User blog:LightStone123/War of the Hunger Games

Welcome everyone to my tenth entry in my Hunger Games series! In my last games, The 400th Annual Hunger Games, Caspian Mahoney from District 3 and created by Can't Think on a Decent Username Right Now was crowned victor. These will not be a normal Games, but read on to learn more.

Introduction
After the events of the 400th Annual Hunger Games, Panem has been thrust into a war between the Capitol and a mysterious organization known as Those Who Don't Exist. Now embroiled in a costly and bloody battle, the District's and their residents must fight to survive...and determine the fate of world along the way.

Unlike all of my past Games, which have taken place in and around the Hunger Games, this blog will not focus on or even contain the Hunger Games. Instead, it will focus on the war currently engulfing the country. As such, the characters involved will not be tributes, but rather people spread out across the District's and the Capitol. Where exactly they start will be decided upon by the individual in question and their backstory. I plan on taking a more novel-like approach with these and I hope everyone enjoys it.

Rules
1: There will be thirty-two characters originally, but if these spots are taken then more may be added

2: You may have up to two characters (number may change)

3: The District and gender of your character does not matter. They may be from any District and of any gender. There are no limitations on either District or gender

4: These will not be a typical Games. In fact, they will not be a Games at all.

5: I will not accept any characters that have been in my previous Games

6: Reservations last 48 hours (In certain cases this may be extended. As there is no hard character limit, this rule does not matter as much as in past Games)

7: Characters may not appear right away. As they are not in a Hunger Games, everyone is not in a central area and are instead spread out across the country. It will take some time for them all to show up in the story

8: Submitted characters will be PoV characters (as in all my other Games)

9: Because of the size of these, I anticipate it will take a long time for them to finish. If you're not comfortable joining a blog that will last many months than I'd advise you refrain from joining

10: Character Form:

Name:

District:

Gender:

Age:

Personality:

Backstory:

Height:

Appearance:

Weapon(s):

Strengths:

Weaknesses:

Fear(s):

Allegiance: (either Capitol, Rebel, or Neutral)

Characters
(Note: As mentioned above, the District and gender of your character does not matter. They may be from any District and of any gender. There are no limitations on either District or gender. The spots on the chart are merely placeholder)

Allegiances
Capitol Supporters: Surorian (C), Pandora (C), Bridget (C), Hope (0), Kane (1), Valencia (1), Marcella (7), Verena (8), Oxford (8), Hemsway (11), & Altur (14)

Rebel Supporters: Giorno (C), Cara (1), Tate (2), Harley (2), Bridgette (2), Teddy (3), Newt (3), Jayda (3), Camilla (3), Tabitha (4), Stewart (5), Safara (5), Rockitt (6), Lavender (6), Oxon (7), Theodore (7), Lola (7), Aster (8), Amaranth (8), Hazel (9), Taligelia (11), Garrick (13), Esther (13), & Mateo (14)

Neutrals: Topher (0), Kanani (2), Amberly (2), Marcella (3), Armado (6), Morina (6), Finale (7), Mable (10), Zamara (11), Brandon (12), & Corbin (13)

Mutt Army: Caesar (14)

Those Who Don't Exist: Whisp (14)

Prologue
I lay in a jumble of limbs and skin, not that I knew it, I am just another fragment of the landscape. A surface of khaki and blood surrounds the shore, clouded a dusky pink ocean where a ship sat deserted and alone. Sand gatherings are sleek as they followed the wind and flustering specs as sharp as glass, were deciding where to settle, inspecting every body, joining them for a while, but will soon be gone.

Now my clothes are crusted with blood. A gunshot so neat can rip through your body; like a mole it burrow's within the depths of flesh, blood and bone, stopping at nothing to pass to the other side. A gunshot so destructive, can take no longer than a fraction of a millisecond, to puncture your heart, to suck the air from your lungs and leave the blood to empty your veins hour after hour. Hour after hour...its time to bleed. I can no longer feel the bitter sting of open sand on my wounds, nor the suffocating tunnel carved by the bullet, still seeping blood. All I can feel is one large general ache, the fact that I'm still alive, feels inadequate. Suppose I should be thankful they used a standard ballistic bullet. Can only imagine what would have happened if they had shot me with their pulse weapons.

I feel like a tap that has been left on, waiting for my life to be effortlessly cut off. The taste of the fluids dripping from my face is recognizable. I'm drowning in my own blood, sweat, and tears.

I let out a low moan as I lie here on the sand, surrounded by my dead comrades. Why had I chosen to join this battle? This war did not need to be mine. I should have just allowed them to win. They're going to win, regardless of my input. Why had I not stayed away?

I try to lift myself up but fall back onto the bloodstained sand with a groan. I am not strong enough to move. Not strong enough to keep myself alive.

No!

I will not just lie here and die. I refuse! Taking a deep breath, I try to muster the last of my strength. I'll need every ounce of it to stand, to get away. But get away where? Cross that bridge when you reach it. A voice tells me. Concentrate on getting yourself up.

Moving myself is hard. Everything hurts. Aches. Black dots buzz around my vision as I strain with effort, trying to pull myself up to no avail. I fall back onto the sand over three times, losing precious energy with each failure. I cannot afford that. Cannot afford to lose any more. The sand is soft against my head, inviting. If only I could sleep...Then the pain would go away.

No. Keep fighting. Don't give up.

With one massive push I try again. Straining with effort, muscles screaming in agony, body tearing itself apart. It feels like I'm about to fall to pieces when my body lifts itself up and I find myself on my feet.

I nearly laugh with hysteria. I'm free from the shackles of the earth! I am free, freed into what? I'm stumped between a prison and a mass grave that was once a beach. Everything around me is death, leads to death or inspires it. Ghoulish faces look at me from all around, but with no expression. Their features lie beneath the murky layer of dust and dirt.

One who is settled very close to me, has deep red stains all around his mouth and nose, it is possible to see the dried out tracks where blood had quickly escaped through his lips and nostrils, and even faint fingerprints where he must have rapidly checked the bleeding. He had been shot only once, in his neck, one move for one life and that touching of his face was likely to be the last move he ever made.

I will not let that happen to me. I refuse to die out here.

I stumble over the crimson sand, nearly tripping several times over the scattered bodies of my allies. That would be bad. I don't think I have the strength to get up again. Barely have the strength to walk. On one side I'm surrounded by the ocean, glistening pink from the rising sunlight and streaming blood. On the other, there's a long, cobbled wall that stretches across the coastline. The checkpoint we were meant to guard.

I laugh darkly as I realize we never stood a chance. Weren't supposed to have a chance. We only meant to slow them down, delay them while the others went about securing and defending the District. Well, we did that. We slowed those bastards down alright.

The wall looms closer as I stagger towards it, holding a hand against my gut to keep my insides in. Perhaps there's some medicine left inside the keep. Maybe a friend. Surely I can't be the only one to have survived?

The wall is high, twenty-five feet in the air. Turret nests and sniper holes line the ramparts. Along with corpses and the crows that surround them. I tear my gaze away, fearful that I will face the same fate.

My fear turns to despair when I see it. The main gate, the entrance to the keep, is bolted shut. A large, metal gray shutter is tightly pressed shut. It's slightly scorched black and is riddled with bullet holes, yet otherwise it is perfectly intact. It echoes and clangs as I slam my fists against it, desperately trying to knock it down.

But it's too strong for that.

I lean my back against the door and slide to the ground, weeping bitterly. Accessing the keep was my only chance. Now my death is assured.

Why did it have to be shut? How is it shut? Didn't the enemy have to open it? Wait, no. They didn't. They probably went over it. Only had to destroy the anti-aircraft guns to allow their aircrafts safe passage. Their ancillary force probably scaled the wall with their damned boots. Now they must be marching on the District, slaying any opposition they encounter along the way, burning innocents homes and destroying their livelihoods.

I feel sick.

Weaker than I have ever been before, I lie my head back and shut my eyes. I hope I can find some peace and quiet. That's all I want. Peace...and quiet.

My hand brushes against something hard and immediately my eyes flicker open. It's a clasp, a lock for the shutter. It's what's preventing the door from opening, preventing my escape. It's my enemy.

I fall upon it with my bare hands, trying to rip it open or tear it off. But it's hard, cold metal and my hands are useless. So I draw a knife from my belt, the only weapon I have left. I stick the blade into the latch and try to unlock it. Jiggle it around, shake it.

It doesn't work.

I moan and drop my efforts. The wound in my body is growing worse by the second. I will not be able to keep going for long. But...but...

I grab a nearby rock, settling in the sand. It's tan and brown and the size of my palm. I smash it against the clasp, smash it into the one thing impeding my progress with as much force I can muster. One strike, two strikes, three. I beat it against the latch until I have no more strength, when the rock drops from my hand and rolls across the desolate beach. Then, when I look at the clatch, I find it broken.

Now the door will open. Must open. Only, will I have enough strength for it? I edge my chest against the shutter wall, pushing with my back muscles as I strain my legs to curl and stand, fingers reaching under the shutter and lifting. It's painful and slow, but in time I get the shutter to move. Slowly. So very slowly. It doesn't want to open, but it must.

Again, the shutter doors must open, the jagged edge is now broken. A great weight lifts off my mind when the entrance is clear. The gate is now satisfactory and lifts quite swiftly. A gasp mixed with pain and laughter slips from my lips as I stumble into the cool shade of the keep, falling almost immediately on the cold, wooden floor.

I land beside the stiff, uniformed body of my dead comrade. A hole has been torn through his chest, straight through the bone. His blood is black and thick as tar where it crusts around the gap left by one of their accursed plasmic weapons. The sour scent of death reaching my nose, tells me that no one has escaped death here. Painfully lifting my head up, I can spot two more of my dead comrades slumped over against the rectangular plastic table where we had our meals. Now it is stained with crimson blood.

Doubt that I will find anything useful clouds my misty mind. I'm too tired to stand up again. I just want to lie here and rest...

