A Game Of Justice ✭ Cato Hadley

Eight - Unlikely Acquaintances

The six-thirty dinner bell rings out through the hall and Clio joins Reef at the table nearest the television, her guards pressing her into the chair by the chains. They pull them tight, reducing the slack as they serve her a plastic tray of food; stew, bread and root vegetables as usual. The lack of protein is really starting to piss Clio off, why can't they provide her with shredded chicken or fish, surely they don't just live off stew. Though that's all she's had in the week or so she's been here. She doesn't have any idea what day it is anymore.

"Where have you been all day?" Reef asks, immediately getting to work at buttering the District Two victor's bread.

She barely has time to respond to Reef before the guards have linked her chains to the base of the table, and help in alerting everyone to the anthem as the seal of the Capitol suddenly cuts through the various parts of war footage, propaganda and relays of the bombing of District Twelve. Everyone turns to face the screen, and is almost entertained by the sight of Caesar Flickerman. "Hello. Good Evening and a big welcome to all in Panem." The eternal host of the Hunger Games says. "I'm Caesar Flickerman, and whoever you are, whatever it is you're doing – if you're working, put down your work, if you're having dinner, stop having dinner – you are going to want to witness this tonight. There has been rampant speculation about what really happened in the Quarter Quell, and here to shed a little light on the subject for us, is a very special guest. Please welcome, Mr Peeta Mellark."

The only sound in the hall not coming from the screen is the strange combination of gasp and groan that leaves Katniss' lips as she stands from her seat and immediately races towards the monitor. One look at Peeta and it's obvious that he's not a figment of their imagination; he looks healthy to the point of glowing as if he's been polished, and his mannerisms are calm and composed.

"I bet you thought you'd done your last interview with me, Caesar." Peeta says, and he sounds like Peeta too. Just how he did in the pre-quell interviews.

"I confess, I did." Caesar says. "The night before the Quarter Quell... well, who ever thought we'd see you again!"

"It wasn't part of my plan, that's for sure."

On screen, Caesar leans into Peeta a little. "I think it was clear to all of us what your plan was. To sacrifice yourself in the arena so that Katniss Everdeen and your child could survive."

Peeta's fingers can be seen tracing the upholstered pattern on the arm of the fancy chair he's been placed in. "That was it. Clear and simple. But other people had plans as well."

Reef turns to Clio, zoning out the murmurs of the citizens around them. "Plans?" She whispers her question. "Does he mean everyone trying to survive?"

"No, he means everyone's agendas going into that arena." She answers, as she thinks about the plans of the others around her. How the rebels in this underground district orchestrated the quell and arranged Katniss' rescue from the beginning. "Finnick and Johanna and Beetee were involved in the plan to blow out the arena, Plutarch made the plan to rescue Katniss; and I–"

"You? Do you mean your plan to kill yourself at the final two?"

Clio smiles at the younger girl, happy that she trusted the girl enough to divulge her own plan for the quell, especially when she's remembered and recounted harrowing details. "Peeta and I are more alike than I initially thought."

Then, attention is diverted back to Caesar as he asks Peeta about the last night in the arena. "A lot of people feel like they've been left in the dark. Can you help us sort a few things out?"

Peeta nods but he takes a while to formulate the correct answer before he speaks. "That last night... to tell you about that last night... well, first of all, you have to imagine how it felt in the arena. It was like being an insect trapped under a bowl filled with steaming air. And all around you is a jungle that is green and alive and ticking. That giant clock ticking away your life. Every hour promising some new horror. You have to imagine that in the past two days, sixteen people had died – some of them were defending you. At the rate things are going, the last eight will be dead by morning. Save one. The victor. And your plan is that it won't be you."