Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine.

Note: Next time I do this, there will be a "What do they show the Gamemakers?" question on my tribute form. That is all.

Gamemaker Sessions
He That Breaks a Thing

Helius Florum
Head Gamemaker

They were always surprised when he started clapping.

His fellow Gamemakers assumed it was just for show, but the truth was that he was genuinely impressed with each and every one of the tributes. Sometimes, he was impressed by their skill. Sometimes, he was impressed by their confidence. And sometimes he was impressed by the fact that they hadn't yet broken down crying and thrown themselves off the rooftop.

Of course, he knew better than to underestimate the last group. How tributes behaved during training wasn't a perfect indication of how they would behave in the arena when their life was on the line. He was always amazed by how quickly the tributes grew up under this pressure, how easy it was to turn children into killers. Who would have guessed, only the year before, that the friendly, smiling girl from Four would be able to take down older, stronger tributes with little more than a makeshift net and some fishhooks? The audience had certainly been surprised.

That was what made it fun.

And they all had that potential inside them, however weak and nervous they appeared at first. It was human nature. In difficult circumstances, day after day, eventually instinct took over, and the children in front of him became little more than animals. Every single tribute who walked in the room was a potential victor, and sometimes he wished he could simply give them all twelves and be done with it, because all this prediction was, ultimately, practically useless.

But he had to give the audience something. Somewhere to start with their betting. So he sat there on the edge of his seat, watching each tribute eagerly, applauding when they had finished, and then, occasionally, leaping down out of his chair and scurrying over to take a closer look at their handiwork, and maybe give a tip or two.

That surprised them. The first time he had done so, four years ago, the other Gamemakers had immediately pointed out that he wasn't supposed to, that he was supposed to simply observe and give them their scores. That was what Gamemakers were expected to do: observe, and let the Games play out.

But all of that was a lie, in the end. They never simply observed. They were always interfering, always interacting with the tributes in one way or another. Any apparent randomness was really an illusion. Everything was carefully planned, controlled, adjusted, all the while giving the appearance of chance and spontaneity. Very few things in the Games happened by accident.

That had been his predecessor's mistake. Ammond Rexon had bought into the wishful illusion that they could simply drop twenty-four kids into an arena, sit back, and watch them all kill each other with minimal interference. And it was a lovely idea – charming, almost – but the truth was that it never went as planned. Tributes hid, resting and waiting for days on end because they simply had no reason to do otherwise. Ammond had protested that coaxing them out with a feast or driving them out with mutts would make the Games less real, but the Games weren't meant to duplicate real life. They were meant to entertain an audience. And audiences got bored.

Helius was never bored.

So the other Gamemakers had stopped correcting him when he filled the dummies with fake blood or rigged the targets with a lever he could pull to make them duck and avoid the archers' shots. They no longer batted an eyelid when he scurried off to give a tribute a few tips or offer to spar with them himself. And he received only a few pairs of rolled eyes each time he applauded a tribute who had done incredibly poorly and assured them that nothing before the Games really mattered in the end.

And it didn't really matter. But it was certainly fun.

Angus was the first to arrive, and cut through the dummies just beautifully with his dagger – until one of them began to spew fake blood all over him. At that, he panicked, slicing clumsily through the remaining dummies before freezing completely, staring at his clothes and hands. The other Gamemakers began to murmur that the little boy couldn't stand the sight of blood, but Helius knew better. He'd been watching the boy during training.

So he hopped down out of his chair, grabbed a hose that they kept nearby in case a fire-starting demonstration got out of hand again, and quickly hosed the boy down. Angus stared, startled, for a moment before regaining his composure and slicing off the heads of the remaining dummies. Helius grinned, dropped the hose, and began clapping.

Angus beamed, clearly under the impression that the Gamemaker would only applaud the very best. He gave a quick bow and made as dignified an exit as you could expect form a sopping wet thirteen-year-old.

Abstract immediately reminded Helius of her brother, Mosaic. Helius hadn't been Head Gamemaker during his Games, but he had been working under Ammond and never forgot a tribute. They had the same poise, the same determination, the same confidence.

But Abstract had something that Mosaic hadn't had: training. She cut through the dummies with a cold, carefully-honed ferocity, not flinching at all when they began to gush blood. She sliced through one after another, sometimes with a knife, sometimes with a sword. Then she backed up and threw knives at some, shot arrows at others. Versatility. That was good.