Minutes pass. I don't know how many. I don't keep count. I just lie on the hardwood floor, watching the cheaply painted ceiling, spotting where flakes have begun to chip away. I'm content to just lie here and pass into legend. Then I think of my family back in the District. They need me. I can't give up.

Once more I force myself to stand, making use of a nearby chair and using the corpse of my dead comrade to prop myself up. The air is cool and damp, unlike that of outside. It lends me some energy as I throw my torso onto the table, spitting in disgust as my face lands in a warm and sticky pool of blood.

I'm surprised that I haven't yet died from bloodloss. Still, there is plenty of time for that.

The kitchen I find myself in is simple fare, large enough only for the plastic table, a wood fuelled stove, counters, and the multitude of cupboards that lined the wall. On the stove rests a teapot, as if the attack came while someone was preparing for a cup. I glance at the two rickety chairs that surround the table, each laden with a corpse. It was probably one of them.

Too exhausted to search the cupboards for medical supplies, I let myself wonder how the attackers got inside. The shutter was shut tight. How did they get in? My eyes wander over the room with no answer. Then I see the door to the hall, blasted off it's hinges and thrown to the side.

I stumble over fragments of broken wood and loose bricks, entering the hall and peering up. A large circular hole rests in the ceiling, shining bright sunlight down into the normally dim hall.

They came from the roof. Of course.

I ransack the keep afterwards, slowly shambling from cupboard to cupboard. But I find no medicine. Nothing that will help me. Feeling dizzy and extremely light-headed, I rush for the exit. Going through twisting halls and spiralling rooms. All filled with signs of battle. With bodies of my friends. Twice I nearly slip in slick pools of blood, once I jam my toe against the eviscerated torso of a comrade. The enemy was thorough with their job.

Eventually I find myself on the opposite side of the keep, stumbling out a doorway nearly identical to the one I entered through. Only, this one's shutter has been blasted down. It's only a twisted hunk of metal glistening in the sun as I step over it and entered the canyon that we fought so hard to protect.

Cliffs rise high on each side, shielding the old, battered dirt road that winds it's way east for over twenty kilometres before arriving at the District. I remember it as a peaceful, beautiful sight. But now it is anything but. Bodies are strewn across the road, burnt husks of half-racks and APC's still smouldering as they lie abandoned along the road. I limp past this carnage, desperately hoping that a friendly patrol will find me. But I know that will not happen: all allied forces are at the District, fending off those fiends as they attempt to lay waste to my home. No one will find me.

I trip and fall. This time I know there will be no getting up.

Several other bodies lie close to my own. Looking at them, my gaze now meets that of another pair of eyes drained of all emotion. I stare at him. I want him to look unhappy, I want to feel sympathy, but it looks at me with pride, it had died in honour, it had done his duty, so nothing mattered. I reach out and gently pull his eyelids over those misty orbs. He is at peace. I look over him towards the admirable surroundings, where I always wanted to come, huge cliffs tower above me, crowned with beautiful plants, the vague outlines of which I see swaying, almost dancing beneath the beautiful sunlight. The sun had done nothing but added to my pain, but the sky now glows with it, its rich blue tones comforting me.

My family will be safe. My comrades will protect them. I need not worry, need not despair. Though I will die here, my family will be safe. I can trust in that. Trust in the ideal all Peacekeepers strive for. Trust in the Capitol.

My tenure as a Peacekeeper will end here, after only three months.

A figure suddenly appears atop the cliffs. It stops on the edge, staring down into the road with that evil, blank mask. Long, dark cloak billowing in the wind. It looks so smug, so secure. I hate it. I hate that monster and all its allies. My friends are dead because of them, my District will burn because of them. My family's lives our at stake because of them.

Those Who Don't Exist have destroyed my world.

My head slumps back to the ground, all my strength leaving me. Though I will die here, I have done well. This I knew as I released my thoughts into the cloudless sky, where I stayed, until the end.

Blade Spectrus (Location Unknown)
When I first discovered I was free from the Hunger Games, I never imagined that I would spend the next month trapped inside an entirely white room.

I lie flat on my bed in the corner of the small windowless room. The mattress is white. The sheets are white. They match the walls and ceiling, the floor and door. It never opens. Occasionally, three times a day, a tray with food will pass underneath through a small slot. They never speak as they give me my food, never give any sign of life.

I'm completely isolated.

It's been four weeks, a full month, since I first woke up in this small room. I might actually have been here longer, depending on how long I was unconscious. Also, I have no real way of tracking time. No watch, no clock, no sun. I reley purely on my own instincts, on how much time I believe is passing. The blinking, piss-pale fluorescent light that illuminates the room never turns off. I sleep only when I feel tired. The meals help, at least. They always come at the same exact time everyday, and I've long since begun to base my schedule around them.

All in all, I think I'm managing to keep a firm hold on my sanity. Though the whiteness threatens that. The terrible, all-pervading, whiteness. It's everywhere. Even on the small, steel toilet in the corner and the large table that takes up majority of the rooms open space. The table is weird. My only use for it is eating my meals, sitting on the similarly white chair provided.

See? The white is everywhere!

I like to close my eyes and just lie on the bed. I find respite from the whiteness there. I find calm in the endless black of my eyelids and the writhing memories of the arena. Alone, in endless silence and with unlimited time on my hands, I spend a lot of energy thinking back on the events that led me here.

I still remember the angry despair I felt when Daisy and Solar left me alone. My leg was searing with tremendous pain, despite the antidote I had just injected myself with. I could barely walk, let alone fight. When the tremors struck the arena, and gigantic holes began forming all around me, I thought that my death was assured.

Yet somehow I escaped. I avoided the gaping chasms, the pulsating steam vents. I hid myself amongst the boroughs of a felled tree when those cannons rang throughout the arena, signalling that just about everyone was dead. Then the sky exploded with dazzling light and I was more confused then ever before.

That's when they came.

Wearing black cloaks and strange masks, they approached me quietly and without warning. I tried to fight them off, but I didn't have the strength or even the willpower. They swiftly took me down and, right before pumping a cold liquid into my veins, told me that I was now safe and that the Hunger Games were over for good. Then I blacked out. When I woke up, I was here, in the white room. With my leg completely healed and a dull, throbbing ache in my head. An ache that persisted for several weeks, only now fading away...

I squint my eyes open and the mocking glint of the white ceiling stares back at me. I hate the white. Hate how it continually surrounds me. I hate it just as much as I hate those cloaked people who locked me in here. Why? What purpose does it serve? They told me I was safe. They told me that the Games were over. Well, if they're over, then what am I playing now?

"You lied to me!" I scream without warning, my anguished shout echoing around the padded white walls and bouncing right back to me. The whiteness stares back at me, uncaring and unaffected. The door remains shut.

Sighing with a mix of rage and exasperation, I roll off my bed and begin to do push-ups. I exercise every day. I don't know why. It's just a desire lingering in the back of my head, a desire to keep myself fit and in perfect shape. There's nothing else to do. So why not improve my body?

After thirty minutes of the push-ups I switch to do doing crunches. I'm improving. When I first started exercising, I couldn't go for more than five minutes without feeling like I'm about to throw up. Now, I feel like I have boundless energy.

Every time I lift my head, I stare hopelessly at the door. Some day it will open, I know. Not by my hands though. I've already tried opening it countless times to no avail. No. It will open on its own accord, on its own time.

I exercise in silence. Only the sound of myself grunting fills the white room. Maybe that's why I'm exercising. So that I will be prepared when the door finally does open. When it opens, I'm certain that nothing good will be heading my way. Why else would I be trapped in this room? But also...if these people meant me harm, then why heal me? Why rescue me? They could have left me to die in the arena, but they didn't. Why?

When that door opens, I mean to find out.

This is how I spend my days. Eating, sleeping, exercising. There is nothing else to do. I continually think about the Games, about the dead brothers I have left behind. The Capitol has claimed everything I have ever known, destroyed all I've held dear. They've killed my entire family. How many Spectri are left? I don't think there's any, other than myself. It's a sad, pitiful thought. My family was once so large and full of vitality and now...Now the Capital has destroyed them.

They will pay. I swear it. When I get out of here, when I escape from this endless white room, I will make the Capitol pay for all they have done to me. And just as I finish thinking this, the door opens.

It swings inwards, letting out a brief puff of air. I scrabble to my feet, out of breath from my exercising and the sudden sthock of the opening door. Then someone else is inside the room with me, and its not who I expected.

It's a young woman, dressed entirely in white and looking vaguely like a nurse. Her shimmering blonde hair is tied up neatly behind her head, her sparkling blue eyes glint playfully as they gaze at me. A folded sheet of paper is tucked beneath her arm. Small, slender hands grip the edge of a chair as she pull it out and sits at the table. She turns and smiles at me. "Hello, Blade."

"Who are you?" It's been so long since I've spoken aloud that I'm actually surprised by the sound of my own voice. For a short moment I stand silent, then I quickly get out of this stupor and a flood of questions come rushing from my mind. "Why am I here? Is this the Capitol? What do you want from me? Why--"

The woman makes a small noise and raises a hand. "Please, Blade. I promise that I will answer all of your questions, but I cannot answer them all at once." She flashes me a patient smile. "So calm down, okay?"

Her voice is so soft and soothing that I actually fall silent. But the gears in my head continue to churn. What if this is an elaborate ruse to get me off my guard? Send this woman in to try and unsettle me, make me less careful. Well, it's not going to work!

"You don't have to look so suspicious," The woman smiles. Her eyes still shine with that playfulness. "No one is going to hurt you. You're among friends here."

I raise a questionable eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Where is "here" exactly?" I'm not expecting an answer, so I'm surprised when the woman dips her head and gives me just that.

"We're in The Tower."

Okay. Not expecting that answer. What does it even mean? "The Tower?" I blurt out, pacing back and forth in the small white room. "What's that? Where is that?"

