Part Two
A/N: I realized only after posting the previous chapter that I actually made an error regarding the Hunger Games continuity. Katniss says in book one that each of the arenas are individually prepared, no arena is ever used twice. Well, I had forgotten that, and established a headcanon that it's only ever one great arena that can be reconfigured completely and perfectly as the Gamemakers see fit. It works best for this story, so I'm not going to change it. But I do acknowledge it.
Awaiting Test Subjects: Testing at 50% Readiness –
On the day of the Reaping, Haymitch Abernathy asked Peeta, one last time, to consider not volunteering, or falling silent, of letting Haymitch walk into his second Quarter Quell instead of following Katniss into the arena.
Peeta refused. He had to follow his heart, and he reminded Haymitch that his story would be far superior, far more likely to win over the Capitol audience. And Haymitch, wishing for a drink, left the golden boy to it. Let him follow his martyrdom complex.
As it turned out, Haymitch's name was called, and Peeta volunteered at once in his place. Peeta and Katniss together to represent District 12 once more; Finnick Odair and Mags for District 4, Johanna Mason the firebrand for District 7. The strength of District 11 lay within Chaff and Seeder, and the hope of District 1 in its young and strong victors, Cashmere and Gloss. Cecelia, the adopted mother of District 8, was going to fight again. Brutal Enobaria and savage Brutus; canny Beetee and Wiress the dreamer; Quincey and Edgar, the pitiful morphling addicts of District 6; and all the rest; their names alone carried the connotations of all their awful, thrilling Games.
But even the brightest, the most vicious among them felt unsteady and tremulous at the rumor, even brighter and more vicious, that whipped around the Capitol. It was murmured in the training stations, whispered in their suites. The arena this year was going to be different. But what that meant, none could imagine.
But the Capitol was afire to find out, and the Districts were aching to know what fate awaited their beloved Victors. And the people who ran the Resistance were just as frightened as the rest. Plutarch Heavensbee's power was snuffed out. And Cinna might turn Katniss into a mockingjay, but even that was only a brief shriek of hope. The Rebellion might die away entirely if the arena could quench the Girl on Fire.
- Testing at 75% Readiness –
Still, though. The show had to go on.
In the hastily but thoroughly reconstructed den of GLaDOS, television screens flickered to life. There were twenty-four, all set to the same channel at the moment. Through the screens, now and again clogged with static, one could make out a sleek and dapper man, with lavender hair and eyes, smiling as though his life depended on it. He was talking, and talking, and talking, and GLaDOS was ignoring him, for the most part. She was devoting most of her processing power at the moment to analyzing the thirteenth Hunger Game, which had been won by Mags Ronan, and devising dozens of loose ideas for testing arenas that would accompany her particular skills – as displayed in the Game she won – and her advanced age, to boot. It was a fascinating and absorbing challenge.
But there was someone watching the man who talked endlessly. Perhaps a kindred spirit, drawn by the sound of a friendly and garrulous voice – whatever the reason, a bright blue light flickered behind one loose panel, just out of her range of vision. The light, in fact, was an optic for a small personality core, which shifted a little – ready to zoom away on his management rail at the slightest sound of trouble – and watched Caesar Flickerman and the ensuing interviews with ferocious curiosity.
Though Caesar Flickerman was usually great at varying his questions in interviews – even if it boiled down to the same three questions, at least they didn't sound monotonous – there was one question, for this Game, that he simply had to ask, over and over: the crowd craved it.
"Now, Brutus, one last query," he said, leaning forward to meet the older Victor's eyes, "what are your thoughts on the mysterious new arena that's got the Capitol talking? Word on the street is that it's unlike anything we've ever seen before. Do you think—?"
Brutus interrupted Caesar bluntly with a loud laugh. "Listen to me, pal. If anyone here remembers my Game –" someone towards the back of the auditorium cheered. Brutus stood up to hear that, nodding vigorously, "If you all remember MY Game –" the cheering was louder, and Brutus was just egging them on now, even the younger members of the audience were getting caught up in it, as one last time Brutus hollered, "Just remember MY Game—" and the cheers were deafening, even Caesar was laughing as he had to calm the crowd down, and finally Brutus finished, sitting back down with smug pride, "—you'll see, I'm not gonna have any problems."
