It was five months to the day since Paylor had assumed presidency over Panem. At first there had been a sense of relief that the fighting was over. The majority of Capitol citizens just wanted to be told they could go home and be looked after, they could go back to pressing a button to shower and feed themselves while they stared at a technicolour screen for entertainment. Those from the Districts felt a renewed sense of hope that they would have some control over their lives from now on.
The trouble was, all of this took time. Bombings had taken place in at least half the districts so a great many people had no homes to go to. Temporary accommodation had to be arranged. Food had to be transported to certain districts as a matter of urgency to avoid vast swathes of the country dying of starvation. Even with these measures, hundreds had died in district Six of a mixture of starvation and sickness, with Eight only avoiding a similar catastrophe due to being closer to the food production districts.
Once the initial disasters were averted, the unrest began. As the districts started to rebuild, the work was long and arduous and living conditions for many were no better than under Snow's presidency. The immediate and noticeable difference was the lack of punishment for all but the most serious crimes. Electric fences surrounding the districts were switched off; those who were capable of hunting and gathering could do so without fear of reprisals now. Indeed, these people were better off; trading what they could catch or find provided a new career away from the hard work of their districts. The sizeable borders of wilderness in between the districts even proved attractive to a few hardy souls; notably those from districts 7 and 10. There were clearings of land and homesteads being built where nobody would have dared consider living just a year earlier.
Now that movement between districts was no longer outlawed, there was a small but noticeable migration of workers from districts 9 through 11 to the edges of the urban districts, where they set up farms on the outskirts of the towns, just out of the factory shadows. Conversely some former inhabitants of the urban districts - those from 3 who had failed the exacting school exams and struggled to find even the most menial work, or workers from 8 who preferred to try an outdoor life away from the factories - had migrated to the far North of 7 or the fruitful climes of 11. While each district maintained a distinct identity, there was a definite blurring of previously well-defined lines.
But there was anger, too. Those who had lost everything couldn't be convinced that the Capitolians weren't still living in luxury, and they were angry. Paylor could have reinstated mandatory TV viewing, shown film of the vast swathes of the Capitol that had been bombed to the ground or destroyed by the traps, but after the Propos both sides had utilised during the war, citizens were wiser...or believed they were. Whatever they were shown, there were still some who would believe they were being lied to, and the unrest would continue. Oh, it wasn't enough that there was the threat of another uprising, more rumbles of dissatisfaction stemming from the suspicion that they were the only ones suffering. There were still people in the districts who wanted to watch the Capitol suffer.
With a heavy heart, Paylor had spent days considering the choice that the seven remaining Hunger Games victors had made. To have another Games, with children of the Capitol. The more she thought about it, the more she thought it could work this time, one final games that would unite rather than split the districts. By the time she took the plan before her council, it was already well considered, and she had answers to most of their objections. She hoped.
Paylor had never intended to take a position of power. She had fallen into the highest position in Panem almost by accident. She'd been an ordinary if charismatic student during her schooldays, unanimously voted class president at the age of twelve and retaining the position until she left school four years later. Aged sixteen, she was already a production supervisor in the factory nearest her home, overseeing twelve other people and gaining a reputation for being fair if strict. It was a matter of pride to her that the sock production line never once fell behind its quota. By the time she aged out of reapings she was sharing a two-room apartment with her girlfriend Scarlet and had been promoted again. Now with eighty people underneath her, Paylor had no thoughts of rebellion and indeed her workers often joked that she would be District Eight's mayor by her twenty first birthday.
Paylor had little interest in politics and instead continued in a job she genuinely enjoyed, once again moving up the ranks until she was in charge of the entire factory. Life was tiring but good, and she and her girlfriend were thinking of starting a family when Scarlet was seriously injured when she was knocked down by a transport truck that was taking the latest shipment of fabric to the Capitol. Despite her position, Paylor was unable to afford the medical treatment that could have saved her, and three days later Scarlet died. The tragedy marked the beginning of Paylor's turn from ordinary citizen into rebel.
Three weeks after burying the love of her life she was shocked when District 8's most recent victor paid her a visit, supposedly to offer her condolences. But Cecelia was offering something more, and the woman who might have descended into grief instead channelled her emotions into something far more dangerous. With the aid of fragile discs of bread, messages of rebellion were spread across the district. Their first attempt to overthrow the peacekeepers failed and resulted in Paylor's factory being destroyed, but nobody suspected she could have been involved. By the time it occurred to anyone that the charismatic woman might actually be a rebel, she had slipped down into the sewers where she met up with her most trusted allies. From there, they co-ordinated Eight's uprising and by the time of the quarter quell she was unofficial leader of the district.