"First things first. Won't you sit down?" She gestures at the empty chair across from her. "It must be better than all that pacing."

"I like pacing." Still, I take her advice and sit down in the chair, mind still whirling. It feels weird to be sitting at a small plastic table with this strange woman, like we're having a nice little chat about nothing more important than the weather.

"Thank you, Blade." She smiles at me once more. She likes smiling. I cross my arms and lean back in my chair. I want to take control of this conversation. I want to have control of something at least. I'm well aware that I'm at the mercy of this woman and the white room. The woman nods. "You may ask me anything you wish."

"You haven't told me your name," I say after a moment of silence. Best to start simple.

"It's Palutena." She answers almost immediately.

"Okay, good to know." I stall for time as my mind tries to figure out which of the hundreds of questions I have to ask next. I finally decide. "Who are you? Like, who were those masked people who took me from the arena?" And why? I don't say that aloud, remembering what she said about too many questions at once.

"We are Those Who Don't Exist," The woman's smile fades as her eyes lock onto mine. "And we're going to destroy the Capitol."

I nearly fall out of my chair, I'm so surprised that sudden declaration. Destroy the Capitol? Hell yeah! That's an objective I can get behind! But a small voice in the back of my head tells me not to be too trusting. I've been tricked too many times to just believe everything Palutena tells me.

"Why should I believe you?" I voice my doubts aloud. "Yeah, you pulled me from the arena, but how do I know that this wasn't exactly what the Capitol was planning?"

A small smiles plays on Palutena's ruby lips. "What does your mind tell you?"

"It..." What does it tell me? My first reaction when she told me that she wanted the Capitol destroyed was exhilaration, but then I realized how easily they could be tricking me... They trapped me in this room for a month. A month with no contact with the outside world. But they also healed my leg..."It doesn't know," I admit, staring down into the desk. "It doesn't know what to think."

"A reasonable answer," Palutena nods. "Very reasonable. But if you wondering whether or not we were lying or tricking you, read this." She takes the folded paper and slides it across the table to me. I pick it up, wondering what it could possibly be.

"What is this?" I ask as I unfold it. It looks like a pamphlet advertising the 400th Games and showing....showing the final placements. My eyes widen as they slide down the page, reading the listings. Day one, two, three, all the way to day eight. That's where I find it, listed at finishing in fourth place.

My name.

I stare at it in blank silence for several long minutes, not believing what I'm seeing. According to this, I was killed right before the finale by falling into a massive chasm. But...but that doesn't make any sense. I didn't die...

"The Capitol had to fake your death," Palutena speaks quietly. Her face is tight and quiet, eyes focused on my expression. "They needed to have something to explain your disappearance before the District's got riled up. Not that it mattered. Our invasion began right after the Games ended."

"What?!" If I was surprised before, I'm utterly shocked now. Invasion? Of Panem?! That seals it. In no way can this group--Those Who Don't Exist, I think Palutena said--can be associated with the Capitol. But that doesn't resolve them of all wrongdoing. "Why the hell did you keep me trapped in this white room for a month?"

Palutena smiles. It's something she does a lot apparently and it can get very aggravating. "You didn't know it, but upon your revival the Capitol implanted a device in your head." Instinctively my hands fly to my head, feel the shape of my skull for any weird lumps or anything else abnormal. Palutena laughs lightly. "Don't worry, it's not in there anymore. We had it removed. That's why you had to be locked in heere, by the way."

I frown. "Why? What could...this device do?" A strange feeling has begun to swell in me. One of fear and confusion. I don't like the thought of the Capitol messing around inside my head, fiddling with my brain.

"It could read your thoughts, for one thing." I freeze where I sit. A cold chill runs down the length of my spine. If the Capitol could read my mind...Frantically I try to remember everything I've ever thought. Try to remember all the things I've thought about the Capitol. All the hate. All the vitriol. They could hear it all. Suddenly I feel very weak.

"They could read my mind?" I croak out in a small voice. Palutena nods seriously.

"Yes. This device also allowed them to disrupt thought patterns and we believe they may have possessed the ability to eliminate thoughts as well." I can feel the color drain from my face. A suddden weariness has overtaken me and I slump back into my chair. What kind of power does the Capitol possess? I never would have thought them capable of this!

Palutena must see the stress on my face, for she offers a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. We've already removed the device. Your mind should be completely private now."

"Uh...thanks?" The thought of her poking around inside my head, digging for a strange device buried deep within, does little to quell my uneasiness. Now that I think about, maybe this is why my head has been throbbing so much. I decide to bring this up to Palutena and she nods.

"Yes. You have been feeling the aftereffects of the surgery for the past few weeks. Sounds and colors would have further aggravated it. That's partly why we kept you locked in here.

"Partly?"

"Well, yes." She frowns, as if unsure on how to go on. I motion with my hands that I want an answer, so she smiles politely and goes on. "You see, this type of surgery has never been done before. It was entirely possible that we would fail, and in that event we wanted to make sure that you were kept somewhere secure. Somewhere you couldn't get any information that the Capital could use against us."

I understand now. They kept me isolated from the rest of this "Tower" so that the Capitol, if they could still read my mind, wouldn't be able to see anything but this white room. Smart.

"But the device is gone, right?" I want to be very clear on this subject. The thought of my mind being read...it just gives me the willies.

Palutena nods. "Correct. The device has been removed without incident."

I squeeze my eyes shut tight. This little conversation has proven more useful then I thought it would be. I've actually gotten some answers. But not all of them. Not yet.

"You mentioned an invasion," I begin carefully. Already I'm trying to piece together the information presented to me. "Is your group, Those whatters, invading Panem? Do you have an army?"

Yet another smiles crosses Palutena's face. "Yes. We do. Why do you ask?"

I push my chair away from the table, standing. I've only put a little bit of thought into this, but it is what I've been striving for. An opportunity to do what I was just silently promising myself. "Does this group plan on destroying the Capitol?" I ask, pacing across the small confines of the room. I'm thinking of my family now, how they have suffered at the Capitol's hands.

Palutena nods. "It does."

I turn, slamming my hands down onto the table. I stare across it, stare right into this mysterious woman's eyes. "Then let me join you."

She smiles. "Of course, Blade. Of course you can join us in battle. That's why we brought you here, after all."

Blade Spectrus (The Tower)
Palutena smiles as she rises from the table, extending a hand towards the closed door.

"Wait!" I scramble out of my chair and to my feet, suddenly terrified of being left alone in this horrible white room. "Where are you going?"

She turns, a frown on her face. "We are going to meet up with the rest of the rescued tributes."

"The...rest of them...?" It may be an indictment on myself for not remembering--or caring--about the other tributes until now, but you have to admit that there has been a lot in my mind. "Are they here too?"

Palutena nods. "Of course. We have all of the surviving tributes, minus Caspian."

I squeeze my eyes shut once more. How many of us were left? I don't remember. I can't even remember who was left. I know that Solar and Daisy were still alive...I ask Palutena who else made it but she only smiles. "You'll find out soon enough," She says as she slides a hand out for the door once more.

"Wait!" I find myself shouting out once more. I'd have thought that after a full month locked inside this room I would want nothing more than to escape as soon as possible. But I don't. Not yet. "What is the outside world like?"

"Pardon me?"

"The outside world," I place a hand against the door, making sure she cannot open it. "Panem. What is it like? You mentioned an invasion. How are you doing?"

"I suppose I can answer that," Palutena's eyes flicker to the corner of the room and I get the feeling she's glancing at a hidden camera. So she can only tell me what they authorize her to. Interesting.

"District 7 and 13 have fallen," She tells me briskly. "They were the first two Districts we invaded and they fell before the Capitol could even react. They were busy with the 400th Hunger Games, you see." Here she stops to flash a proud smile. I motion for her to continue. "However, once the Capitol mobilized their forces things became significantly trickier. Especially when the Rebels sprang into action."

"Wouldn't that be a good thing?" I've noticed her disgusted tone when mentioning the rebels. "Aren't they after the same thing?"

Palutena looks away. Obviously she doesn't think so. I can't imagine why. "District 3 and 10 are in utter chaos. No side can claim it for themselves," She pats her head thoughtfully. "District 4 and 12 are currently being assailed as we speak. In fact, we should be receiving word from District 4 very soon." She glances at a watch on her wrist.

I nod, letting my mind sift through these new revelations, hoping it will keep track of everything so I can think on it later. "What about--"

"Come now, Blade!" Palutena interrupts with a bright smiles, her wide eyes shining with cheerfulness. "Must you ask all these questions? You should be happy!"

"Must I?" My eyes narrow as I regard this strange woman. Does she expect me just to go along with everything she says? "Why should I? What have you done for me?"

"We healed your leg," She responds in an almost sing-songy tone.

"Right. But I had already taken an antidote. Sure, you made it easier to walk, but that would have came in time anyway." I'm beginning to think I may not owe these people as much as I had thought. That is, until I hear her next words.

"It was a potent poison," Palutena says. "The antidote flushed it from your leg, but not your whole system. If we hadn't intervened you would have died within the day."

"Oh."

"So you see, we have done something for you, other than save your life from the Games. You can trust us."

I feel sheepish when I think of how ungrateful I must have appeared. I try apologizing, but Palutena tut-tuts this. "It's only natural to doubt us," She tells me. "Especially when you've grown up in the Capitol." Her hand reaches for the door a third time. "Now, let us meet with your friends." She opens the door and steps out. I, with a moment of hesitation, go to follow her, leaving the white room once and for all.

I'm heartened to discover that the hallway I find myself in doesn't have a trace of white in it. Fluorescent lights hang down from a plain ceiling, illuminating a brown tiled floor and utilitarian gray walls framed with numerous pictures of various scenes. I stop beside a pair of these; one shows a brown haired woman who looks constipated and the other has a night sky dotted with dorky looking yellow stars.