Caesar asked Johanna Mason, at the start of her interview, "What have you heard about this arena? You got any tricks up your sleeves? Or…" he corrected himself, as he realized that Johanna's leaf-like dress didn't have any sleeves, or straps, or indeed much in the way of storage space, "well… maybe stashed somewhere else?"
Johanna hadn't moved since the interview started. She leaned to one side, away from Caesar, and said, "Put an axe in my hands. I'll deal."
The last person whom he asked, "Now, this new arena – not at all like the sylvan enclave you turned so well to your advantage last time –" he gave the audience a knowing nod, and some applause started up, spuriously, "- they say it's entirely different. Do you have any strategy for it?"
Katniss Everdeen, who sat in the interview chair with the dignity of a queen, resplendent in white, thought briefly before she said, "Caesar, all I know is, as long as Peeta and I can stay together –" she glanced over her shoulder to look at Peeta. He smiled at her, and she smiled back –"I truly think we'll be all right."
The applause was deafening. In a minute Katniss stood up and began to twirl in her wedding dress, reminding all of Panem of her promise, her grace, of what they were about to send into the arena for a second time.
As her dress caught fire, the applause actually stopped out of sheer shock.
Her dress burned away, the black feathers below the white lace now making her a human mockingjay, born of cinders and chaos.
— but the cunning symbolism of this moment was lost on the same blue-eyed sphere that had watched the proceedings from the safety of the wall. He said to himself in a whisper, "Coo-ee, they can set themselves on fire now? I didn't know that. Can all humans do that?"
Unfortunately, his whisper was more of a stage whisper than he intended.
GLaDOS' massive, mask-like primary camera lifted itself (she had been bowed in abstraction) and then turned, and neared the seam in the wall whence a small and very fast voice had been heard.
But it was empty. Nothing was there. She gave a low hmmm and fixed the rupture in the wall. She finished sealing off every inch of her chamber, because she needed perfect security, perfect peace of mind. And while she was at it, she requested the mobilization of more small-scale artificial intelligences to help monitor the facility. There would be a lot of tests to run in the very near future.
- Testing at 87% Readiness -
"What were you thinking?"
The speaker, a woman with fleecy blonde hair that made a stark contrast to her clear brown skin, slammed her drink down on the table. Her drinking partner – a slender man dressed in head-to-toe black, with artful streaks of gold eyelinder on his lowered lids – made no answer. Both of them wore the twinkling wristbands designating them as Hunger Games stylists.
When she didn't get an answer, the woman took another sip of her drink and set it down more gently. "Obviously you were thinking of the best way to throw mud in the face of the powers that be. The best possible way to rip apart what the Capitol imagines we're doing. The best—"
"The best fabric that would catch the light perfectly," Cinna interrupted her, "while not washing Katniss out. And, of course, that would catch fire without a hitch."
Portia looked at him with a strange, suppressed smile on her face, shaking her head. "I should have seen this coming. You look over our old designs for last year's chariot costumes, you order kilos and kilos of feathers, you smell like smoke for no good reason – I really should have seen this coming."
"All that proves, Portia, is that I've been covering my tracks well." Cinna finished his drink and ordered another, equally strong.
"We're living it up tonight, aren't we?" Portia asked.
"Carpe diem, memento mori," he answered. His next drink was almost perfectly clear, had a garnish of cinnamon on top, and smelled like apples – mainly apples.
"Have you had this planned since the… since the start?" As a special events fashion designer, she had always worked in an atmosphere of secrecy, but was still getting used to the world that Cinna worked in, where an ill-placed word could actually get her killed. Unconsciously, she glanced to the window, where outside, the Capitol nightlife roared on.
Cinna nodded. "That whole issue of 'vote for your favorite wedding dress'?"
"I could never decide which one, honestly, and I'm not just saying that – they were all phenomenal."
He beamed. "Thank you! But, that wasn't exactly an honest election. I went with the dress that could best undergo… a metamorphosis. But if I may confess?" He leaned forward and spoke in an undertone, "I really preferred the sleeveless dress myself. Katniss has such beautiful arms, it's a shame to cover them up."