When Helius began to clap, however, she simply glared. Helius giggled a little. She didn't want his approval. Or the approval of anyone else in the Capitol. She didn't care what they thought of her as long as they thought she was worth sponsoring. And they would, he was sure, after they saw her score.

Equinox seemed bored, at first. He picked a knife and made a few half-hearted stabs at one of the dummies, then swung an axe at another. Shaking his head, Helius scurried over to interrupt the boy. "I've been watching you training with weapons. That's not your style, is it? Hit me."

Equinox cocked an eyebrow. Helius looked up at the tribute who was at least a head taller than him and gave a hearty laugh. "Don't be shy, Equinox. Just try not to kill me." And, with that, Helius threw the first punch.

Equnox stood gaping for a moment before fighting back.

By the time it was over, both Equinox and Helius were on the floor, Equinox snarling, Helius laughing. "Enough, enough!" Helius laughed, staggering to his feet and giving Equinox a hand up. He clapped heartily as he returned to his seat, then turned to one of his fellow Gamemakers as Equinox left. "Can we wait a few minutes before calling the next one in?" he asked, taking a moment to catch his breath and send one of the others to fetch an ice pack.

Kiona was clearly not happy that she had been kept waiting for an extra ten minutes. Fortunately, she channeled her frustration into attacking the dummies, only pausing for a moment to collect herself when they started to spew blood. But what impressed Helius the most was the way she moved – quickly, watching her back, as if she expected the dummies to come to life at any moment and fight back. Either she had a very active imagination, or she had some experience.

He had suspected the latter since hearing that she had been able to knock out a Peacekeeper at the reaping. He had guessed that maybe she had grown up on the streets, been in a fight or two. But that didn't go halfway towards explaining how familiar she seemed with weapons, how comfortable a knife seemed to feel in her hand. Helius grinned. No, he had more than a tough street kid on his hands. This was a game-changer.

When he started clapping, Kiona stared, baffled, before leaving. Helius smiled. He doubted anyone had ever applauded her violence before. She hadn't trained specifically for this. But it wouldn't matter in the arena. People would clap. They would cheer. And then they would be shocked.

Tracer didn't pick up a single weapon. Or, at least, nothing that would traditionally be considered a weapon. He headed straight for the survival stations and started tinkering with the supplies. After several minutes, he had three traps waiting to be sprung – one that dropped a net, one that released an arrow, and one that would catch a tribute's foot and drag them up into a tree.

Tracer seemed ready to leave it at that, but Helius hurried over, picked up a dummy, and sprung the first trap, leaving the dummy tangled in a net. A second dummy ended up with an arrow through the heart. Helius thought about using another dummy on the third trap, but curiosity got the better of him, and he stepped into the trap himself. Sure enough, he was soon hanging upside-down by his ankle.

Tracer began to apologize profusely, but Helius was laughing and clapping. "Nothing to apologize for, Tracer – I knew it was a trap. Here – just cut me down. Knives are over there. There, just cut right—" He dropped to the floor. "Right there. Excellent."

Lina breezed her way through every survival station in the room. She started a fire. She built a shelter. She sorted some plants. And she finished by setting a trap that would have made her district partner proud.

Helius could tell from their expressions that his fellow Gamemakers were unimpressed, but they were forgetting something: the girl was from District Three. He had been watching her during training. She had visited practically every station, picking up a little bit here and a little bit there. She wasn't an expert at any of the things she had demonstrated. But she had a basic understanding of all of them. Her shelter wouldn't last in a snowstorm, but it would hold up to some decent winds. Her snare probably wouldn't fool any tributes, but she might catch a small animal or two.

Lina was surprised when he started clapping, but she managed to smile shyly and said, "Thank you," before turning to go. Helius grinned. In four years of clapping for tributes, not one of them had said thank you before. He would remember that.

Mars never batted an eyelid. Not when Helius grinned at him. Not when the dummies started spewing blood. Not when Helius began applauding when he was done shredding them.

Helius smiled, remembering his sister's session. Heaven had been fourteen, small, unsure – the complete opposite of her brother now. She had tried to build a few traps – the girl from Five, who later went on to become the victor, had been showing her how – but had barely made it through the first one before she had broken down crying, and Helius had helped her finish that one.