Palutena notices my staring and steps beside me. "That's the Mona Lisa," She says, pointing at the constipated woman. "And that's van Gogh's Starry Night. Both are the originals." A vast amount of pride fills her voice, but I have no idea what she's talking about.

"Van who's what now?" I squint at the painting, trying to see if there's something I missed. It looks like something a kid would draw.

Palutena shakes her head in mock despair. Or maybe it's real despair. "Do you know nothing of art?"

I shrug. "Art doesn't really help you do anything." Why bother with paintings and junk like that? There's many more important things to worry about. Like staying alive.

"You'll find many ancient pieces of art around the Tower," Palutena tells me with a frown. "It would do you well to learn about them."

"Yeah. Whatever."

She continues down the hall with me following. The air begins to fill with the smell of antiseptic and lemony floor cleaner and I wrinkle my nose in disgust. I hate those smella. We take a few turns before coming to another long hall, but this time it's filled with frenetic action.

People flood the hall, dressed entirely in white just like Palutena. A pair of them push a gurney down the hall, towards a swinging door. Atop the gurney lies a figure-- dressed in the same dark cloak of my rescuers and wearing a similar mask-- writhing feebly ans screaming wildly as dark crimson blood gushes from a stump where their right arm should be.

"Get him medicated!" One of the white-wearing men shouts.

Another rushes across the tiles, flinging open a small white cabinet and removing a hypodermic needle, which he hands to the first man. Without wasting a second, he jabs the needle into figures neck. Immediately it stops writhing and falls limply back onto the gurney, faint gasps escaping its masked face.

"Get him to operation!" The whites push the gurney through a pair of swinging doors and disappear. When the doors slam shut again, Palutena and I are left alone in an empty hall that reeks of blood.

"What happened?" I ask weakly. I've seen injuries like that before--in the Games and without-- but never have I seen anyone actually trying to save the person who was wounded, at least, be extremely capable of doing so.

Palutena stays silent as she leads me down the hall, carefully stepping over the slick pool of blood lying in the center. "I don't know," She says when we reach the other side. We take a few more turns. "He might have been attacked by a mutt, or had it blown off, or cut off. Anything, really."

That doesn't do much to lift my mood. But another question pops into my mind before it can linger any longer on the grisly scene. "What's with the masks? Why do some people wear them but others?" Pakistan doesn't have one, nor did any of the white shirts.

"All operatives wear their assigned mask," Palutena tells me. "Except for us Four's."

"Why?"

"Because we're medics, doctors, surgeons. We heal people."

"Yeah, but why don't you wear masks?" Is everyone but the doctor's ugly or something?

Palutena smiles. "Would you like to have your insides sewn up by someone wearing a mask?"

"I guess not." Good point, that is. Just thinking about being treated by someone wearing one of those masks makes me feel uneasy. A lot of things make me feel uneasy nowadays.

Little else is said as Palutena leads me through the halls of this mysterious Tower. Nothing I see is particularly impressive; a bunch of walls, tiled floors, and several different hallways containing rooms full of hospital equipment. "We're in the Medical Wing," Palutena says after I give one of these rooms a thorough look through. "Or one of them, at least. We have four."

"Need a lot of medical attention, huh?" I give a sardonic chuckle. "Must not be such great fighters."

"You'll be one of them soon enough," Palutena remarks calmly. "I suppose we'll find out how good they are then." Ooh. Right. I had almost forgotten that I had volunteered my services to these people. Only now I do I wonder if that was a mistake.

We continue on. Palutena takes me inside a small, cube-like room that seems vaguely familiar until I remember that it's an elevator. The training center in the Capitol had one of these. "Where are we going?" I ask as she presses a button on a panel chalk-full of them.

"To meet up with your friends."

At the words "friends", I internally recoil. The other tributes are not my friends. Not even Solar, and he was my ally! Perhaps Daisy could be considered one, if only because of what she meant to Shade. But the others? Friends? The thought makes me laugh.

"That's a peculiar reaction," Palutena notes as she watches me chuckle. The floor beneath us shakes slightly as we begin to head upwards at an almost frightening pace. How many floors does this Tower have?

"I'm a peculiar person."

"Fair enough."

After what feels like only seconds, the elevator come to a halt. A small chime goes off and the doors slide open, revealing a hallway very similar to the one we just left.

"Does everything look like this?" I ask, staring at the brown tiles that dot the floor. But Palutena doesn't answer. She walks up to the nearest door on our right and presses a hand against an odd panel. There's a brief glow of a ceruleaun color and then a beam of light runs across her palm.

"Access permitted," A robotic, feminine voice says before the doors slide open.

We enter a large octagonal central space, punched with wide skylights that dutifully brighten the room. Clusters of simple couches and small chairs of muted colors fill the room. Several pairs of bunk-beds line the walls, each covered with plain gray sheets. Palutena leads me past these beds and through the heart of the room, where most of the couches and chairs surround a round rock fireplace, and into a small, efficient kitchen. She stops just before a dining table ringed with five chairs. But it's not the chairs that gets my attention, it's the people sitting on them.

"Glad you could join us, Blade," Doug greets me with a wry smile.

The other tributes. They're all dressed up in clean clothes, hair brushed and eyes bright. All of them sit at the table, staring at me with impassive eyes. I recognize them all, despite not seeing most of them in the Games. There's Aisha Hakeem from District 8, the strong-willed girl who never gives up. Her District partner, Banette Tsukomogami, the strange but deadly zipper kid. Azalea Finch, the shattered girl who lost her lover. Amaya Lovelace, the weirdo. And, of course, Douglas Biles.

"Are...are these all the survivors?" I ask Palutena, my voice shaking slightly. I don't see Daisy or Solar anywhere. And does that mean...

"Not all," She corrects me a smile. "Only the Dual and Voted."

"Those newbies didn't have to go through a month of quarantine," Aisha grumbles from her seat nearest me. I frown and cast Palutena a questioning look. So everyone but those newbies went through what I did, huh?

"Why is that?"

Everyone turns to look at Palutena as she smiles politely. "They weren't clo--" She stops herself with a brisk cough before continuing. "They weren't revived, I mean. Thus, the Capitol never put the device inside their heads."

Banette gives off a low whistle. "Lucky them. I hate knowing that those bastards were in my head!"

"All of our heads," Aisha corrects him. "They knew everything we thought."

"They saw some unpleasant things then."

As they banter, I become aware of another person in the room. He's in the corner, leaning against the countertops with a blank stare in his gray eyes as he watches Palutena. A purple bandanna rests across his head, concealing his face from the world. Josef Wilder. Huh. Didn't expect to see him here. Guess he would be though. If he survived the arena along with the rest of Voted and Dual then--

It hits me like a bag of bricks.

All of the surviving dual and voted tributes are here. All of them. Only those who died in the arena are unaccounted for. Daisy and Solar aren't here, meaning...

They're dead.

A strange sensation digs at my chest as my stomach flips itself over unpleasantly. I didn't think--didn't expect to be hit so hard at their loss. Solar...Daisy...She meant so much to Shade. Meant the world. And she's dead. Just like him.

The anger and hatred I feel for the Capitol all comes rushing back. My hands clamp down on the table, fingers digging into the polished wood. They will pay.

"Blade?" I'm surprised when Aisha speaks my name. I look up to see the others, even Palutena, watching me with a bit of uncertainty in their eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah. I'm fine." I let go of the table, trying to push my fury away. It's hard, almost impossible. It's like trying to drain a waterfall fed lake with only a bucket. No matter how much water you get out, a thousand more gallons will just pour in. "I'm just...thinking about everything they took from me. From us."

A somber silence fills the room. We're all alike, in this respect. We've all lost something to the Capitol. Lost something precious along with our very freedom. Those conniving, world-destroying, monsters have taken our lives once before. Never again.

"That's why you're here," Palutena speaks, her voice low and soft, sweet like syrup. "You're all here for vengeance, for your justice. It's what you all crave. What drives you. And we can give it to you. Those Who Don't Exist can help you do things that otherwise would never be possible. With our help, the world can be yours."

Aisha Hakeem (The Tower)
Palutena leaves us with that ominous promise of power. She tells us that she has to be there when the District 4 soldiers return, and that the seven of us will have to wait here until a guide comes to fetch us. Then she slips out the door without another word.

"She locked it behind her," Blade says. He didn't even wait a single second before crossing our large dormitory and jiggling the doors knob. Now he glances back at us with arched eyebrows.

"Of course she did," Doug casually splays himself back in his chair, feet resting atop the table. "They don't want us wandering around unattended." Somehow, he's remarkably calm given the situation. I'm not. My mind is constantly buzzing with thoughts and theories on what's going on. I was the sixth to be led into this room, arriving only half a day before Blade showed up.

"And why is that?" Azalea crosses her arms and fixes Doug with a stern gaze. "Do they have something to hide?"

A lazy smile flickers across the boy's face. I don't fully remember, but I don't think he was ever this secure in the Games. "It's just common sense. You don't let strangers wander around your home unsupervised, do you?"

"You don't let prisoners out of their cells either," She points out darkly. Is that we she thinks we are? Prisoners? I never came to that conclusion, even while imprisoned in the white room. I always had the sensation that, somehow, these people were trying to help us. Why else would they destroy the arena?

I answer my former ally with a logical response. "If we were prisoners they'd never have let us out of the white rooms." Azalea's brow furrows, but she says nothing as she sits back down on her chair. None of the others have anything to say either. Blade is still attempting to pry the door open, Azalea and Doug sit casually at the table, Banette rummages through the kitchen cupboards and emerges with a wrapped pastry of sorts, he wastes no time in scarfing this down. Amaya and Josef remain deathly silent; neither has ever said a word since I first entered the room.

I'm not surprised by Josef's silence, that boy was always strange. But I am a little curious as to why Amaya glares at the ceiling with such fury. Does she agree with Azalea's thoughts about us being prisoners?

"Well, what are we suppose to do now?" Blade gives the door one last kick before stomping back over to us with an exasperated groan.

