admissions of guilt | {hades/hendrix} blitz

The invitation to meet with Hades Lochlan comes as she's sitting in the back of a car that's taking her far away from the centre of the Capitol. There is a taser on her hip concealed by the hem of her suit jacket. An unlit cigarette hangs loosely out of the corner of her mouth and a case file is spread over the rest of the back seat.

"Pull over," she says, "Now."

The car rolls to a stop. No one is out on these country side roads, not anymore. When the Capitol won Panem, there was no need to continue toiling out here. The world past the city limits is a ghost town.

Hendrix does not usually find herself on the receiving end of an invitation and that suits her wonderfully. She much prefers to show up unannounced and in some cases not wanted. That's where the stories lie, behind strained smiles and heavy satin curtains quickly pulled to hide the meat of the issue.

If they're expecting her than that means that they're prepared for her, the subject has already armed themselves with what they think is a strong enough resolve to keep her out. That presents a challenge of a different sort. For a woman who enjoys intrigue, she hates the mystery of an unexpected invitation and what Hades Lochlan, the Capitol's current it boy, could possibly want is beyond Hendrix.

She last interviewed him back in the 86th despite her general disinterest then in the goings on of the Hunger Games. Hades had held a special interest for her for awhile by then. One of his creations had once been used to commit a murder. The woman had gone to jail for it and the mutt had been put down. Hades had been nothing if not accommodating during the investigation. They'd had a professional working relationship since.

"Proceed."

The car continues on towards the maximum security prison on the outskirts of the Capitol. It's still a half-day's journey away. Perhaps if she's back in time then she will consider meeting with Hades.

---

She's sat at her desk in her home, fingers resting on the tired keys of an old typewriter. Long hand notes are laid out to the left of her, a tape recorder playing back her last interview to her right. Two voices comes out scratchy through the old technology's speakers.

"Tell us Stephen, why do it? In a world filled with so much pain and bloodshed, why add to it? You threw your life away at eighteen, not just Topanzy Clearwater's. Why?"
"To be part of."
"Part of?"
"Part of a whole. To belong, I just want to belong."
"Belong with whom?"
"The others, the kids on the t.v., you know. In the games. I deserve it too, the fancy clothes, the pretty things to eat, you know? I deserve it too. It isn't fair."
"When you say the 'kids on t.v.', are you referring to the Hunger Games?"
"...yup."
"It's not the same Stephen, what you did and what the victors do is very different."
"How? It's just killing, only difference is–"

Hendrix flicks the recording off and rubs her eyes. The light outside has gone grey to herald the morning and when she lowers her hands again, last night's makeup has come away on her fingers.

Many things have changed since the start of her career almost four decades ago. The world spins differently on its axis these days and what used to be unimportant now resides at the centre of the Capitol's cultural universe. She's no longer there, not since the three years she spent away at least. It's become harder than ever to understand the motives of the criminals she interviews.

Perhaps it is time to humble herself, time to learn something new.

Hades Lochlan would be a good place to start.

---

Hades is the picture of confidence, a young man in the prime of his career. With four stints of junior gamemaking under his belt and involvement in mutt creation in nearly every games for the past two decades, he has an exemplary resume. Hendrix sits across from him in his office, a slight smile on her lips as he speaks.

She's seen so many Gamemakers comes and go over the years. It's good that he talks like he owns the world but that confidence will only get him so far. He has a following now, yes, but those that swarm around him only do so in order to be first to catch the scent of blood.

He builds a castle out of words, good, Hendrix thinks. He's got the sense to realize that his team can't handle everything alone. Most likely because he's been on the other side of this conversation too many times to count. He asks for her services and offers her exposure in payment.

"How generous," she says. Then Hendrix smiles.

She wonders if he realizes how condescending it is to dangle something like the top eight family interviews in front of her face. A decorated investigative journalist of decades offered fluff pieces like it's a treat.

But Hades seems earnest. She stares at him for a moment too long, trying to understand the inner workings of the male psyche. Perhaps it's that cultural shift once again, all those things that she used to deem so unimportant before now matter.

"You want me to humanize your tributes, I can do that," she says finally, "I can make Panem care, we both know this. You want me to weave a story, certainly. But I don't work for possibilities and I don't do fluff pieces."

Hendrix leans forward in her chair.

"Now offer me something I truly want."