Chapter Forty-One: Before You Go

Launch

Vincent Wainwright, President of Panem

The morning of the Games is always a tense one for me, and this one is no exception.

There's a lot of last-minute things that need to be handled, as always. Making sure to get all the tributes and mentors to the Arena in a timely fashion, setting up media coverage of the whole event, checking to see if there were any last-minute arena adjustments and planning accordingly… the list goes on.

The girl from Twelve did provide quite a bit of a scare, but a pair of handcuffs (which would be removed right before the arena) changed that in a hurry. Now, I can watch the security cameras to make sure everything's going smoothly. And so far, it looks the part: most of the tributes have been herded into the helicopter, with the last few, like the pair from Two, saying their goodbyes to their Capitol escort, who will not be traveling with them to the Arena.

Even better, all the tribute tokens were checked early, and none of them appeared to be harmful or give anyone a meaningful advantage. (Sure, giving the girl from Twelve glasses was pushing it, but I'm sure that everyone knows she isn't surviving very long, so we let it slide.) They'll be for sentimental value and nothing else.

One of the Gamemakers pops his head into the room. "Sir, the serums have been placed in the Arena. I've kept one vial for Summer, as per your orders, but all the others are good to go."

"Excellent," I say. "Make sure everything else is a go while you're at it. Run checks to make sure all the cameras work, add any fine details you might have missed, turn the force field slightly opaque now that the Games are about to start."

"Will do," the Gamemaker replies, slipping back out of the room. Honestly, I'm not too worried about most of those things except the last one. Ever since we stopped having the force field be transparent (too many people were dying anticlimactic deaths from running into it), the tributes expect to be able to see it, meaning most have stopped throwing rocks in front of them to find out where it is. The one year someone forgot to do that (the 82nd Games, if I remember correctly), no less than six tributes, including a Career, got killed by it, which led to a very dull Games. (That head Gamemaker didn't last very long.)

On a separate screen, every report on the Games is running simultaneously, along with their relative ratings. While the dynamic duo of Julius Flickerman and Helen Roshada have been captivating the nation over the past half-decade or so, meaning they have the best ratings, there are quite a few other hosts or groups of hosts that have much smaller but still dedicated fan bases. Some prefer the looks of the Pretty Boys (three drop-dead handsome brothers) or the sharp wit of Miracle and Aleena (talk-show hosts who focus exclusively on the Hunger Games whenever it comes around) or someone else. No matter what, everyone has a favorite, and just about everyone will tune in at some point. Statistics show that roughly 97% of Capitol households watch the Bloodbath live every year, and an even higher percentage of households- near 100%- tune into a live Games for at least two hours a year.

Soon, we'll have another year of data to put into the statistics, even if that's not really the focus right now. My attention flits back to the security cameras, which show minimal activity now, with only the one focusing on the helicopter showing much in terms of signs of life. I don't get a good look at who's in there, but I do notice that the door's being pushed closed, so chances are that everyone's in there. As I keep watching, the helicopter takes off, probably straining with the weight of everyone in it but still flying nonetheless.

The same Gamemaker from earlier pops back into the room. "How's everything going on the timing front?"

"Helicopter just took off," I respond. "Looks like we'll hit the 2:00 PM starting time right on the nose." We don't delay the Games often- in fact, to my knowledge it's only ever happened twice- but when we do, it could quickly turn into a disaster because then I'd have to call every media outlet in Panem to make sure they reschedule their time blocks to fit the change.

"Well, everything's set, then. Let's hope for the best," the Gamemaker says before he shows himself the door.

Let's hope for the best is right. Much of what happens now is out of our hands. Some of it gets controlled by Gamemakers, but the rest? That's up to the tributes.

And even if all systems point to a great batch of tributes this year, once we hit the Games, anything can happen.

Summer Coxell, Head Gamemaker

Garden sticks her head in the room, says, "Summer, the helicopter touches down in two minutes max," then leaves.

That's all I need to hear. I feel absurdly light right now, like if I flapped my arms I'd be able to fly. The big moment's less than an hour away. It might be horrendous, it could blow up in a variety of ways, and it could even get me killed. But right now, none of that matters.

In what feels like a second, I hear the distant noise of helicopter blades. The sound gets louder and louder until I have to cover my ears, nearly deafened. But just as soon as the noise peaks, it stops entirely, and the doors swing open, the passengers of the helicopter slowly stumbling out.

The Capitol workers who served as escorts to make sure no one tried to hijack the helicopter (laugh all you want, that actually happened one year and the kid was about fifteen seconds away from killing everyone on board, including himself) or something equally heinous file into the room first. From that point onward, it's just a trickle of mentors and tributes that in no way resembles an organized line, more like a shapeless blob.

Once everyone's gotten into the room with me, it's my time to start talking. There's a few last-minute things that need to be said. "Before I begin, I'd like to thank all the escorts for helping make sure things went smoothly, and to all the tributes and mentors for not making us worry about whether this went smoothly."

No response, not that I expected one to begin with.

"You'll be guided to your pedestals shortly. However, before we do that, I must tell everyone about a little twist we've implemented for these Games." With that, I pull out the subject of said twist, the one that caused so many arguments, so much resentment, so many sleepless nights among us Gamemakers.

