Chapter 54
NARRATOR | Caius Thorntree, Head Gamemaker
TIME | Day 17
TRIBUTES REMAINING | 5
My footsteps echo around me as I climb the steps to Tantalus Snow's mansion. At such a crucial time in the Games, I can't afford to take any time away from my Gamemakers, but I don't have much of a choice tonight.
Snow's guards await me at the front door, and they lead me down the winding, velvet-lined hallways of the estate. Even after dozens of visits to this place, its beauty still leaves me breathless.
"Ah, Mister Thorntree," Snow says, glancing up at me when I finally arrive at his office. "Thank you for accepting my invitation at short notice."
"Of course, sir." This is all formality, of course - Snow's invitations aren't the type you can decline. I only heard about his request an hour ago, and the rest of my responsibilities have been forced to the side. Noctiluna was less than pleased when I had to delay our nightly meeting, and I'm sure she's impatiently waiting back at my office.
"As I'm sure you know, we're approaching the most crucial portion of these Games," Snow says, leaning back in his chair as I sit across from him. "Nobody remembers the tributes who die on the fifth day. It's the ending that matters; that's what will be written in the history books. Your legacy lies in the next few days."
"I'm prepared for anything, sir," I assure the man. He's only barely older than I am, but Snow has been the most important man in Panem for a while now, and he knows a lot more about this than I do.
"I will say that I'm impressed with what I've seen," Snow says, and part of me relaxes. "There have been some... bumps, let's call them. But you are new to the position, so I can excuse imperfections. These tributes have made the Games theatrical in a fashion we've never seen. My wife has been glued to the screen all week."
In the presence of such a powerful man, I hardly know what to say. "Yes, sir."
"You've done a good job of guiding the Games with a gentle hand," Snow comments. "It's a difficult task, I'm sure. Some Gamemakers fail to act at crucial moments, and others try to control every single moment. Both types face the consequences, ultimately..."
I try to keep my face neutral, but my skin crawls at the thought. Liora Glint, the Head Gamemaker before my father, was beloved across the Capitol, but Snow had her killed after she botched the ending of the Games a few years back. I have to be careful to ensure I don't have the same fate.
"It seems like these Games have flown by," Snow sighs, his eyes turned to the ceiling. "And now we reach the climax. This is what really counts. The twenty-three tributes who are sacrificed are quickly forgotten. The one who survives will be returning to our Capitol year after year, and they must be exactly the person we need them to be."
Snow reaches for the folder sitting on the desk in front of him. It's unlabeled, and I'd hardly noticed it until now. He pushes it towards me, lifting it to reveal more folders, five in all.
"I'm not one to pick favorites, Mr. Thorntree," Snow says. "I don't stoop so low as to care about the fates of District children. We can spin any Victor into somebody that pleases the Capitol, and the Victor will happily return home to wherever they came from."
"But I'm also not one to take chances," Snow says, staring me in the eyes. "The fate of our republic could be on the line."
"And you think that crowning the wrong tribute could instigate another rebellion?" I ask, trying to hide my skepticism. I haven't heard any reports of uprisings in the Districts for years now, so unrest is the last thing I'm worried about.
"You are new to this job, Caius," Snow sighs, "so I will spell it out for you just this once."
At the far edge of Snow's desk sits a crystal vase of beautiful white roses. They're so bright that they seem to shimmer even in the dim lighting of the room. Snow reaches over, plucking one and bringing it closer to me.
"These have been in my family for generations," he says, admiring the flower closely. "My sister wanted to modernize and try a new symbol when I was elected into office, something to show that our family had grown into something even more. The Snow family had changed quite drastically since the rebellion, so why not restart with a new image?"
"They're beautiful, sir," I comment, still unsure of the purpose of Snow's tangent.
"I insisted that we keep them," he shrugs. "I'm a sucker for tradition. These Games are just like a rose, you see, and I treat them in the same fashion. You've seen the vitality that they bring to this city every year; if guided by the right hands, they can bloom into something spectacular."
"But roses don't always look like the one I'm holding," Snow says, slipping his flower back into its place in the vase. "These ones are bred over generations to be perfect. No, when you start out with a simple rose, I'm sure you know, it will have thorns."
"The thorns of the Hunger Games have the potential to be extremely dangerous," Snow says, his voice dropping low. "They could prick the finger of the Capitol, a minor pain, and be thrown back to their District without a second thought. Or, they can dig deeper. They can tear into the fabric of our very society, the Panem we hold dear. It could all come apart at the seams. And trust me when I say, Mr. Thorntree, that the fabric of our society is more fragile than you think."
