President Wilson stood on the balcony, his hands clasped on its iron rail. He looked down on his ballroom. He could see only patches of the glowing green floor, in breaks within the massive group of people. The Avoxes could barely make their way through the crowd– a task made even more tedious because they carried large dishes of snacks and drinks over their heads.

He heard the door open behind him.

"Malachi," Wilson said in his deep, soulful voice, "what is the status in the other rooms?"

"The people are equally happy in all other rooms."

A little grin flickered on Wilson's pale lips. "From now on, I will no longer worry about competing for popularity with other political leaders. I will be the most loved man in Capitol. And I must thank you for your public relations work." There was no chance of anyone but Malachi hearing him over the chatter and the pulsing music.

"You are welcome," Malachi answered. He walked to the railing at the edge of the balcony, next to Wilson. "However, you shouldn't be enjoying your victory quite yet. Depending on how this party goes, you could be in even worse trouble than before."

"I will not fail now!" Wilson snapped. He turned to Malachi with fierce blue eyes.

"If you don't calm that temper, you will."

Wilson sighed. "Why must these people be so easy to lose?"

"You have just one speech to make," Malachi reassured Wilson, "then they watch the Hunger Games. You're almost there, but don't stop fighting until it's over."

Wilson nodded. He ran a hand through his slick gray hair. "I've only a few minutes before the Games. Are all the appropriate audio and visual arrangements in order?"

"Yes."

"Then I will begin."

Wilson released the railing and looked back down at the crowd. The music silenced, and the television screens that occupied the entirety of the four ballroom walls showed the President on the balcony. Everyone in the room turned to one of the screens or the balcony itself– everyone, that is, except the Avoxes, who continued working.

"Citizens of Panem," Wilson's voice boomed with pride, "welcome to Capitol's first ever Justice Banquet!" The crowd applauded and cheered. "We all still remember the tribulation of the Dark Days. May this party be a reminder that the strong always triumph over the weak; order reigns forever over chaos; and good always quells evil. Yes, today is about fun and joyousness, but it should also elicit a certain reverence and awe at the beauty of pure justice. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Second Annual Hunger Games!" Wilson waved his arm theatrically, and all the television screens changed to broadcast the Games.

The twenty-four tributes stood in a ring along the edge of a gray plateau. The camera absorbed breathtaking images of the misty mountain range that the plateau towered over. The screen swept across the tributes, showing each of their young, nervous faces.

The party-goers chanted "Fight! Kill! Win!" in time with the sixty second countdown. Wilson joined them, nearly bursting into laughter. The camera now showed the shimmering Cornucopia, filled with swords and spears and maces and occasionally some little bits of food.

"FIGHT! KILL! WIN!" they screamed in unison, sending vibrations through Wilson's balcony, as the countdown wound down to one.

Each of the tributes stepped forward. Wilson cocked his head a bit. "You'd expect them to run, wouldn't you?" he asked Malachi.

Malachi shrugged. "They did last time."

"Hey, Remus," one of the tributes called, "I see a container of pickles here. You want it?"

"Wow, thanks!" a boy on the other side of the plateau exclaimed. He walked past the other tributes, giving a few high-fives along the way.

"This is something strange," Malachi whispered.

Wilson's face turned bright red. "It can't get worse, can it, Malachi?"

One girl came closer to the Cornucopia than the others. She grabbed a sword, a bow, and a sheath of arrows.

Wilson sighed. "It was a fluke, that's all. Human nature would forbid them to interact peacefully."

The girl smiled winningly, her face filling the screens. She walked to the edge of the plateau and dropped the weapons into the mist.

The rest of the tributes followed her lead, until no weapons remained. They sat around the Cornucopia, feasting on the food they found. Talking cordially. Laughing.

Wilson chanced a glance down at the audience. Every single jaw was lowered. Someone threw a drink at the left screen. The glass shattered and red liquid splashed over the surface.

"GODDAMNIT!" Wilson bellowed. Everyone turned to him. Two pillars of tears glimmered on his crimson face. He turned around, toward the balcony door, with Malachi right behind.

"We can get them to fight," Malachi said hastily. "The Gamemakers have hallucinogenic gas. It will cut through their camaraderie in an instant. There will be blood."

Wilson threw the doors open and stormed into a pale hallway. "Order the Gamemakers to do what you have suggested." Each word rolled maniacally off of the last. "This never happened. Kill the families of all the tributes. Tell the Peacekeepers that any word of this in any of the districts will result in death by as cruel a means as they can imagine. Our methods won't be as harsh in the Capitol, but jail time will certainly be given to any who mention this incident."

"Sir, if you are worried about popularity–"

Wilson swung around on his heel, nearly thrusting his body into Malachi's. "I WILL NOT BE THE PRESIDENT WHO WAS SHOWN UP BY A BUNCH OF PACIFISTIC TRIBUTES!"

Malachi didn't respond. Didn't wipe the spit off his face.

Wilson's voice became darkly calm. "That footage will be destroyed. New footage, edited footage, of the beginning of the Games will be re-broadcasted. The damage already done will be blamed on a disgruntled studio employee who, through remarkable camera trickery, made it seem like the tributes got along. Understood?"

Malachi nodded.

Wilson turned around and continued down the hallway.

By the time a brave girl from District 12 volunteered to be tribute in place of her little sister, the beginning of the Second Hunger Games was completely forgotten.

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