It looks quite unimpressive upon first glance, just a vial of semi-clear liquid the color of a swimming pool on a sunny day. However, if used in even the slightest manner, it'll change the Games. I'm not sure how, but it has to.

Most of the tributes are staring at what I'm holding, which I take as a sign to continue. "The contents of this vial are to be taken by mouth. Its effects will start about sixty seconds after consumption and continue for about fifteen minutes if a whole vial is taken. Partial vials take longer to kick in and have shorter, less severe effects."

Quite a few of the tributes, and even a good chunk of the mentors, look confused. One of the girls in the back, a bulky, taller girl with gray eyes and a mess of black hair, even says, "Is this some kind of medicine commercial?"

"No, anything but," I say. "These vials, once consumed, render a person stronger, faster, and more capable in combat as long as the effect lasts. Some of this comes from the liquid overstimulating some parts of your brain and understimulating others to compensate, while the rest is through science that I don't quite have the time to get into right now. However, I would strongly recommend not taking more than a single vial at a time."

A shorter boy standing near the front raises his hand. "Okay, why?"

"When we ran trials for this, we tested the effects of both partial and multiple vials at the same time. Even partial vials appear to have some side effects, which we won't spoil for you here, but if more than one vial is taken at once, the risk of those side effects becoming permanent goes through the roof."

Now, everyone appears to fall to whispering with each other, probably trying to figure out exactly what I mean by "side effects." Whatever. They're just guessing, and chances are, they'll be wrong.

"Okay, that's all I needed to tell you about that," I say. "Beyond the curtain behind me-" I gesture to it as I say that- "is a circular hallway with twenty-four doors leading further inward. Each door is marked with the gender and district of the person who is supposed to go through it. Once you go through the curtain, do not come back here. Only go through the door you're supposed to, do not go through anyone else's door. Starting now, I will call you in District Order. So, first up is Clara Ridley, District One."

She smiles confidently as she and her mentor slip through the curtain, and sure enough, they don't come back. Good, at least the doors were marked correctly, if only so far.

"Nascar Galluci, District One."

This process keeps up all the way to the end, and before I know it, I'm calling out, "Maxxer Bent, District Twelve," and as he pushes aside the curtain with his staggering mentor I get left alone once more, save for the escorts. And none of them intend on stepping through the curtain, so we can step aside now.

Since everyone else is gone, a hidden monitor descends from a hole in the ceiling I'm really surprised no one asked about, allowing us to see everything that's going on inside the little rooms that the tributes are launched from. Most of the tributes are experiencing the feelings we're expecting, but as always, there are a few exceptions.

The girl from Twelve has a look of utter hatred on her face, one that I'd really think didn't fit her if she hadn't tried to kill me. The girl from Eight seems to be doing nothing at all. The boy from Five, one of the biggest tributes besides the Careers, is pounding on the walls, probably desperate to get out- I'll have to keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn't slide too far down the slippery slope. The boy from Seven has an expression that I can only describe as apathy.

An announcement rings through the room. "All tributes, your pedestals will start to rise in sixty seconds. Any tributes remaining in their rooms will be killed on the spot, so please get on your pedestals."

The girl from Four hugs her mentor, not surprising since they're sisters and all. The Careers all step in at almost the same time, with the anti-Careers following not long afterward. From there, it's a crapshoot, with everyone slipping in at different times but eventually making their way inside the tubes.

Shortly after the last tubes close, the pedestals start rising, ready to send them into the new arena that so many hours were spent making as close to perfect as possible. I feel dizzy and nervous, not sure how this will be received by the Capitol audience or what kind of Games it will lead to. But then the pedestals stop rising, I see just about every tribute looking around with an expression mixing wonder and horror, and I know that everything will be alright.

The arena's being shown to the cameras for the first time, and I think everyone will be able to figure out what this one's supposed to represent. Maybe it's the nearby woods. It could be the pavilion the Cornucopia was set on, made of wood that looked somewhat sturdy from a distance but had started to rot with age upon closer look.

However, I feel like the biggest indicator is the vivid red banner hung over the Cornucopia, reading, "WELCOME TO CAMP PANEM. CELEBRATING 95 YEARS OF MEMORABLE MOMENTS!"

I can't see the reaction of the audience from in here, but we all know it's judgment day, both for me and the tributes in there.

That's why I hold my breath as the start nears and the final timer begins to tick down.

60… 59… 58...

Author's Notes:

-I know this is really simple, but yes, the arena will be modeled after a summer camp. (Or at least, my experience with summer camp.) I've got a simplistic map planned, so there'll be a set number of landmarks and those landmarks will be in consistent locations throughout the Games. (At least, I hope.)

-I also know this chapter was a bit of a jump from the last, but I wanted to keep the POV scenes balanced (this way, each tribute gets three POV scenes before the Games). Furthermore, I'm pretty confident everyone was ready for the Bloodbath at this point.

-We're about to start, folks. Buckle your seatbelts, keep your hands, arms, legs, and feet inside the car, and be prepared to scream (whether it's with delight or horror is up to you!).

-The Bloodbath is next, and it's about to get real. See you there!