"And so it's my job to prune the thorns," I nod, catching onto the president's idea. "To make it perfect like yours."
"Precisely," Snow nods, a small smile gracing his lips. "Now, my advisors have been buzzing about one girl in particular. Verity, I believe."
Snow opens one of the five folders, revealing a picture of Verity. It's clipped to a familiar stack of sheets, the same one I have on my own desk. Every single piece of information we could possibly find on the girl - her family, grades in school, employment history, friends, enemies, everything - is in this folder.
"I've seen her test results," Snow says, referring to the cognitive tests we perform on the tributes following their Reapings. "Her intelligence is on a level we haven't seen in many years. And we've seen her deceive people in front of our very eyes, so who is to say she can't do the same to us? I can think of one reason why she'd want our society to fall."
"Keeping someone like her under control would be... difficult," I agree. Verity has a smirk on her face in her picture, as if challenging me. Let me win the Games, and see what happens.
"It would be impossible," Snow argues. "And we would pay the price for it, I can assure you."
Snow closes Verity's folder, reaching to grab a different one.
"Now, my advisors have had mixed opinions on how to handle the boy," Snow says, disdain evident in his voice as he reveals Wyatt's picture. "Some of them argue it would be good for him to win; from what we can find, he's very unpopular amongst the locals. It would be cruel in the most delicious way to finally deliver them what they've been waiting so long for - a Victor - in this way."
"That's true," I nod, thinking through scenarios where Wyatt could prevail. District Twelve was nearly responsible for the end of Panem as we know it during the Second Rebellion, and they've been paying the price for it ever since. "This could be the perfect way to remind them of their place."
"I can think of a better way," Snow says, his eyes dark. "To eliminate him. I want to give them hope; I want them to watch him make it to the very end of these Games, and I want them to watch him die. An unpopular Victor is still a Victor. I want them to get nothing."
"Of course, sir," I nod. The intensity in the man's gaze, the power in his voice, makes me shrink back into my chair. I'd forgotten how close Snow's grandfather came to dying in the Second Rebellion; this is clearly very personal.
"That's all I ask," Snow shrugs, closing Wyatt's folder. "To allow these Games to blossom, we must trim a few thorns along the way. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," I say, taking Snow's cue to rise from my seat. "Thank you for taking the time to speak with me."
"The pleasure is mine," Snow smiles. "And before you go, take this with you. As a reminder."
Snow plucks the same rose from the vase, holding it out to me. I grab it by the stem, noticing its perfectly smooth texture.
"Mr. Thorntree?" Snow calls as I approach the door. I turn to face the man as he reclines in his seat.
"Put on a show."
Snow's words echo in my mind as my taxi rushes back to the Gamemakers' control room. There are so many factors for me to consider, so many elements to balance, and time is ticking down fast.
As predicted, Noctiluna is waiting for me in my office when I return; truthfully, I want to send her away so I can think, but it might be valuable to hear what she has to say.
"What did Tantie have to say for himself?" she asks, staring out my window at the busy streets below us.
"Verity and Wyatt are out," I sigh. "Too dangerous."
"I saw that coming," she says, picking at her nails. "It's so predictable nowadays... they never let the fun tributes win."
"It's for everybody's sake, Til," I remind her. "These Games-"
"Spare me the rant," my coworker cuts me off, waving her hand in the air. "I've worked here long enough to know how important the Games are, Caius. So, if you don't want your head chopped off, you have three options. Ansel, Violet, or Corbin."
"All three are good options," I shrug. "You're sure those muttations will be ready in time?"
"Of course," Noctiluna says, rolling her eyes. "But don't be so bland, Caius. Tell me this: if you could have the Games end any way you want, how would it go?"
"Well, Verity and Wyatt are out of the picture, obviously," I start, "but the main story is between Violet and Ansel. They're from the same District, and they've feuded since before the Games began. To pit them against each other in one final fight would be perfect."
"Well, news flash," Noctiluna says, "You're the Head Gamemaker. You make the decisions, Caius. Snap your fingers and Corbin is gone. We take out Wyatt and Verity, and the final showdown begins. Easy, right?"
"I can't eliminate a tribute out of thin air so close to the end," I remind her. "No matter how much you want your creepy lab experiments to be on TV."
Noctiluna's nostrils flare at my comment. "You've got to learn how to be more creative, Caius, or you won't go anywhere in this place," she huffs. "Think outside of the box for once."
"Not all muttations are deadly... and they aren't the only things we can control in that Arena."
A/N - Looks like Corbin might be in trouble... Verity and Wyatt, too! But as we know, anything is possible in the Hunger Games :) I wonder what Noctiluna has up her sleeve?
~S