"Relax." Doug's eyes slide shut as he reclines in his chair. "Aren't you tired of fighting and scratching? You should rest, let your mind deal with your stress." Easier said then done. My mind is filled with images of Colin, of the brutality I've seen in both the 398th and 400th Games. Everytime I close my eyes I see Madeva's spear slicing into Luxray's neck, I see her thick hand clenching my throat, blocking off my air. I would have died if not for the implosion of the arenas force field. If not for...Those Who Don't Exist.

I glance at Azalea. She would have let me die. She sat by and watched Madeva choke the life out of me, all because she wanted to win. For some reason I'm hurt. I know I shouldn't be, I know that's what tributes are supposed to do, but I trusted her. I thought she was different. Guess I was wrong.

"Who do you think the others are?" Azalea breaks the silence that has sprung up around us. "The rescued newbies, I mean?"

"Madeva," I speak without even having to think. "They took her along with us. I thought she was dead, but..." I remember the gloved hands looping around the unconscious girl's waist, hoisting her into the plan that appeared over our heads.

"Julian, Mahogany, and Kaneki," Doug adds helpfully.

"Annabelle...Kennedy...and...I'm sure there's more." I wrack my brain, trying to think who else was still alive by the advent of the eighth day. Nothing pops out at me.

"Camiren." We all spin, surprised to see that it was Josef who spoke. His gray eyes stare down at us from behind his bandanna. "Camiren was still alive."

"Oh," I say quietly. "I forgot about her."

"Odd," Josef's eyes swviel from me to Banette and back. "She was your District partner too." Right. How much I have forgotten in such a short time.

Banette shrugs and goes back to the cupboards again. I excuse myself from the table and head towards the bunk Azalea and I share. There's only four of them, two on each side of the room. Since there's now seven of us, Blade will have to take the top half of either Doug's or Amaya's. He'll probably bunk with Doug.

I lie myself flat on the bed, listening to the muted strains of conversation. Blade is asking questions, but he won't find very much answers. We're all as confused as he is.

The bed isn't like the ones in the training center, they're not perfect. It's firm, far too much for my liking, but I kind of like that it's not completely comfortable. Makes me feel better knowing that these people aren't going out of their way to make us content with our lot. Maybe they can offer us what we desire.

But what do I desire? It was a peaceful life with Colin, but that ship has long since sailes. So what's left for me to desire? I can't think of anything. Except vengeance. And that's what they're offering, but...

Who are they exactly? And why are they taking the Capitol down? I'd understand why a Panem citizen would want them destroyed, but these people aren't from Panem. I don't know where they're from...

My mind drifts off as I stare at the underside of the top bunk. Trying to figure out what's happening on my own is useless. Sooner or later they will tell us everything themselves, all we have to do is wait. Wait...

Armado Roynclaw (District 6)
The wailing sirens strike fear into the struggling crowd of panicking civilians as, overhead, the first of the hovercrafts appear. A rush of adrenaline fills me as I barg pass all the strangers and knock an old man off his feet. He falls into the puddle beneath him, launching muddy water against the throng of people pushing past. Nobody cared, I could not help unless I wanted the same to happen to me, but as I turned around an aircraft shoots past, a thundering rumble following and shaking the ground. As the old man searches for his walking stick on the marshy ground something causes an explosion; obliterating the helpless man and propelling rock and mud towards me at unbelievable speeds. Everything goes black as a heavy rock smashes into my face, and I lay unconscious between two mangled bodies.

I wake up to the same noise; aircraft shaking the earth, bombs breaking the ground and incessant screaming that sends a chilling sensation through my bones before silenced by another explosion. Only now the sounds of destruction are quieter, the loudest noise was two men shouting at each other. I keep my eyes closed to try and understand exactly what is going on and listen intently.

"Open the door! What are you doing?" A man is yelling from the other side, voice thick with panic and fear.

Another person responds quite calmly. "We have enough people in here and we don't need anymore blood around the place."

"What? You're just going to let them die!" It's a third voice that shouts out in obvious distress.

"It looks like it, doesn't it?" Their arguing is silenced by a ground shuddering detonation. The screams outside fall quiet for longer than normal and everybody goes silent, listening for signs of life outside the mysterious room.

I decide to stop pretending to be asleep and open my eyes slowly. I'm lying flat on my back in the corner of a room, above cold, hard stones. In front of me, a small group of people sit clustered around a small, dingy table. Their clothes are ragged, faces worn and tired. The room itself is chilly and damp, walls made of solid stone and lined with thick boards and many cabinets. By the lone, thick metal door, two men stand apart from the group, arguing.

My head is ringing and everything is unfocused. A by-product of my knockout, I guess. As I sit on the cold floor, slowly shaking my head, a girl about my age in the large group notices me. She's thin and blonde, hair streaked with dirt and grime. Her pale face is covered with cuts and scrapes. Blue eyes flash with friendliness as she sidles over to me.

"Hi, I'm Lavender. What's your name?" I don't answer. I try hard to think about what's happening. How could she be so happy at a time like this? And who are these people? Why am I here and where is here? What the hell is going on?

My back cricks as I sit up, leaning it against the cold stone wall as Lavender settles down next to me. I glance around again and finally notice the obvious; I'm in a bomb shelter. I probably would have realized this early if I had thought that District 6 had many of these. Glancing at the door, I see that the two men are still arguing about something. Curious, I turn to Lavender and speak with a croaky voice. "Why are they fighting?"

She smiles, glad that I've finally spoken. Then she explains. "The tall blonde man is John." She glances at the door the very same way I did. "He did something terrible..." Lavender tells me that John had claimed the bomb shelter for himself and shut the doors on a large group of people that were seeking shelter from the bombs. "They were stuck outside and died," Lavender says with a hushed voice. Her eyes are wide with fear and mistrust as she gazes at John.

I'm shocked at what the tall man had done, but right now I don't really care. I'm more concerned about my difficulty breathing and the throbbing pain in my head and chest. Lavender continues to explain the details of the event while I look around the room. It's lit my a few fluorescent lamps that hang over head, occasionally shaking and shuddering from explosive blasts in the distance. They light up majority of the room, but the far corner is shrouded in darkness, where a woman sits crying, her tears glistening in the dim light as they slide down her cheeks. Lavender notices me watching.

"That's Silvia," She tells me the name of the woman. "She had three children, but...they didn't make it to the shelter."

"Oh, wow..." I don't know what to say. That's more terrible then I could ever put into words. Three children? All dead? I don't know how she even keeps going. Suddenly feeling very uncomfortable watching the crying women. I move my gaze from her and stare hopelessly at the blank ceiling. I never thought about how I got here, all I can remember was the adrenaline rush, the running for my life and the old man receiving a direct hit from a missile. Somebody must have carried me here, whoever it was saved my life and must have risked theirs.

My thoughts are interrupted by a feeling of warm liquid running up my throat, I cough loudly and everyone turns towards me as I spurt thick blood out of my aching nose and mouth. I can feel everybody--even the arguing men-- looking intensely at me as I keep spitting the oozing liquid into the ground beneath me. On my hands and knees I bend over the small pool of blood and see my reflection. There are grazes all over my cheeks; blood is seeping out of the gaping wound beside my nose. My face is battered; my left eye bulbous and so slightly sticking out from its socket. I stare at my bruised lip as red saliva drips out of a deep cut.

"Why didn't you tell me I looked this bad...?" I ask Lavender between a fit of hacking coughing. She shrugs helplessly.

"We all look that bad." She's right. I see the others now, see their faces. Scarred and marked. One boy has half his face burnt away, nose a pulpy mess. Another man has only one arm, the other just a cauterized stump. Of everyone in the shelter, only John looks unharmed. He's taken over leadership duties, accessing the cabinets of supplies in the far back of the room and handing out rations accordingly. Tells us not to waste it and that, for now, only the sick and wounded get to eat.

"Here," He tosses me a wrapped container of dried bread. "Eat."

I shake my head, nauseous at very the thought of eating. "I'm good."

He pauses, serious green eyes taking in my condition, looking me up and down. Does he think I'm challenging him? Well, I'm not. I don't feel like I could challenge a fly in this state. Finally he shrugs. "Whatever. Give it to someone else then." He turns and calls for someone from the large group of people. A lanky man with stringy brown hair steps forward.

"Yes, John?" He asks, nervously wringing his hands together.

"Get some medicine and heal this kid. I don't want him dying and stinking the place up."

"I'm not going to--" I try protesting but break off as another fit of coughing strikes me. Warm blood splashes against my hands. John scowls.

"Heal him, Spanner." He tells the lanky man before turning and stalking back to the door. I'm conscious of everyone's gaze on me as Spanner kneels beside me, thin hands fumbling with a small, leather bag. This was not the first impression I was hoping to make. As Spanner checks through his bag, Lavender watches me with wide eyes. I wonder why she hasn't moved on yet. This can't possibly be that interesting.

I shift my hands back against the stone wall and feel a warm liquid pool around my fingers. I've been lying in a pool of my own blood. It's only then that I notice just how severe my injuries were. I'm suddenly struggling to keep conscious, head falling backwards as everything fades.

I wake up once more to the sound of bombs detonating in the distance. The ground shake and quakes, shuddering as if a giant walks among us. My head still hurts. It throbs with a raw pain. Like one of the explosions has gone off inside of my skull. Yet when my hands feel the cool stones around me, I can tell that the blood has been cleaned up.

"You're awake." A quiet voice sounds behind my ear, and I turn to see Lavender watching me with her clear, liquid blue eyes. How long has she been there? How long have I been here? "Spanner thought you might not pull through."

Wearily my head turns to search Spanner out. I find him beside John and a few others standing in the back of the room, by the storage crates. The thin man seems to be getting something to eat. "How long?" I ask Lavender, my voice is hardly more than a hoarse whisper. At least the pain in my chest has been alleviated.