From unofficial leader of her rebellious district to official leader of Panem...it had been a long, painful journey.
She looked around the room. All the higher councillors were here, eighteen in total. The ministers for transport, food and housing, her deputy, herself, and all thirteen representatives for the districts. These had been voted for by their own districts. A few were the former mayors. District Three had voted for a popular peacekeeper who, though now retired, had always tried to protect 'his' people. Nine was represented by the daughter of a victor. Six, by the doctor who had struggled to keep the extent of his district's morphling addiction under control. In short, all were represented by someone who lived in the district, with one exception. Dr Aurelius was assisting Twelve's representative, a young girl named Delly Cartwright. Her name had been put forward by no less than sixteen separate individuals but she had only agreed to the job in the condition that someone from the Capitol help her. There was no way she could do such an important job by herself, she had insisted, and she was delighted to be introduced to the doctor who had helped her 'amazing friend' Katniss Everdeen. Now, as her eyes met Paylor's, she beamed joyfully at the president as if this meeting was the best thing that had ever happened to her. Paylor couldn't help but smile back, and she relaxed just a little.
"You've read the reports, I believe" she began, gesturing to the sheaf of documents that lay on the table on front of her "Unrest in the districts is growing. Many citizens are convinced that they are getting a worse deal than those in the Capitol, that things are reverting to how they have always been. We need to deal with the unrest with the minimum of disruption to the districts. All of you are aware of the decision which was voted on by the seven remaining victors at the end of the uprising..."
Immediately there was uproar. Raised voices, almost everyone speaking at once. Paylor let them react for a minute, then raised her hand for order. Reluctantly, the voices hushed.
"I don't like the idea, but it seems the only logical choice. Given that less than half a year ago the districts were clamouring for the deaths of everyone in the Capitol, and given that the surviving victors - well, most of them - voted for a final games... this way, we allow the Capitol to feel the fear and anxiety that comes prior to a reaping."
"Madam President, six months ago I would have been happy to kill Capitolians myself. But now – how do we select which children go in? Those who were in the previous government are either in prison or working to restore the districts they tried to destroy. Surely you're not suggesting their children should be punished as well?"
Paylor smiled at the polite, mild-mannered woman in her mid fifties who was the widow of District Seven's mayor . "Not at all. What I'm suggesting is that ALL Capitol children are put into the reaping. Just as no district child was exempt, neither should any Capitolian be. If their parents were directly connected with the games then they can have more reaping slips – rather like our own children taking out tesserae." Now the room was quieter. Not yet on her side, but curious. Listening, prepared to give the concept fair consideration. Here and there, nods of acceptance began.
"So how does this work? We pick out all the kids from ages 12 to 18 and – what? Put them into a giant reaping bowl and just pick out the ones to take part? How do we even get them together?"
"We don't" Paylor said shortly, acknowledging Fynn Flanagan, great niece of the legendary woman from district four who had perished in the third Quarter Quell "We divide them into districts, so instead of having twenty six children pitted against each other in a giant mess, they each represent one of Panem's districts. Many of the Capitol citizens have district connections, no matter how tenuous, so we divide them up that way"
"Twenty SIX? Two for the Capitol?"
"Two for District thirteen. They took part in the war, and it would be unfair to exempt any district from having someone to root for. I also wouldn't want them to feel superior during the...training". If any of the representatives noticed Paylor's slight hesitation they didn't comment on it. Eller Bright of District Five, a man in his sixties, spoke up.
"So assuming we decide to go for this. Are there enough Capitol children to make it a good...show?" he grimaced with distaste and Paylor recalled that, long ago, he had watched his son die in the games. The boy had been friendly, personable...and had turned fifteen the night of the interviews.
"Children enough. Especially as we will be including all Capitol children over the age of six" again there were gasps "Think about it. For seventy five years they watched district teenagers fight to the death. For the thirty-fifth games nobody reaped was over the age of fourteen, and I have no doubt they had just as many viewing parties that year as any other. Many in the Capitol will be virtually immune to a sad-faced twelve year old, even one of their own. But bring in the possibility of some really young ones..."
"Excuse me, Madam President" Delly Cartwright had raised her hand "I don't think I like this idea. Too many people have died already, and..."
"You're going to have another rebellion on your hands" finished Fynn with what might have been a smirk.
"No, we aren't. For one very good reason." Paylor smiled and told them the rest of the plan.
A/N This will be a full-length story that *could* have happened after the end of Mockingjay. We'll be following one OC tribute and her alliance for the most part, but look out for plenty of canon cameo appearances. Hope to see you in the next chapter where you'll meet some of our tributes!