"Sir, you wanted to see me?"
"Yes," the leather chair turns. Sitting in it is a man with white hair and puffy lips. "Seneca, you were supposed to have the muttations kill the little girl."
"I-I..." Seneca swallows. "I apologize, sir. I wasn't sure it mattered as long as there was only one victor."
"She poses a larger threat," he says. "She openly defied the Capitol, speaking right to us that she wouldn't play by the rules. There may be uprisings."
"I'm sorry, sir. I-"
"Think no more of it," he smiles. "The situation will be handled. A toast."
The white-haired man hands a wine glass to Seneca. "A toast, sir." Seneca tilts the glass towards his boss and lifts the drink to his lips.
He hardly swallows before we begins writhing in pain. His mouth burns, his throat feels like its on fire. He can't breath.
"S-S-Sir...." He collapses on the ground.
"I'll find a new Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane."
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