He wouldn't tell Mars that, though. Wouldn't tell him that his sister had been one of the worst-prepared tributes he had ever seen, that it was probably a mercy that she had died quickly on that first day. Instead, he beamed at Mars and said cheerily, "Fantastic! Your sister would be proud!"

It was a lie, of course. The little girl from four years ago wouldn't be proud. She would be absolutely mortified that her brother would risk getting himself killed just for the sake of revenge against tributes who'd had no hand in her death. Mars glared, as if he knew how hollow Helius' words were. Then he left without a word.

Ella looked like she was going to have a heart attack when the dummy started spewing blood. At first, Helius thought maybe she was upset that her clothes were getting all red. But then she closed her eyes and started breathing deeply. After a moment, she composed herself and went back to her knives, but her heart clearly wasn't in it. So, after a few minutes, she turned her attention to the edible plants station. Helius smiled. That was a good decision. A safe decision.

And sometimes it was good to play it safe.

After a while, he began clapping, and she looked up, surprised. Helius went over to inspect her plant sorting, popped a few berries in his mouth, and headed back to his seat. "Nice job, Ella," he called as she turned to go. "And, Ella?"

She turned back, surprised that he would address her by name. "Yes?"

"Losing control isn't always a bad thing. Sometimes instinct can keep you alive as well as rational thought – maybe even better."

She nodded, but he knew she didn't really understand. Not yet.

Harakuise had the most methodical way of cutting dummies to pieces that Helius had ever seen. The boy sat cross-legged on the floor, a dummy in front of him. Harakuise ran his knife up and down the dummy's limbs, deliberately choosing places that would cause more blood to run out. Then he slit the throat and moved on to the next one.

Curious, Helius whispered a command to one of the other Gamemakers, who hurried off to fetch what he wanted. A few minutes later, he came back and quietly set a rabbit loose in the room. When Harakuise looked up from his dummy and saw it, an odd smile crossed his face. It took him a while to catch the rabbit, but, once he did, the blood covering his arms was no longer fake.

Helius had never known bunnies made that sound.

Brie was improving. She had come into training skilled but rusty, but now, three days later, her confidence was returning. She moved quickly, decisively, even after Helius started shifting the dummies around, pulling levers to make them duck out of the way. The girl had good instincts. And, better than that, she had passion. When an occasional knife clattered to the floor instead of finding its target, she didn't bat an eyelid. She simply aimed at the next dummy, this time striking home.

Not for the first time, Helius wondered if maybe tributes like Abstract and Mars were on to something. Tributes like Jade, who had trained for years. Tributes like Angus, who had been planning to. Brie had a lot of natural talent. As it was, she had a chance. But, with a little extra training, a little more preparation, she could be even better. They all could.

Of course, they couldn't have all trained killers in the Games. That wasn't the point. The point was to take children – innocents – and turn them into killers. And as Helius watched the girl in front of him, unflinching as her knives drew blood, he saw the first glimpses of that. She wanted to go home. She needed to go home. And she was willing to kill to get there.

Helius began applauding heartily. He could smell the blood already.

Pike seemed so small and nervous when he walked in, but, after a moment, he took off running, circling around the dummies, ducking and dodging imaginary obstacles. Helius laughed and clapped as Pike ducked and rolled around the room, then got to his feet and started running again, bounding over weapons and weighed balls.

After a few minutes, Helius jumped down out of his chair and began chasing the little boy. Pike glanced back at him, surprised, but didn't stop running. Helius chased him around dummies and over obstacles, sometimes falling back, sometimes almost on his tail. Pike ducked and dodged, doubled back and zigzagged until Helius was bent over laughing and clapping.

Finally, Helius caught his breath and grinned at the boy. "Nice job, but, remember, in the arena, you're being chased by older, stronger teenagers – not fat little Gamemakers. Got it?"

Pike nodded. "Thanks. I'll try to remember that."

Helius smiled. He was sure he would.

Prius was the only tribute to come in smiling. She gave Helius and the other Gamemakers a playful wave, then chose a curved sword and turned her attention to the dummies. Smiling, almost laughing, she cut through one after another. When they started spewing blood on her, however, she stopped and stared for a moment. Apparently, she hadn't expected the dummies to be this life-like.