Lavender tells me that we've spent several hours in the shelter. Fortunately there's more than enough rations for the dozen or so of us that reside here. Unfortunately, we used majority of the medicinal items healing me. I don't like that. I know that those supplies will be very valuable later, and using them on me was a waste.

"That's not true," Lavender says when I tell her this. "You were going to die if Spanner didn't do something!"

I shrug. "Maybe it'd be better if I had." I doubt I will be of much use to these people and the world outside will not get better anytime soon. This war has just begun. The Capitol may even completely destroy us District's if things get too bad. They've done before.

"You don't mean that." Lavender seems offended by the very thought.

"Maybe." The dull ache in my head has begun to fade ever so slightly, letting me get a better look at the room we're all stuck in. The large group that had been huddled against the wall the first time I woke has spread out, filling the corners and open space. For the first time I count them. There's fifteen, including me and Lavender. How long will our supplies last us?

The crying woman, Silvia, is surrounded by a few other survivors, most of them middle-aged women. The men and the younger people cluster around John, drinking in his words. One other person, a dark-haired girl a little younger then Lavender and I, sits in the far corner, glaring at me with angry eyes. "Whose that?" I ask Lavender, taking my eyes off the girl.

"Huh?" She glances to the corner and the lithe girl. "Oh, Morina. She's just upset that Spanner used so much supplies on you. Said it was a waste."

I shrug. "She's not wrong."

Lavender frowns but doesn't say anything. I get the feeling that she doesn't want to argue with me. Good. I don't want to put up with her constant rebuttals, especially if I'm going to be stuck in here with her for any length of time. "What's Spanner's story?" I ask her suddenly as I watch John hand the thin, frail looking man a package of wrapped food. "He a doctor or something?"

"Sorta." Lavender looks embarrassed all of a sudden.

"Sorta? What does that mean?"

"Well, he's not a doctor. But, well, he kinda is."

"Is he or isn't he?"

"He's a veterinarian." Lavender's cheeks flush pink and I find myself groaning loudly. A veterinarian? I allowed myself to be healed from life threatening injuries by a veterinarian?! "He's very good," Lavender tries to defend him. "And treating people isn't all that different from animals."

"I suppose I'm just a big overgrown animal, huh?"

"No!" Lavender's eyes spark with an angry light. "But you have to admit it's better than not getting healed at all."

"That's debatable." I already made it pretty clear that I'm not exactly clinging to life here. I don't bother bringing the point back up though. My head is throbbing with an intense pain once more and I...I can't really remember anything that happened to me before I woke up here. Only that old man getting blown to pieces. The gruesome image plays over and over in my head.

"You still haven't told me your name," Lavender says, shattering the image of the old man exploding in my head.

"Haven't I?" I thought I did. But maybe I didn't. Now that I think about it, I can barely remember it myself. Everything about the past is fuzzy, like a screen coated with a thin layer of vaseline, it's blurry and undetailed. I can't remember a single thing about my own life, not where I lived or who I am, I can just cling to a name. This should horrify me, but it doesn't. I can't bring myself to really care.

"No. You haven't." Lavender crosses her arms expectantly. "Don't tell me you don't remember it. Because that would be the most cliched thing imagine--"

"Armado."

"Excuse me?"

"My name. It's Armado." Armado Roynclaw. I remember that. It's definitely right. I also recall that my life...wasn't anything special. Normal fare. Nothing spectacular. Not much details though. Maybe I got a concussion. I should ask Spanner.

I rise to my feet, ignoring Lavender as she's in the midst of conversation. Suddenly I don't want to be in this room, cooped up with these people. Their crying is getting to me. Their shrieks of panic and terror everytime another detonation shakes the room. It's annoying.

John, Spanner, and a few of the other able-bodied survivors are still hanging around the far edge of the room, near the supply cabinets. I'm going to ask them to open the door. I don't want to spend another second in this room. Not a single one.

A hand grabs my shoulder before I get even halfway across the room.

"What are you doing, Armado?" Lavender scowls at me, blonde hair whipping over her shoulder.

I tell her what and she shakes her head patiently. "You can't leave, Armado. Not yet. It's too dangerous."

"But--"

"I understand you want to find your friends and family, but we have to be careful. Otherwise we'll die before we can meet them." There's a sad glow in her eyes, one that tells me she has people she cares for out in the District. I wish I could relate. I can hardly remember what my family is, thanks to this stupid concussion. "Besides, you think John will open that door for you? Especially after all that trouble he went through to keep it closed."

That part convinces me more than the danger going outside presented. From what little I know about John, he cares only about himself. No way he'd open the door for me. "Guess you're right," I mutter to Lavender while keeping an eye on John. The others seem to revolve around him, willingly take orders from him. People always want a confident leader who knows what he's doing, even if no one else does. Doubly so in times of crisis.

Lavender leads me to another corner, different from the one I woke up in, and asks me if I want something to eat. I tell her I do and she heads off. Once alone, I become aware of another set of eyes on me as I try to relax. Following my instincts, I turn to find the girl Lavender called Morina watching me again. Her eyes gleam with a strange anger.

What's her problem? Yeah, the medicine usage was an issue, but that doesn't justify the fury that seems to radiate from her. And it almost feels like there's...recognition in her eyes. But that's impossible. Isn't it?

"Here you go!" Lavender returns and sits down, handing me wrapped slab of dried beef strips. "Spanner is glad that you woke up."

Glad I woke up? Seems like he wasn't very confident in his abilities. Still, I don't say anything about this as I take a bite of the beef strip. It's not the best tasting thing I've ever eaten, but right now any food is great. I can't remember the last time I ate.

"Spanner says that the bombings will end in a few hours," Lavender whispers to me as I eat. "We should be able to leave then. John will probably be glad he won't have to feed us anymore."

There's something odd about the way she speaks, but I can't decide what it is. Doesn't matter either. I'll be gone soon. All I have to do is wait. Wait for those bombs to finish and then I'll be gone.

Tate Lockwood (District 2)
I head down the empty streets of District 2 at a brisk pace. Overhead, hovercrafts float by, carrying bombs and death to the rebel forces. Trains fill the station, overflowing with supplies and soldiers as they crisscross through the nation, stopping at each and every District. The mountain fortresses swarm with troops, each and every one ready to kill for their country.

Panem is at war.

The claustrophobic streets are silent and empty as I slip through them, heading towards the most important people in my life. I need to get them out of here. The television has shown me the atrocious occurring in the District's that currently are embroiled in the war. Common sense tells me what is happening. We need to escape. Escape to the rebels.

Easier said then done.

The buildings seem to constrict around me, grab at me with their concrete walls and brick foundations. I've always hated District 2 and its narrow, confining streets. It's so different from my home, District 10, and its large empty pastures. The ever-existing plains and wide moors that seem to continue forever. I never felt trapped there, never thought that I couldn't escape. It was always so open.

But District 2...

Here, buildings are packed closely together under the massive shade of the mountains that jut up around us like swords ripping through the belly of Earth. People fill the tight streets with their stinking bodies, jostling and bumping into one another as they head their different ways. The air is smoggy and unpleasant. Of all the District's my travelling circus has visited, District 2 has to be my least favourite. There's hardly anything I like about it, well, except for Harley.

I feel my insides tighten with nerves as I think of her. The Mayor's daughter. She is so far above me, a simple farmhand turned circus musician. She should never have glanced twice at me. But she did and...

Heck. A lotta stuff has happened because of our relationship. The biggest is probably our child. A child. Hah. I, well, never expected to have something like that to deal with it. But I love him regardless. I love little Blair and his mother, Harley. They're why I'm so desperate to escape this District.

I keep on track towards Harley's home. Ever since the war began her father, Mayor Cobalt Paramour, has kept her shut up inside his house. Located in the richest portion of District 2, locked behind a guarded gate. Getting in would be a problem. But luckily, I know how to get around problems.

As I draw closer and closer to the neighborhood, the sirens in the sky warning of an impending air attack continue to scream. It's not a real attack, of course. District 2 is far enough away from the fighting not to worry about such things. It's only a drill, a test for the citizens. Right now everyone is hiding in their houses or bunkers or fortresses, rehearsing their actions in case of an attack.

Which means that the streets are completely empty

No one sees me as I stop just outside the gates to the neighborhood. A long, gold studded metal fence stretches along the border. Beyond it, I can see a row of shining houses. Fancy houses.

My stomach tightens once more as I think of Harley. She's in there, locked in her house. Getting her out won't be easy, but I gotta try.

The security booth in the middle of the fence is deserted as I walk up to it, the guards obviously off reacting to the air siren. Good. I expected this.

I jump over the retractable fence and land gently on the other side. Racing down the streets, barely paying attention to any of the ornamental statutes or hedges as I keep low to avoid detection. Everyone may be off the streets, but that doesn't mean they're not looking out windows I can't afford to be caught, not with Harley's father just waiting for an opportunity to execute me.

At one point I pass by a series of elaborate golden statues, interlocked in a intricate pattern around a small park. Everything here is far too fancy for my tastes. Everything too rich. How do the people stand it?

Mayor Paramour's house stands at the very edge of the street. It's mammoth, with an intricate, multi-faceted structure, almost like a jewel. The beige roof is pointed, almost like a hat perched atop the house. The windows are illusionary mirrors as they glint in the mid-morning light. Whatever I think about Mayor Paramour, he sure has a pretty house.

I'm taking a step towards the house when I spot the two Peacekeepers standing upon the porch, patrolling pass the wicker furniture. Hurriedly I duck to the side, throwing myself deep into a bush of daffodils. Darn nabbit! I hadn't expected for there to be guards!

Harley's father must be very serious about his protection if he's putting Peacekeepers on patrol outside his front door. "Better think of somethin', Tate." I can't leave now. Not after I've gotten so far. But I also can't just stroll up into the house. Not that I was planning on doing that anyway. Always knew I'd need ta find my own way in.