Portia covered her mouth with one tattooed hand. "Always the priorities, yes?" she said between her stifled chuckles.
"Absolutely. Portia," Cinna took her hand, and looked into her face with sudden, utmost seriousness, "What I did to Katniss tonight – and I have no illusions, I did it to her, without her knowledge or consent – I reminded the whole nation of what she's done, who she is. Snow can make her wear that dress like she's a doll he's about to destroy – but there's more to her than what the Capitol makes her to be. Nothing can change that about her."
Portia held Cinna's hand, and squeezed it in answer. She saw the love and trust he had in Katniss Everdeen, bright in his face, and tried to put it into words. "That girl – she's a fighter. She's… a wild card. She is… she's…"
"Human," Cinna concluded. "She's human. And so are we all – that's our greatest gift and curse."
She mulled this sentence over for a while. Finally she said, "Nobody will really see her as human, though. Whether Katniss Everdeen is a tragic bride or a –" she lowered her voice, "-a mockingjay, she's more than human."
"So she seems. But I know otherwise."
"Does she know otherwise?"
For the first time all evening Cinna looked troubled. A pen flickered between his fingers, and on a nearby napkin he sketched a circle that was slowly opening like the shutter of a camera. "I hope so," he answered at last.
She saw what he was drawing. "And by the way, Master Cinna, do you have any secret thoughts regarding this year's arena?"
Cinna thought, and took a sip of his drink – he couldn't avoid making a face. "I think that none of the Victors are prepared for what they're going into. And I think Snow isn't prepared, either. I think," his brow creased, "It will be a long game. And what about you?"
"I think," she answered, "That you're right. We're all getting a lot more than we bargained for. And Katniss and Peeta are somehow going to turn it upside-down and inside-out."
"Well, that goes without saying." They clinked glasses, and drank deeply.
- Testing at 95% Readiness -
Analyze the situation before you, and try to make sense of all of the variables, and bring order to the whole. For Cinna, this meant… costumes.
He and Katniss were in the Launch Room of the seventy-fifth Game, and Cinna was quite confused.
Not that he would ever let it show, of course. It wouldn't do to show uncertainty in front of his prep team, not to mention Katniss. But he studied and studied the outfit assigned to his tribute, and couldn't make sense of it.
As he stared at the fabric, ran his fingers over it, and tested its heft and feel, he made a few conclusions:
There would be little to no outdoors activity (rare for a Game)
Mobility and swiftness were indispensable. Be ready to jump.
Temperature would never be far out of the range of human comfort.
Maybe the Capitol wanted each of its tributes to be as visible as possible.
Whoever this Aperture Science corporation was, they were deeply involved in these Games – enough to have their name on the jumpsuit's breast pocket.
The outfit for Katniss was a jumpsuit, one layer, one solid piece from shoulders to ankles, short-sleeved. It was colored in blocks of red and black, with the words "Test Subject 24, District 12" printed on it.
The accompanying boots were white and black, and arched, as though they were six-inch stilettos that had somehow forgotten to add the actual heel. Instead a thick black rod, the width of Cinna's thumb, curved down from the back of the knee to where it would absorb shock impacts from the foot, from falls of – Cinna couldn't even guess the height that this boot would be able to sustain.
What he wouldn't give to see Katniss in action in these boots.
He gave his girl the rundown of what he could make of the arena from the clothes. It was she who pointed out, "These outfits almost look like they're trying to dehumanize us—like prisoners."
"Very strange." He took the mockingjay pin up from its pile of clothes, and looked at his brave little warrior, his tribute, his Katniss. "I'm still betting on you, Girl on Fire."
She smiled, responding to his warmth as quickly and earnestly as ever. And a part of him knew already about the Peacekeepers waiting just outside the door, waiting for the worst possible moment to take him away, but he was not afraid. He'd already said his goodbyes. The Peacekeepers had no power over him anymore. All of his power rested with the Girl on Fire.
He carefully placed the mockingjay pin right over the Aperture Science logo, blocking it out. He smiled at the completed ensemble, one hand resting on Katniss' shoulder in a comradely fashion.