Which, of course, was the point.

Prius recovered as quickly as she could, and soon returned to smiling and slicing up the dummies. But Helius couldn't help but notice that she was starting to aim for places that would splatter less blood, and, despite the fact that she was nearly giggling, she was still trying to avoid being hit by too much blood.

When she was finished, Helius applauded. Prius, grinning, took a bow and waited until Helius dismissed her.

Sterling winced when the first of the blood hit him, and, for a moment, he stood there, axe in hand, as if waiting for the dummy to come to life and fight back. Of course, nothing of the sort happened, and he swung the axe again. And again. But, each time, he was growing more and more uncomfortable.

So he stopped hitting the dummies. Instead, he started swinging at a table that held some of the weapons. His first swing split it right down the middle, causing the weapons to clatter to the floor. A few of the other Gamemakers jumped, but Helius only smiled as Sterling swung again and again, chopping the table to pieces.

After a few minutes of that, Sterling took a few smaller hatchets and, one by one, threw them at what was left of the table. Helius smiled; he'd been wondering if Sterling would give that a try. He'd been practicing a bit, and was getting better, but still had trouble getting the blades to lodge in their target.

Then again, if you were throwing an axe at someone's head, it didn't particularly matter whether the blade lodged in the skull or simply gave them a nasty cut and knocked them to the ground. Either way, it was over.

Helius smiled and clapped, wondering if Sterling would get the chance – or have what it took – to throw one at a person.

Cahra wasted no time starting a fire. Not that that was much of a surprise; tributes from Seven almost always knew how to start a fire, just like tributes from Four knew how to swim. There were certain skills that were pretty much expected from each district. No one was surprised when a tribute from Nine could use a sickle, or a tribute from Twelve could use a pickax.

It was a surprise, however, when she set fire to the dummies.

After setting three of them ablaze, Cahra took a few steps back and began throwing knives at them. Helius sat on the edge of his seat, watching as one knife after another either met its target or clattered to the floor. Maybe it wasn't the most impressive demonstration ever, but it was definitely creative.

The fires eventually burned themselves out, and Cahra turned to the Gamemakers. Helius smiled and applauded, much to Cahra's annoyance. She glared, then turned and left the room. Helius giggled and called for a new batch of dummies.

Zione was the first tribute from Eight whom Helius had seen pick up a crossbow. And not only did he pick it up, but he seemed to be even better with it now than he had appeared to be during training. He stood as far away from the dummies as the room would allow him, and still hit one after another.

Helius smiled and started pulling a lever that moved the dummies to one side or another. Zione missed one, but soon adjusted and hit three of them right on target. Curious, Helius tossed an apple in the air. It dropped to the ground before Zione realized what Helius wanted him to do, but he skewered the next one in mid-air. And the next. And the next.

Helius giggled a little, but Zione simply put the crossbow back in place, threw a few knives, and then stood off to one side, indicating that he was finished. Helius applauded heartily and tossed him an apple. Zione caught it, studied it for a moment, then took it with him as he left.

Nicoline headed straight for the plants station and settled in quickly. Patently, methodically, she sorted plant after plant, but, then, to Helius' surprise, took an armful of them and headed to the fire-starting station. Soon, she had a fire started. Then she took an arrow, skewered a few of the plants, and began roasting.

Helius burst out laughing, jumped down, and scurried over to join her. He grabbed an arrow of his own, picked some of the plants, and held them over the fire. He took a few bites, then held the arrow out to examine it. "So how many tributes do you plan on killing with your cooking?"

Nicoline actually smiled a little. "To be honest, I don't know the first thing about fighting."

Helius shook his head. "Sure you do. Everyone does." When he received only a confused look, he slid the plants off his arrow and gave Nicoline a gentle poke. "Stick 'em with the pointy end."

Nicoline hesitated for a moment, but then poked him back. "I'll try to remember that."

Husk didn't waste any time. As soon as he entered the room, he picked a sickle, headed over to the dummies, and began chopping off heads. But only chopping off heads. Quickly. Easily. With all the efficiency of a worker in the fields, completely undeterred by the blood. Soon, all the dummies were decapitated.

All except one.

