way, she has two people to direct her anger at; instead of just one. Which might dilute it just enough to stop her from going completely off the deep end."
"Are you sure?" he asks, his tone flat and indifferent, despite the look of relief bleeding from his eyes.
"Not really," I admit, a sad, weak little smile on my lips as I slip into the elevator and quickly jam my finger into the button for floor two before I change my mind. "But it doesn't matter. Like it or not, we're in this together. Right?"
"I guess so," he mumbles, his body tensing involuntarily as the elevator glides to a stop on our floor, and we're treated to the sight of the red, puffy, terrified, tear-filled eyes of the young woman whose life we're about to destroy.
Well, here goes nothing.
Helena Valentine-18 (District 2 Female)
I feel like I should say something to Bellatrix. I know she doesn't like me, and I'm probably the last person in Panem that she wants sympathy from. I also know there's nothing I can say that's going to make losing her mom like this hurt any less. But I can't seem to shake the feeling that I should at least try to help her out.
I mean, she's still a person. And that doesn't stop being true just because she absolutely loathes me.
The only problem is, I don't know what to say to her. I'm barely equipped to handle my own emotions. And I'm terrified that I'll say the wrong thing, and she'll blow up on me like she did Adrianna and Alexander.
So maybe I shouldn't say anything at all. We'll be at the arena in a few minutes, I should probably just sit here and keep my head down and my mouth shut until we get there. The logical part of me knows that.
Unfortunately, logic doesn't apply when emotions are involved. And I can't just sit here and do nothing while Bellatrix is in this kind of pain. I just can't.
Enemy or not, she's still a person. And I have to try to help her.
"Hey, Bellatrix," I mumble, my voice soft and low as I look across the aisle at her from my seat, my hands shaking in rhythm with the beat of my heart.
"What do you want, Helena?" she growls, her voice soft and filled with pain, her eyes glued to the red mark on her arm where her tracker was injected.
"I want ... I want to ... I want to say that I'm sorry about what happened to your mom.
"I know the two of you were close, and I can't imagine how hard this is for you."
"I don't want your pity, Valentine," she says, her voice hard and angry as she looks up from her arm and glares at me with red, puffy, tear-stained eyes. "I don't need it."
"I know you don't."
"Then why are you giving it to me?" she growls, her voice tinged with anger and hurt, her glare hardening with every word.
"I'm not trying to," I say, my voice dropping half an octave as I realize just how close I am to making a mess out of this.
"Then what are you trying to do?" she asks, her anger rising with every word, her annoyed glare morphing into a disgusted sneer. "Are you trying to swoop in and fix this? Because unless you can trade places with my mom, there's nothing you can do."
"I know that," I mumble. "And I'm not trying to fix it either. I'm just. ..."
"You're just what?!" she growls, her sudden outburst drawing the attention of the tributes sitting around us. "Trying to find a way to make this all about you like everything else in life?
"Fuck you, Helena."
"What did I do to make you hate me?" I ask, my voice low and hurt as I stare across the aisle into her cold, unforgiving, angry blue eyes.
"You were born."
"I don't. ... I don't know how to respond to that."
"Then don't. Just sit there like the smug, perfect bitch you are and keep your mouth shut. Stop trying to make everything about you and let me mourn my mom in peace."
"If that's what you want," I mumble, my composure hanging by a thread as I fold my arms across my chest and look down at my lap while silently scolding myself for being so stupid.
"That's not what I want," she laughs, her voice dripping with sarcasm as the hovercraft lurches to a stop before starting the painfully slow descent down to the arena below. "What I want is for my mom to be alive and for you to stop being such a selfish, self-centered bitch.
"But since I can't have the former, and the only way for me to get the latter is to bleed the life out of your worthless body, I'll have to settle for you shutting your mouth," she growls, a smug, triumphant smirk on her perfect face as the hovercraft finally finishes its landing cycle. Bringing the two of us to the doorstep of our destinies.
Tranquila Fenix (Head Gamemaker)
I don't think I've ever been more nervous in my entire life than I am right now. It's so bad that I can hear my heart pounding in my head. I can feel it thumping away a million miles a second as it tries to beat itself out of my chest.
And the worst part is, I was fine just a few minutes ago. Ok, maybe fine isn't the right word. I was still a nervous wreck, but at least I was a functional wreck.
Now all I want to do is curl up in a ball under my desk and cry.
"Is everything ok, ma'am?" asks Serina, her soft, orange eyes burning with excitement as she smiles up at me from her station. "You look a little pale."
"I'm fine," I lie, my voice coming out strong and clear despite my nerves as I casually glance down at the status report on my screen. "I'm just a little excited, is all."
"I get that," she says, her voice light and bubbly as she looks back down at her screen with a playful little smile on her lips. "Today's a big day for you; it's only natural that you'd be a little nervous."
"I'm not nervous," I say, my voice low and defensive with just a hint of annoyance. "I'm excited. There's a difference."
"Of course, there is," she laughs, her eyes burning with smug superiority as she smiles up at me. "I didn't mean to imply otherwise."
"I'm sure you didn't," I mumble, a state of mild annoyance washing over me as I stand there and stare down at the 3-D rendering of the arena in the center of the room. My eyes drinking in every little detail they can as I wait patiently for the tributes to finish dressing so we can load them into their tubes and get this show on the road.
"How are the tributes, Apollo?"
"Good, ma'am. The little girl from Twelve with the broken ankle is having a little trouble getting into her gear, but the others are ready and waiting."
"Good. As soon as she's done, go ahead and open the tubes and have the tributes start loading up."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Octavia, what are the conditions in the arena?"
"Which part, ma'am?"
"The only part that matters right now," I say, my tone flat and serious, my eyes fixed on the arena readouts flashing on the screen in front of me.
"Cool and breezy, ma'am. It's currently seventy-three degrees with a gentle breeze out of the northeast."
"Fantastic. Go ahead and knock the temperature down three degrees and then level everything off.
"How's Maira doing, Apollo?"
"She just finished getting ready."
"Alright then," I say, my heart leaping up into my throat as I take one last long look at the arena before continuing. "Have the tributes load into the tubes.
"Serina, let's unveil Tiberius's last masterpiece to the people of Panem. ..."
A/N: And that, my friends, is that. After 7 months of waiting and 35 chapters of build, we've finally reached the bloodbath! I hope you're all as excited as I am for what's about to happen. I've been looking forward to this for a long time, and I can't wait to show you what I have in store for the tributes and to show off the arena idea I've been working on. I'm still super excited to show it and the tributes off to you all their glory in the bloodbath update :D