What If

Chapter Sixteen:

Katniss

It had been serval days since the visit to the ruins of District Twelve. Now we all sat around the table in Coin's office impatiently waiting for them to air.

While we were gone and shooting in District Twelve, Finnick had started on Octavia's We Remember propos honoring dead tributes. I had been considered for the role, but I didn't know as many other victors as Finnick and I hadn't had a chance to mentor tributes like him.

The television screen sat in front of us was just playing a normal capitol newsfeed. Currently a woman in a bright pink wig was reading off a list of shortages in the capitol.

Then it went black. The screen quickly shifted to Finnick's face, causing most of us to sigh with relief. I turned to Finnick, who was currently fidgeting with a knot.

"Hello Panem," he greeted from the screen. "My name is Finnick O'dair. I am a victor and was a mentor for serval years..."

Finnick went on about how he'd mentored a lot of young tributes over the years. Some of them had won, but most of them had perished tragically in the games. He recalled losing friends and fellow victors in the Quarter Quell, which made me shiver from my own flashbacks.

Suddenly the image faltered and the screen went to black again.

"What's happening?" I asked, although I already knew what was occurring.

"It seems as if the capitol have gotten back into their systems," Plutarch said gravely. "I've got to get to Beetee, he'll know what they're doing and have counterattacks, I'm sure."

Plutarch stormed out. That left me, Coin, Gale, Finnick, Cressida, Haymitch, Castor, Pollux, and Boggs left, all of us staring intensely at the screen.

Then it happened. Peeta appeared, only much worst than last time. He was skinnier and paler, which I hadn't assumed possible. His skin was now a sickly green and the shadows under his eyes made him seem hollow.

He wore a crisp white suit like last time, but this time one of Snow's signature roses had been pinned to his lapel, making me sick. Barely peeking up from his collar was a bruise, making me worried.

"Oh, Peeta..." I whispered, cupping a shaky hand over my mouth. "What have they done to you?"

"I still believe a cease fire is how to end this war. Everyone wins," he said, his voice raspy and shaky. Our propo had obviously cut off the beginning of his interview. "No more fighting. No more war. We could get peace and—"

Then the screen went black again. It flickered and showed me, standing outside the rubble of the bakery in Twelve.

My heart raced.

"You think the capitol is fair, Peeta? They killed your family!"

Black flashed again on the screen. Then I saw Peeta. He shook his head, his expression tightened. I could tell he'd seen the propo on the monitor.

"All these districts will perish if we keep fighting. No one left! And Katniss, in Thirteen! Dead by morning!" he yelled. Everything happened in an instant. The cameras tilted down and were quickly splattered with blood—Peeta's blood.