Husk dropped the sickle – not even bothering to put it back in its place – and headed over to the knives. He picked the smallest one possible – not at all threatening, more like a table knife than a killing blade – and drove it through the dummy's neck.

Helius giggled and began applauding. That had been meant as a reminder. But it was a reminder he didn't need. He was fully aware that Husk was willing to kill anyone and everyone.

He was counting on it.

Antiquity didn't seem to be paying much attention. Sure, she never fell off the climbing net, but there was no energy, no interest at all, in her demonstration, as if she didn't care what sort of score they gave her, and was only doing something at all because her mentor had told her to.

Which was probably exactly the case, Helius acknowledged. Part of him wanted to tell her that she had the right idea – that it didn't really matter what score she got. That, once the Games started, no one remembered who got a two and who got a ten. But part of him knew that, if she kept this attitude up during the Games, all they would remember was that she went down without a fight.

But he decided not to say either. The former wouldn't matter after today, and the latter she had surely heard from her mentor. So he said nothing; he simply clapped as she climbed down from the course, expressionless, not even startled by his applause, but not really sure what she had done to deserve it.

And, for the first time in five years, Helius wasn't sure, either.

Wulfric deliberately avoided slicing up the dummies, which surprised Helius, given what he had seen him do on the second day of training. But maybe that was the idea. Helius already knew he could do that. So he decided to show him something else.

Helius hadn't expected that particular something to be knot-tying.

But he was pleasantly surprised. After a few minutes, Wulfric had made several respectable lassos, and proceeded to rope one dummy after another. Dummy after dummy found itself entangled, even after Helius started moving them. Finally, Wulfric then tore the limbs off with his bare hands, splattering blood all over, and threw the pieces into a pile.

Helius clapped and dismissed the boy, then jumped down to inspect the pile of bloody limbs for himself, wondering in the back of his mind what Sher would do with them if he were to leave them lying around.

Libby headed for the knot-tying station, and, at first, Helius was worried by her tears – worried that she might decide to make a noose and hang herself. Once they were in the Games, of course, suicide was fair game. It was discouraged, but not unheard of – there was usually no way to stop a tribute in time, and no real reason to try. Dying was what they were supposed to do, after all. It did tend to put a damper on the mood, but there was always something to be said for a tribute who knew they were outmatched and opted for a less brutal, gory end.

In any case, it was clear after a minute or two that Libby wasn't making a noose. And it was clear after a few more minutes that even she wasn't sure what she was making. Her fingers fumbled through knot after knot until she threw the rope to the ground, frustrated. Helius hurried over. "Oh, come on, now, don't give up," he insisted as encouragingly as he could. "Here. That's a good knot. Do that one again."

She did. And again. And again, until she had made a two-foot long cord with a couple dozen knots in it. She held it out to him, holding back tears. Without hesitating, Helius tied the two ends together and draped the rope around his neck – like a necklace. Libby smiled a little, and he began clapping. "That's the spirit, Libby. Chin up."

He wore the necklace for the rest of the day.

Sher headed straight for the camouflage station and proceeded to draw on the floor, uninterrupted, for ten minutes. Finally, curiosity got the better of Helius, and he headed over to see what the boy was doing. Sher immediately blocked his path. "Not done yet."

A few of the other Gamemakers stood up, ready to object, but Helius stepped back and turned the other way. "Let me know when you're finished." A few minutes passed, and Helius heard the door close behind him. Giggling, he turned to his fellow Gamemakers. "He left, didn't he." One of them nodded, dumbfounded that a tribute would leave without being dismissed.

Helius shrugged it off, then turned his attention to Sher's drawing. It was a map. On one side was a forest. There was a bit of desert. A river. Some mountains. The ocean. A bit of grassy plains. A marsh. The drawing was crude, and practically everything was in the wrong place, but it was clear what it was meant to be: the arena. His arena. Not perfect, but close enough for Helius to be impressed.

At the bottom, a message was scrawled in red paint. "I'd like a 5, please. – SH"

Helius laughed heartily and clapped his hands. "Well, I guess now we know what score not to give him."

Lordez was growing impatient by the time they called for her, even more so because she'd had to wait for them to clean up Sher's painting. Or maybe it was just because she'd had to wait for so many districts before her. Not for the first time, Helius wondered if maybe he should switch up the order of the districts for the training sessions. Maybe next year.