Carefully I pick my way along the edge of the house, sticking close to the bushes that grow along the ornamental fence. The house is large, with three stories and many rooms on each floor. Harley could be in any one of them. I've never been inside before, thanks to her Father's extreme dislike of me. Besides, she ain't been living here long. Just since the rebellion started.

Thinking of this makes thoughts of the circus pop back in my mind. I've spent all my life with them, ever since my musical talent showed itself at the age of ten. I've spent years with them, made hundreds upon hundreds of memories. They became another family for me, a boy who never really knew his actual family.

And now my time with them is done.

In some ways, I'm glad. I never got to experience any other type of life while I was in the circus and my obligations to them kept me from living with Blair's and Harley, my new family. Well, my obligations and Mayor Paramour.

I scowl as I stare at the beige walls of the house. Harley and my son are somewhere inside. Probably locked in a room or something. Mayor Paramour has always hated our relationship. He's done whatever he could to try and separate us. His most recent effort was right before the war began, when he attempted to have me sent back to District 10. I only narrowly avoided that. But now...What will he do to keep Harley away from me? He's already taken her against her will and locked her up. How much further will he go?

I don't intend to find out.

I take a quick glance over the yard, see that all is clear, then sprint across the lawn. Within seconds my long legs take me to the houses side. Closer up, I can see that the walls are laced with interlocking twirls of green and copper vines. They start out at the base, growing and twisting as they climb higher and higher, only petering out at the last window...

A plan forms in my head.

Holding my breath, I reach down and grab the largest of the vines. It's thicker and heavier then I'd have imagined, fitting snugly into the palm of my hand.

But will it hold me?

Cautiously, I pull against the vine. Nothing happens at first, so I put more force behind my tug and instantly it rips free from the wall with a loud tearing sound. But it doesn't come all the way free, just around the base. "Really hope I don't get myself killed," I mutter as I give the vine one last tug, this time with my full strength.

It splits at the seams and tiny, almost microscopic holes form at the sides, but somehow it holds. My plan is viable. Before I can get cold feet, I grab a vine in each hand and begin to climb.

The ivy makes for good handholds, but the effort of pulling myself up sheer wall with only vines to support my weight is taxing. Twice I nearly lose my grip. It's only the thought of what would become of me if I were to be found lying injured on Major Paramour's property that keeps me going. Still, by the time I reach a second-story window, I feel spent.

My legs kick out and catch a hold of the window seal, allowing myself to manoeuvre the rest of my body onto the flange that juts out. There's just enough room for me to sit. My chest heaves with breath as I try to get my energy back. Once I do, I'll try the window. If it's open--

"What do you mean you can't find him?!" A shrieking voice pours out from the closed window, even louder and more shrill then the air siren still ringing.

"Sir, we've checked the circus grounds and have seen nothing--"

"Of course he wasn't at the circus grounds! I closed that damn place down last week!" My heart goes cold as I recognize that voice which is prenaturally and as smooth as Harley's skin. Mayor Paramour is inside this window.

"I apologize, sir. I didn't realize--"

"Of course you didn't!" Paramour sneers and I can just imagine him waving his hand flippantly. "You're completely incompetent! Otherwise you'd have captured and killed that boy my now!"

"Kill? I thought you just wanted him deported."

"Things have changed! That bastard has already spawned with my daughter, completely defying my orders! Not to mention his continued ignoring of my warnings. He needs to be destroyed. The sooner the better."

I nearly fall from my perch as I gasp in shock. The boy. He means me. He's talking about me! If it was possible for me to dislike the man anymore than I already did, then I would. Being upset is one thing, trying to kill me is something completely different!

"What about your daughter?" The other voice is asking when I tune back into the conversation.

"What about her?"

"Won't she, ahem, be upset if you kill her boyfriend?"

"No. In fact, after I finish with the boy, she won't be upset about anything ever again."

"I...don't understand."

"She'll be dead, fool! She'll be taken care of after the boy. I'd do away with her now, if I didn't think we could use her to draw him in. I've tried to reconcile with her, God knows I did, but that damn fool never listened to a thing I said. How am I supposed to keep her around when all she's ever done is make a mockery of her family's name? She threatens to ruin our family by her tinkering with that farm rat. Do you know what the other Mayor's say about me behind my back? Do you?"

As the other man stutters a response, I pull myself away from the window. This is bad. Worse than bad. Worse than anything I could put into words. I need to get Harley and Blair oit of here, before that madman can harm a hair on their heads.

I turn back to the vines. Continue my climbing. It's easier now that I have motivation, that I know just what hinges on my rescuing my family. At first I just wanted them to be safe from the fighting, but now...

I reach the third story window with seconds of climbing. I hoist myself up onto the windowsill, glancing carefully through the window and into the plush hallway. No one in sight. Good. My hands reach the top of the window and slowly slide it open. Thank God it was unlocked. I don't know what I would have done if it wasn't...

Silently I enter the house.

The air of the third floor is ripe with a fresh, pine wooden flooring smell, I can almost see my reflection with how shiny the floor was. The sense of delicacy hits me straight away as I turn and look into an open doorway, spotting the crisp clean white bedding layed in the giant four-poster bed.

I let out a low whistle as I stare at the magnificence. I never knew that Harley's family was this well off. Almost makes me understand Mayor Paramour's psychotic need to keep me away from his daughter. Almost.

I head off down the hall, my boots squeaking against the freshly shined floors. How am I suppose to find Harley in a place this large? There's over a dozen rooms on this floor alone, and odds are they're not all unoccupied. If I just went poking my head into each one, I'd be caught for sure.

So what do I do?

Unfortunately, I can't think of anything. So with a helpless shrug, I decide to check each room individually.

As I head for the first door, it is as though I can hear my breathing echoing for miles around me, the house is that big. With spiraling banisters and the sweet scent of baking bread wafting up from what is undoubtedly the kitchen two floors below. It gives the house a warm, homely feeling. That is until I remember the man who owns it. Then the place just seems mockingly cruel.

I reach the first shut door and with a deep breath, I slowly slide it open a crack. Peeking through the narrow hole, I can see that it is a drawing room. An empty one at that. No Harley. Damn.

I carefully shut it behind me and begin my search anew. The next two doors I check are two bathrooms, which is confusing. Why would anybody need two bathrooms right across from each other? Does Mayor Paramour need to go that badly? Huh. That thought conjured up an image I ain't never want to see again.

After this, I skip the next two doors as I hear footsteps beneath me. Voices rise and then a door slams shut. Someone isn't in a good mood and I'd rather be far away from me here before I find out who, Harley beside me, of course.

I approach the door at the very end of the hall. A large stained window hangs beside it, letting in a layer of multicolored light that shines against the floor, illuminating a swath of dancing dust motes.

"I hope you're in here, Harley," I mutter as I press my hand against the knob. It's strangely wet. Or is that just the sweat from my hand? I can't tell. A familiar tightness constricts in my chest aa I imagine what would happen if I'm caught. I'd die, Harley would die. Everything would be ruined.

With another deep breath, I swing the door open.

I find myself in a bedroom. A large, sturdy desk sits in the corner, a stack of untidy papers strewn across it. On the other side of the room rests a bed, black and red sheets neatly folded. And just next to this lies a crib.

Now that is a good sign. Why would there be a crib if not for Harley and Blair? A confident grin plastered on my face, I stroll into the room.

And a second later a heavy object smashes down onto my skull.

Kane Brunus (District 10)
The wind flutters silently as a roiling mass of clouds roll in overhead, masking the moors horizon with a dark gray screen. Thick, impenetrable fog drifts across the empty plains. The smell of burning manure wafts up to where I stand, surveying the smouldering ruins of District 10 from a high hill.

What a hellhole this place is.

Laughter rings out around our encampment as a few of my men drink and play poker around a small table set up in the middle of the hill. I chose this place for the strategic advantage it offered; from the hilltop we can see anyone approaching District 10 from miles away in every direction. No one can launch an attack without me knowing about it.

In the far distance, a hovercraft shoots over the buildings of District 10. A tiny opening appears in the bottom of the plane, and then something slips out, hurtling towards the city below. At first nothing seems to happen, then there's a flash of light followed by an explosion of fire. I'm too far away to hear the screams, but I know that they're happening. The hovercraft must of just bombed a rebel base, igniting their damn hideaway with uncontrollable chaosFire. I smile as I imagine rebels writhing and screaming in agony as unquenchable flames lick away at their flesh.

I wish I could see it.

But, no. I have a duty to fulfil with my squad, the best damn squad ever assembled. I handpicked most of them myself, selecting them from the available pool of Peacekeepers assembled at the District when I arrived from my home in District 1. My talents were being wasted there, where no battle ever took place. I knew I could be the best squadron leader there ever was, capable even of taking control of a District. So I requested to be shipped off to a District that needed my help, any District at all. That District ended up being District 10.

I was met at the train station by General Kass, one of the Six-God Generals of the Capitol and the man in charge of taking back control of southern Panem. He gave me the squad I now control and the standard supplies. After that, he left me with only the simplest of orders; Eliminate the enemy with extreme prejudice.

And that's just what I've done.

The first Rebels my squad encountered were a sorry lot. We had only gone a few klicks from the station when we stumbled upon a group hiding in a barn we sought out for shelter. They were scrawny and weak, incapable of holding their stolen rifles without their arms shaking. My soldiers and I killed most of them with ease. We even managed to take several prisoner, only, they didn't last long enough to be of use. We roughed them up too much and they all died like the weaklings they are. Bah. Who can't even take a little beatings?

After that first group, things got a little tougher. District 10 isn't like most of the other District's, it's not all centered in one large city. Most of the populace lives on farms and ranches out in the countryside, with a few sparse outcroppings of neighbourhoods in-between.

Naturally, this suits the cowardly rebels and their guerrilla warfare just fine. They attack us, or more likely, one of the other Peacekeeper force attempting to assert control, hit hard and then bleed back into the countryside. Difficult to track. The damn ranchers know the wilderness like the boils on their buttocks. Still, I found a way to combat them.

