CHIONOPHILE - Coriolanus Snow

MYRMIDON

Myrmidon(n.) A loyal follower; one who executes orders unquestioningly or unscrupulously.

"Destroy my desires, eradicate my ideals, show me something better, and I will follow you." - Fyodor Dostoyevsky

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«Now let me introduce you to Mr Snow; the man will be the next game maker," intoned President Ravinstill, his voice carrying authority as he gestured towards Coriolanus with a respectful nod.

«Mr. Snow, who has already done so much for Panem. He is the architect of Victor's Village, a masterstroke of Capitol strategy. From what we've witnessed, this is merely the prelude to Mr. Snow's pivotal role in aiding the Capitol maintaining order and control over the districts."

Beside Coriolanus, Calida shifted uncomfortably, a solitary figure amidst the sea of gazes fixated on him.

She observed the president, silently willing him to refrain from singling her out for praise; the spotlight was already glaring too intensely on Coriolanus.

"And Miss Bellerose," the president continued, drawing closer to her side. "Much like her father, she possesses a formidable intellect."

Embarrassment tinged Calida's cheeks as the accolades washed over her.

«I and all of Panem extend our gratitude to these two young minds for their unwavering loyalty to our nation and their future showcasing of that loyalty."

The words echoed through the grand hall, accompanied by a crescendo of applause that enveloped them in a wave of adulation.

With a steady hand resting against Calida's back, Coriolanus led the way to the podium, his presence a reassuring anchor amidst the sea of faces.

Calida silently offered her prayer, fervently hoping to avoid impromptu speaking engagements.

«As we are all aware," began Coriolanus, his voice a clarion call that commanded the attention of every soul present, «the spectre of rebellion looms once more, threatening the delicate tapestry of our society. Recent events in District 2 are a stark reminder of our perils. The unearthing of an explosive device, reminiscent of the horrors witnessed in District 13, serves as a chilling testament to the urgent imperative of rooting out those responsible.»

The crowd hung on his every word, nodding in solemn agreement as Coriolanus painted a vivid picture of the dangers posed by dissent.

His smile, though triumphant, sent a shiver down Calida's spine, a disquieting reminder of the darkness lurking beneath his polished facade.

«Through innovative technologies and advancements in surveillance," Coriolanus continued, gesturing towards a looming screen behind him, "we have successfully apprehended the perpetrators of these heinous bombs that would target the Capitol."

The image flickered to life, casting a ghastly illumination that seized Calida's senses in the grip of horror.

She recoiled, unable to withstand the ghastly sight of the bloodied rebels cruelly affixed to the wall, their broken forms a grim testament to the brutality of their demise.

Their mangled bodies, ravaged by the merciless claws of the hawks she had designed, were barely recognisable, reduced to a grotesque mosaic of mutilation.

Limbs torn asunder, flesh rent asunder—there was little left of the rebels to nail to the wall save for the remaining fragments.

As the image faded to black, swallowed by the merciful shroud of darkness, the room erupted again in applause, a discordant symphony of approval reverberating through the massive ballroom.