After Sher's demonstration, Lordez's was a bit refreshing in its normalcy; she picked a sickle and spent a good ten minutes slashing through one dummy after another, dodging and adjusting when Helius started moving them out of the way. After a while, she started varying her routine: slashing the dummies stomachs, cutting their heads off, slicing through their legs.

Helius began clapping, and Lordez turned, startled, for a moment. Then she placed the sickle back in its place, smiled, and curtsied. Helius' smile grew wider. She was enjoying this. Good.

Yes, very good.

Aldo kept it short and sweet, as if he could tell that the other Gamemakers were growing restless. Not Helius, of course. Aldo still had his full attention. The boy swung a pickax quite expertly. Which wasn't a surprise to anyone, but was still refreshing to see. Last year's tributes from Twelve hadn't had anywhere near his skill or experience. So it was nice to see someone with some raw, natural talent.

And, to Helius' surprise, the boy was completely unfazed when the dummies started squirting blood. Some of the tributes before him had avoided it. Some had enjoyed it. Aldo simply seemed not to see it. As if nothing mattered besides taking down as many dummies as possible, as quickly as possible. Beyond that, he didn't particularly care what happened.

Helius smiled and clapped as Aldo tore through the last of the dummies, then dismissed him with a nod and a grin. There were certainly tributes who were stronger, but focus and determination were never to be ignored, even if that's exactly what most of his assistants were doing.

They were in for a surprise.

Heloise was clearly unhappy with going last, but she wasted no time picking up a sword that was a bit too big for her and hacking away at a few dummies about as well as could be expected from a twelve-year-old. She glanced over at him a few times, and he smiled encouragingly, but that only seemed to make her angrier.

Helius laughed a little, jumped down from his chair, and picked up a sword himself. As Heloise was swinging again at the dummy, he blocked her blow with his own sword. Startled, Heloise waited a moment before attacking again, this time directing her blows at him. By now, she was tired, her attacks clumsy, but he stepped back, and back again, as if intimidated. She grinned, believing herself to be winning, until he sidestepped a blow and circled around behind her, tripping her with one kick.

She glared up at him but swung again, this time catching him off guard and nicking his arm. Helius leapt back, surprised, but smiling, and began to clap. "You've got spunk, kid. Just be careful who you attack. Not everyone will hesitate to strike a twelve-year-old."

Heloise opened her mouth to object, but thought better of it. Helius nodded. "There. Just like that. Make sure you think things through in the arena, okay, Heloise?"

Heloise nodded, as if she understood. But Helius already knew that she didn't.

Later that evening, Helius was sitting down to a well-earned meal of stewed rabbit with his fellow Gamemakers when his assistant, Gollerna, handed him a report. "It's the bloodwork you asked for, Sir."

"It's Helius," he told her for what he was sure was the hundredth time before glancing at the report. It was standard procedure; they tested the tributes' blood for anything genetic that could be useful during the Games. The tests occasionally turned up hereditary defects or revealed a genetic connection to a known rebel, but, more often than not, they were completely useless. "Anything interesting?" he asked, well aware that Gollerna had probably read through it five times already.

"Actually, yes. Take a look at this." She pressed a few buttons on the screen, pulling up two of the tributes.

Helius stared at the screen for a moment. "But that's impossible. That would mean – oh. Oh! That's just marvelous. Beautiful. Perfect! Oh, this is going to be so much fun!"

Even Gollerna had to smile a little at his enthusiasm. "There's more."

"More?" Helius watched as she pulled up another tributes's information. He laughed out loud when he saw the name on the screen. "Fantastic! Does he know?"

Gollerna shook her head. "I doubt it. What do you want me to do with this?"

Helius thought for a moment. "Let's keep the first one a secret for now. We don't want them to know that we know; it'll be much more fun to watch them try to keep it hidden. But this—" He pointed at the screen. "Give this to Cornelius. Tell him it's a birthday present."

"His birthday's not for six months."

Helius giggled. Of course she would know when the host's birthday was. "Then tell him it's a half-birthday present."

Gollerna hurried off, and Helius sat there for several minutes, leaning back in his chair and laughing. Oh, they were in for a treat.

But, first, he and the other Gamemakers had a few numbers to discuss.

"He that breaks a thing to find out what it is has left the path of wisdom."