That was how Katniss liked to remember him, afterwards, when she had time to recover from the horror of his capture. The warmth on the mockingjay pin, and the press on her shoulder – the last times Cinna touched her, before she entered the glass elevator.
Before she entered the arena.
- Commence Testing -
The glass elevators took the tributes down. That was the first shock.
They went down, and down, and down, feeling their ears pop with the change in altitude.
Meanwhile, tuning in at home, the feed arrived from the cameras to the entrance hall. The tributes entered feet-first into a vast chamber. The floor was paneled in black, the walls paneled in white. The tributes were ordered numerologically, with Peeta next to Katniss next to Gloss, in a perfect circle.
There was no Cornucopia.
There were only guns – twenty-four guns, mounted on stands, large apparatuses that curved over like the shells of insects. One gun for each tribute.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games… Begin!"
But Katniss stared ahead. Her gun was painted in colors to match her jumpsuit, with the label Test Subject 24, District 12 on it.
She felt as if in a dream, still seeing Cinna's blood spattered on the floor in front of her. Her heart tightened – she was underground, she shouldn't be underground, underground was where people died. Sixty seconds passed, and the gong went off.
She stepped off of the dais and took five even strides – walking en-pointe, the heel of the boots absorbing every shock – towards her gun. In the corner of her eye, she saw Peeta do the same.
She took the gun– it fitted perfectly to her right hand, a little heavier than she wanted, and she felt a thrumming hummmm deep in its center.
Mags was the last tribute to pick up her gun. The moment that she did, the lights changed. Katniss felt a tremor underfoot.
Looking down, she saw that she stood on a glass square, a panel, which was being lifted above the ground, as were all of the other tributes, except for Cashmere and Gloss. Katniss braced herself –
And then she heard it.
The Voice.
It was everywhere at once, a cool female voice, flat and thoughtless. "Hello, and welcome to the Computer Enhanced Aperture Science Enrichment Center. The center has been modified for multiple simultaneous testings. Please remain calm, and do not attempt to leave your panel."
Katniss' panel was starting to pull her backwards, away from the Cornucopia, from all of the Tributes – away from Peeta.
He was twisting to look at her, even as his panel took him down, through the floor, and he was reaching for her, calling her name, and she screamed "Peeta!" once, before the panel she stood on – knelt on – zoomed backwards, and carried her through a door. The door closed. The panel stopped with a jolt.
Katniss, gripping the portal device tightly, turned around. In front of her was a giant, glowing white screen, twice her own height, with the words Test Chamber 24A emblazoned in giant black letters at the top. There was a door, an open, circular door, straight ahead of her.
In one corner was a camera, its red lens following her every movement.
The Voice sounded again.
"In this modified version of the Hunger Games, combat will be placed at a minimum priority. Survival will be key. And survival will be gained through tests. Your only way to attain vital organic supplies – such as food, water, radios, coffee mugs, office supplies, and posters of cats – will be to complete tests. The tests will get progressively harder, each matched to your particular strengths."
Katniss took a step forward, then another, then another. She hardly dared to believe what she was hearing. Then all the typical training – the laws that were in place for every Hunger Games – the chance of seeing another Tribute – were absolutely dissolved?
"There will be lethal elements introduced to each test, to further inspire the test subjects to the heights of science. And the test subject who survives longest… wins."
Katniss took in a deep breath, then another. And another. This couldn't be. The Gamemakers wouldn't just separate her from Peeta. That wouldn't make for good entertainment.
The open door led to a small, narrow corridor, entirely paneled in black. Like a mineshaft.
"No… No…" Katniss stared at the camera, forcing herself to calm down. She buckled down, on her knees in the hallway, trying not to think of her father, blown to bits under the ground, or of Cinna, dragged away and beaten to some unknown hell.
There was a slight movement in the corner of her eye, and she remembered the cameras. She changed her posture and hugged herself closely, rocking back and forth, letting out a brief sob: "Peeta… Peeta…" If she was going to be heartbroken on camera, she should be heartbroken for the right cause.
After a decent interval of time, she stood up. She went up to the panels on the walls and pounded on them with her fist. Testing them.
