Betaread by gkmoberg1

For Everything a Reason byCarina Round

Don't call me back, I had everything I needed

For every lie, honey, the truth lay underneath it

Oh so they say baby, for everything a reason

And so they say baby, you will be brought…

…brought back to me

Panem et Circuses

Chapter 7

Artemisia had been nervous to learn that she had been assigned a new mission that was not within her normal parameters as a stylist. She had received a message - a brief missive signed by the Head Game-maker Plutarch Heavensbee himself.

Peacekeepers had come to her very door to escort her to the meeting that would supposedly explain it all. Artemisia had dressed carefully for the meeting – she of all people knew how much a person's look could convey.

Her scarlet hair was bound into a severe bun and her make-up was politely neutral. She had decided on practical wear, donning a light green pantsuit and a silver pair of kitten-heels. Before leaving her apartment, Artemisia had been instructed by the Peacekeepers to leave all communication devices at home.

At once, she was deeply suspicious. But the Peacekeepers had insisted on watching her lay out her devices on a table before allowing her to leave.

Now she sat in a cramped room with twenty-two other confused Capitolians. At precisely 2:30 in the afternoon, Plutarch Heavensbee strolled in. "Greetings, friends. I'm glad to see everyone received the missive." the man said pleasantly.

Artemisia's face scrunched up at his words. As if they had had a choice in coming? Not with two Peacekeepers outside her door demanding her presence. "Each of you have been handpicked by myself for this mission." Plutarch began. "This year is a very special year – the 3rd Quarter Quell. President Snow wanted something big, and I intend to deliver."

"And what, exactly, do you intend for us to do?" Someone asked.

"It is your job to care for the subjects assigned to you. It is very important to President Snow and all of the Gamemakers that the subjects receive the best care possible and are at their best by the time the Quarter Quell begins." Plutarch answered.

"Now, this mission requires the utmost secrecy. President Snow considers the slightest discretion treason. Know that if this mission is made public, the culprit will be put to death." The Game-maker continued. As one of the men opened his mouth to say something, Heavensbee held up his hand. "-And no. You may not resign. The moment you sat down in this room, you no longer had any choice in the matter. So I advise you all to not breathe a word of your mission." he explained.

"But we were given no choice in coming here!" the same man complained.

Plutarch smiled at him. It was a shark's smile, Artemisia surmised. It was supposed to look pleasant, but it was really the man's way of saying 'shut up'. "You were handpicked for this mission. Consider it an honor – and your civil duty." Plutarch remarked.

The Head Game-maker waited a long moment – smiling and looking at each Capitolian. "You are dismissed. A peacekeeper will deliver you your assignment. You are to burn the file as soon as you have read it. Then you will be escorted to perform your first task." Plutarch said finally.

The others, including Artemisia, stood up and began to file out one-by-one, each handed a file by a Peacekeeper standing outside the room. Before Artemisia could escape, Plutarch stood in her way. "Artemisia, stay a moment." he requested patiently.

Artemisia immediately stopped moving – and allowed the others to move past her. When the others had all gone, the Peacekeeper outside shut the door after a nod from Plutarch. "Have I done something wrong, Head Game-maker?" Artemisia asked meekly.

The man let out a warm laugh, and gestured to the seats. Plutarch and Artemisia sat again at the table. "No. In fact, my faith in you is so great that I have assigned you two subjects." he remarked.

Artemisia looked alarmed. "Sir, I'm not sure I can perform to your satisfaction with two subjects," she protested.

Plutarch shook his head, producing a file. "I think you'll find the subjects are a two-for-one package. I'm sure you'll enjoy them." he responded, sliding the file to her. He watched as she opened it and began to read through the contents.

The file only included general information of what she was supposed to do – prepare the subjects for entry into the arena for the Quarter Quell. And two names stamped at the top. Two very familiar names. Artemisia looked up to Plutarch in shock.

He just smiled pleasantly in response. "Have you finished reading?" Plutarch asked. Artemisia managed to nod in response. He pulled the file from her grasp and drew a lighter from his pocket. He lit the corner of the file aflame, and dropped it into a wastebasket. "The Peacekeeper outside will escort you to your first subject," he said and motioned for her to leave.

Artemisia stood up slowly, and left the room. "Miss Artemisia, please follow me," the Peacekeeper at the door requested. She followed in a daze, vainly trying to remember all the twists and turns that brought her to the door in front of her. "Your first subject is inside, Miss. And your second is one door down on the right." the man directed her.

Artemisia took a measured step towards the first door, reaching for the handle. She looked to the Peacekeeper, who offered a firm nod. She turned the handle and pushed the door open slowly. The moment Artemisia had stepped inside – finding her subject lying in bed - the Peacekeeper took hold of the handle and closed the door.

Pale blue eyes fluttered open at the noise, blinking several times to clear her sight. Then she began to survey the room – with clinically white walls and floors, passing over Artemisia without a reaction. She tried to raise her hands to rub her eyes and found the movement impeded. She looked down to her hands and found one cuffed to the rails on the right side of her body.

"…Winnow?!"

I want to thank all the readers that have continued on with me so far. This is the final chapter of Panem et circuses. The first chapter of Saltwater Sting is up, as promised. Love ya, Suz.

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