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Cracks

The Countdown

I sit anxiously in the control room along with the rest of the mentors from the different districts, Plutarch, and two peacekeepers. I prayed no more would show, otherwise I'd have one hell of a difficult time keeping this plan together. It felt as if I were sitting on a seat of pins and needles, trying to keep from looking suspicious, but knowing that as soon as those tubes opened and the tributes rose, the plan would be put into action.

I had no idea how I became in charge of this. How I became the one, apart from Plutarch, that everyone relied on. It wasn't just my tributes I was saving this year, but every single person that I cared about. If it weren't for that fact that I knew what Katniss had unknowingly started, I would have said that I was the Capital's target. Watching everyone I love about to die…again.

There was no alcohol allowed in the room, so I took to pacing the floor in a horseshoe pattern as a distraction. I would loop around the back of the room, stop in front of one of the screens that, at the moment, were circling the empty arena, and then loop back. They seemed to be taking their sweet time starting the competition this year.

Everyone was counting on me.

The cameras zoomed towards different tubes situated in the water around the island. There was music playing over whatever sounds were happening in the arena, as the plates holding all the tributes, all my friends, began to rise.

The first plate that the camera focused on was Finnick's. His bronze colored hair swayed in the slight breeze, and was followed by his golden skin and brilliant eyes. The camera was instinctively drawn to him. His eyes were dangerous and watchful, scanning every bit of the arena as the countdown began.

Next the camera flicked to Peeta, whose first reaction is to scan the other plates until he finds the one he is looking for. The camera follows his gaze to her.

Katniss. She was staring determinedly ahead, but her thoughts were elsewhere. Her jaw was clenched tightly, and her back was as stiff as board. The cameras seemed to purposefully zoom onto here, taking in her frantic red eyes, the pulse jumping in her throat, and the tension in her shoulders. As the camera shot moved down the length of her body, it captured the sight of her torn and bleeding knuckles and the rawness on the rest of her hands. A drop of blood was slowly winding its way down her index finger. I prayed to god it would land on the tub and not in the water in front of her.

Then, the camera moved on to another tribute. Obviously it had had enough of the girl on fire. She had seen what they had wanted her to see.

Fucking bastards. I put my head in my hands, listening to the countdown. There were twenty seconds left.

I had an idea of what Katniss had seen, and knew that Cinna would not be making the trip out of the Capital. He had known the danger of him going down to the launch room today. I had demanded, even begged, for him not to go. The rebellion needed him, and Katniss surely needed him as well. She responded to no one better.

But Cinna knew. He had known that he signed his death sentence the moment that wedding dress was consumed with feathers. One of the last things he said to me was, "I turned her into the Mockingjay. I will stay with her, until the very end."

My throat burned, and I wished I had some of Ripper's liquor to numb the pain. The countdown wasn't even over and we already had lost someone. I knew, without a doubt, that these were going to be the worst games I would ever be forced to watch.

The camera did one more sweep of the tributes, before settling on Katniss and one of the morphling addicts. Katniss's blood dripped onto the plate she stood on, it's drops falling to the ground in time with the last few seconds of the countdown.

Three. Two. One.

The Jabberjays

This was agonizing.

I clenched the armrests of the chair I was in, praying for the time to pass faster. Katniss was curled in a ball; her hands clamped over her ears, just waiting for it all to be over.

So was I. I had kept myself busy with sponsors and staying organized during most of the Games, while Plutarch was busy with the rest of the preparations. Now, all I could do was wait. And watch.

Finnick was hardly doing any better. Almost immediately he had curled up and started rocking in the fetal position. I recognized the high-pitched sound of Annie Cresta, and understood the suffering that he was going through.

I felt bile rise up my throat as I watched Katniss shake at the sound of her mother's screams. She seemed to be swallowing down the wails that threatened to escape from her.

Gale's voice joined in with her mother's.

It was as if I could see literal cracks forming on her body. The mental torture was worse than any physical pain they had given her yet. I pulled at my hair, feeling helpless. I could supply her with allies. I could send her food and tools for water. But this? This I could not prepare her for.

I watched as Prim's shrieks drew an agonized moan from her lips. The cracks spread along her body, threatening to destroy her. The cameras shot to Peeta and Johanna for a few seconds, pounding on the wall. Peeta was almost as much of a wreck as Katniss and Finnick, pained by the torture Katniss was lost in.

I was surprised to hear my own voice join in the chaos, and Katniss curled up farther in on herself, whimpering. I don't even think she realized the sounds she was emitting.

"Damnit, Katniss." I whispered. I wanted her to pull herself together; to realize that these screams were warped, and that her family and friends were safe. Probably.

It seemed that the men in charge of the cameras and the viewers in the Capital got bored because the screens suddenly switched to watching Enobaria, who was on the hunt. Apparently, the complete mental breakdown of two tributes wasn't interesting enough to the people of Panem, but I was thankful for the change. There was still 25 minutes left until Katniss and Finnick could escape, and I don't think I could take another second.

The need for a strong swallow of Ripper's burning liquor coursed through me again, but I swallowed hard. There were worse pains to suffer through.