Smile for the camera.

That was the essential rule.

He smiles, thin lips sliding over perfect ivory teeth, a curving crocodilian smile. His eyes slide hungrily over her body, framed by tonight's costume.

"Glimmer, is it? You look absolutely ravishing."

They have no idea how much he really means it. All they see is his smile.

He groans as she grinds against his skin, lips forming a silent "oh". She slides off when he's finished.

"Absolutely ravishing," he marvels.

"Whatever," she rolls her eyes and, taking her clothes with her, leaves.

His eyes slide over her as she walks.

"Ravishing," he mutters again. But he knows the next time he sees her prostrate, she'll be lying cold and lifeless. Whatever, indeed.

The cameras are live, rolling.

She dies screaming, and he is reminded of her cries of pleasure.

He smiles his crocodile smile, gazing through the camera glass at the millions tuning in. They would understand. They would forgive him. He deserves it. He is the king of the camera, the master of the games.

He asks for her body.

Later, he's gazing out through the night, the city's endless lights mirrored as stars in the sky. On an impulse, he climbs into bed, grabs his remote. At the press of a button, a multitude of bodies are displayed before him, hanging on mechanized claws before his insipid gaze.

His eyes stop at her once-ravishing body. Another button pressed, and the steel fingers drag her body onto his bed. He closes his eyes with an enraptured gasp, images of her untarnished body flashing through his mind. Maybe he'll have her fixed, perfectly re-sculptured in the morning.

It only takes a few seconds before he's hard, before he mounts her and pushes inside her. He shivers as he slides inside her cold flesh.

It's that moment when the rebels burst through the door. He sees himself reflected in their glassy, horror-filled eyes, watches himself fuck her for just one more moment in their shocked gazes.

He flits a nervous smile.

They drag him to a cold, hard, metal room. He shivers when he steps inside. Roughly, they chain him to a chair and wheel a camera around to face him.

"Caesar Flickerman, you stand trial for your crimes against the people."

His reflection stares back at him through the camera glass, scared and fragile looking. The bitter reflection shocks him. He is Caesar Flickerman. He is the ultimate showman. Did he always look so weak? No, he refuses to believe it.

So, resolute, he curves his lips into one last smile. He is Caesar Flickerman, and no-one puts on a show better than him.

So. Happy New Year?

For Shady.