She proceeded down the hallway, forcing each breath she took to be steady, one hand on the large gun, one on the walls of panels.
It all seemed structurally sound, well-built. It wouldn't just give by accident, most arenas were better constructed than that. ('Yes, just ask Annie Cresta,' Katniss reminded herself.) Gamemakers might collapse it around her for fun in another game, but the goal was not to kill or be killed in this arena. It was a solo expedition for her from here on out. There would be no point in killing her, if she completed these tests properly.
She found she could put one step in front of the other, that even underground, her nightmare, was no worse than the previous arena – better, even, without the fear of a Career Pack or an alliance doomed to fail. Her father would have wanted her to be brave, after all. And so would Cinna.
She brushed a hand quickly over her eyes. She'd think about Cinna later.
Now, the tests. Katniss had never been the brightest at school, not exactly, but she always did well enough on tests, provided she studied beforehand. But what entertainment would a math quiz be for…
Aha.
She entered the testing arena.
The floor and walls on her side of the room were paneled in white. A portion of the room – with a kind of small column in it – was walled in by glass. A red button sat on the floor, and a trail of lights connected it to the doorway.
"Katniss Everdeen."
She jumped. It was that voice.
"Test Subject Twenty-Four. The most recent Victor… noted for stubbornness, mistrust of authority, mistrust of peers, mistrust of inferiors, and incendiary tendencies." The voice grew more thoughtful. "You remind me of someone I used to know. That's a resemblance I'm sure you're going to regret. Now… Why don't you test out that admirable Portal Device in your hands now?"
Katniss felt the handle in her hands. She aimed the gun at the black panels of the opposite wall, and fired. A streak of red shot through the air and bounced off red sparks that flickered into nothingness.
She turned and faced the walls behind her, paneled in white, and tested the gun there. With a thhht noise, it made – something on the wall. It was about Katniss' height, and oval-shaped, a luminous oval of red that swirled faintly. Katniss did not touch the oval, but held her free hand over it experimentally. There was no change in temperature or current of wind over the oval, no difference from the rest of the wall.
Katniss puzzled at the fact that there appeared to be two separate triggers, one for her middle and one for her index finger. Why have two triggers if –
A light wind caressed her face, and her nerves, taut as a fiddle-string, noticed. She turned around and saw a yellow oval that appeared behind the glass walls. It looked like a picture frame, and inside of it –
Katniss gaped. Inside of it was herself.
She moved from one side, and then to the other. She waved and hopped up and down, and looked around for the camera that might be creating that image.
Then it dawned on her: the image within that – 'Portal,' she thought, 'think of it as a portal,' – was not created by any of the visible cameras in the room. It came from an angle – she turned and saw the red portal she had cast onto the wall. It opened into a glass-bound room.
She looked from the yellow portal to the red, to the yellow, to the red. Then – 'Don't show an ounce of fear, Katniss, Prim is watching at home –' she stepped through the red portal with a slight hop, and a deep, vertiginous swoop in the pit of her stomach.
There was a small button at about the level of her hands in the glass box. She pressed it, and outside of the glass walls a large cube, about half her own height, fell from a tube.
"Well done, Test Subject Twenty-Four. You must be the pride of District Twelve. Oh, wait—" Katniss didn't want to step through the yellow portal (which was also the red portal, how strange, how extremely bizarre) – until the voice had had its say. "Your file says you're too cold, unfeeling, and unlikable to be the pride of District Twelve. That honor goes to your partner. Peeta. Sadly his survival skills leave something to be desired."
Katniss hopped through the yellow portal, clutching the portal gun to her closely. Was that a person talking to her? Since when did Gamemakers talk to the tributes during a Game? She took the Cube and placed it on a gigantic red floor button, which was simply begging to be pressed with something. The door at the end of the chamber slid open.
"However, you do appear to have one talent which should serve you well in the Enrichment Center: the ability to hit moving objects with a small and sharpened projectile."
At the door, Katniss hesitated.
"You're going to show me exactly how good you are."
Swallowing fear, swallowing thoughts of like father, like daughter, to die underground, Katniss sized up the remark as a challenge. She stepped through the door.