Head through the countryside, burning and pillaging every barn, loft, house, and stable I came across. That flushed those ripe bastards out alright. Things began looking up after this new strategy, until...

Damn blackcloaks! I utter a swear under my breath and turn away from the desolate city. Despite all the victories I've made over the past two weeks, all the rebel nests I've destroyed, I'm still not any closer to getting the District under control. "Damn blackcloaks!" I begin marching back down the hill, towards the swath of tents set up just in the dip, when I spot something amiss.

Leaning against a small, spindly tree that grows upon the hills crest, is a scrawny Peacekeeper. His white uniform glows in the mid-morning light as he rests his unblemished head against the tree, dozing peacefully.

I march over to the tree, teeth gnashing together on a furious rage. The Peacekeeper snores gently as I approach, eyelids fluttering slightly. He looks very content.

I smash my boot into the side of his head.

"What the hell are you doing, Romper?!" My scream echoes along the hillside as he rolls along the grass, squeaking pitifully and crawling about as his hands clutch at his head. "You were supposed to be on guard! Not sleeping like a frickin' little girl!"

The man looks up, eyes wide with fright and blood dripping from his jaws as tries to steady himself. "I'm sorry, Kane! But I was on the night shift and--"

My boot catches him right in the ribs. He grunts with the thus of impact and rolls over onto his side, gasping and heaving for breath. By now the rest of the squad has heard the commotion and begin to ascend the hill, weapons held warily. "The blackcloaks could have ambushed us while you slept!" I scream as I throw another kick at Romper. The thin man cries out in pain as it connects with his shoulder.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" It's all he can say as he tries to catch his breath. My hands finger the magnum on my belt. Romper is useless. The absolutely most incompetent man in my squad. I should kill him now and spare me any future mishaps. But...I need every man I can get. Especially with those blackcloaks on the prowl.

"Tybalt! Aevil!" I shout the names and instantly two of my men break rank and stand beside me, saluting crisply.

"Yes, sir."

"Take over sentry duty for Romper. Circle around the hills and check all the gullies. I don't want any damn surprises when we march!"

"Yes, sir!"

The two jog off, belts jiggling with weapons. I turn back to the others. "Pack up the tents and supplies. We'll be off in a hour."

"Where will we be going?" One of my men asks. I watch him carefully, studying his face for any signs of insubordination. But all I see is simple curiosity.

"You don't need to know!" I tell him with a glare. As usual, my men avert their gaze when I get angry. They fear my temper and respect my ability...for now. But if my losses keep piling up, I may soon lose their support. Another reason to crush those blackcloaks soon as possible. "Now get going! You have an hour!"

The group dissolves immediately, everyone rushing off to do their individual tasks. I watch them file to the camp where they begin to unfurnish it, unpitching the tents and putting out the fire. The men who were playing cards sort the plastic squares into a neat pile before folding the table, carefully inserting it into one of our waterproof bags. Yuri "Excuse me, sir." A voice sounds in my ear and I turn to yell at the slacker to get to work when I see who it is; Vons, my lieutenant. He's a brutal, violence-loving man who always has an appetite for destruction. His favourite way of killing--everyone has their own preferred method of offing an enemy, a calling card of sorts--is to strangle them to death. And with his thick, muscled arms that look like a pair of pythons, no one ever escapes once his hands wrap around their throat. The rest of the squad as taken to calling him "Von Strangle". In essence, he's the perfect soldier.

Right now, his protective helmet has been removed, revealing his long face and cold gray eyes. A large scarred hand scratches at his scruffy, blond beard as he gives me an inelegant salute. When he finishes, I give him the go-ahead to speak. He promptly does, his loud, brass voice booming across the hilltop. "If you don't mind my asking sir, where exactly are we going?"

I tap my head as I answer. "I'll tell you when I figure it out," I growl impatiently. And I'll never be able to think if I keep getting interrupted!

Vons shrugs, a sign that shows he doesn't actually care where we go. "Very well. I also wanted to let you know that a blackcloak was sighted just before dawn, floating over the city."

My hands clench into fists. Those blackcloaks--or Those Who Don't Exist, the stupid and ostentatious name they've given themselves--have been the bane of my existence after the first encounter.

I thought that they would be like the Rebels, easily defeated and eluded by an elite squad of Peacekeepers, but I was wrong. They're nothing like the rebels, either in skill or technology. They're just as skilled with standard ballistic weapons as my soldiers, but that's not the extent of their weaponry. They have pulse weapons, guns that shoot laser-like beams of light that will blast straight through the toughest of armor. Grenades that give off fatal blasts of electricity and--worse yet--ones that create a vortex-like field that grabs and pulls nearby objects into the grenades blast radius. Rail cannons that can shred dozens of men into pieces within seconds, Rocket propelled weapons that launch clusters of grenades, sometimes including the electric ones. And these are just some of their weapons.

They seem to possess some sort of shield, an invisible aura that fends off our bullets. In the first few encounters with the damned cloaks we shot bullets that we thought would be fatal only to watch them ping off or lose momentum and fall harmlessly to the ground before even reaching their targets. They aren't infallible, we've killed some of those blackcloaks with concentrated fire, but it damn sure is annoying.

"Where did it go?" I ask Vons, not bothering to try and keep the rage out of my voice. We're both well-aware how they've run rough shot all over us.

My big lieutenant nods a head at a discrete building just on the edge of the city. It's nothing more than a square block of concrete with a door, really. There's not even any windows. "Went inside there. Hasn't come out since, to my knowledge."

"Could have left while Romper was on guard," I point out. Another reason to be furious with that slack-jawed yokel. I'm seriously reconsidering my decision not to kill him.

"No." Vons shakes his big burly head. "After Aevil spotted it, I kept watch. Nothing has entered or left since."

I frown. "That doesn't make sense." What the hell would a blackcloak go into such a useless building for? And why stay there for several hours? It's utterly nonsensical...Unless, of course, there's another exit. A thought pops to mind. "Vons."

"Yeah, boss?"

"You wanted to know where we're going? Well, we're going to check out that building."

Teddy Bridges (District 3)
The earth shudders and shakes as another shell detonates just down the street. Through the window, I watch as a building slowly collapses, it's supports giving out under the immense strain of the explosion.

"Get away from there, Teddy!"

A hand grips my shoulder as Nora hauls me away from the window, dragging me further into the darkened room where we reside. I don't protest, because I know she's right. All it would take is one richoeting bullet to pierce through the window and I'd be dead. So I merely follow my sister quietly to the back to the room, surveying our new temporary home as I do.

We are on the upper floor of what evidently had been a public building. The room is cavernous, bare and empty, with whitewashed walls that are stained yellow and green with mold. All along each wall stretch row upon row of empty shelves, covered in dirt, grime, and bird droppings. Discongulate piles of wood that might once have been tables or chairs lay in a few corners. Tall windows look out onto the street where the Capitol and the rebels make war, and marbled stairs led to the lower floor. The whole place stinks of damp and decay.

I hate it.

"It's safe, Teddy," Nora tells me when I bring up the stench. She sits on one of the broken crates, flipping a strand of her long dark hair out from her pale, haggard face. She's much thinner then she was before the war, but that's not surprising. Everyone is much thinner. "And safe places are few and far between nowadays."

"Maybe." She's right, of course. I should just be grateful that there's no reason for anyone to target this abandoned and decaying building, no reason for the Capitol to shell it with their mortars. I hate the shelling. Day and night it continues, shaking the earth and filling the world with endless screaming of missiles. You can't sleep without the sound reaching into your head, threatening to blow up your senses. Already I've seen buildings that stood tall my entire life reduced to nothing but a pile of rubble. The urbicide of District 3 is still on going.

As I think, the piercing cry of another shell fills the air. Nora stands up immediately, rushing to protect me, but it's pointless. The building shakes and trembles as the shell smashes down, somewhere far off and away from us. Everything goes back to an eerie silence.

Nora stops halfway across the room. "I hate this," She mutters, turning back to her spot, with her satchel swinging behind her. Immediately my stomach rumbles. "You hungry?" To my embarrassment, Nora hears it. Already she's reaching into our back, grabbing one of our precious few rations.

"I don't need it," I say quickly as she goes to hand me a slightly squashed chunk of bread. "I've already eaten today." Our supplies are low. Too low. We've barely enough water and hardly any food, the bread being one of the last things in the bag, along with a few sour apples and a string of too-tough jerky.

"C'mon, Teddy. Eat it. For me." My sister gives a small, sad smile as she presses the bread into my hands. I shake my head and try to give it back but she won't take it. Then my stomach rumbles again and the look she gives me let's me know that I won't be doing anything but eating that bread.

Nora backs off as I slip the hunk into my mouth, chewing it quietly. The faint sounds of distant explosions still ring in my ears, making me more nervous with every bite. I still remember how the siege started, that day we were in the marketplace. Nora and I were only buying food on our way back home when the earth shook like it was being torn apart. Then, in the sky, we saw the first of the shells.

The large marketplace was crowded with people, everyone just minding their own business, but it didn't matter to the attackers. The very first shell hit the center of the crowd, completely obliterating everyone who stood there. Blood splattered across my face right before Nora tackled me to the ground, saving me from getting crushed by a dislodged pillar.

Screams filled the air. The scent of death was everywhere. Nora pulled me up and led me into a side alley as several more shells rained down on the market, killing even more people. It wasn't until two days later, while desperately searching for a home and overhearing a Capitol broadcast, did I learn how many people died. One hundred and fourty-four. Another hundred and sixty-seven wounded. The television told us that the attacks came from some terrorist organization known as Those Who Don't Exist, but I know that's not true. It was the Capitol. They're the only ones with the technology and manpower of firing shells like the ones that tore apart the market and killed so many...

"You okay, Teddy?" Nora has noticed the crestfallen look on my face. I offer a fake smile to try and keep her from worrying. She's all I have in this world, especially now. We lost our parents young and were then sent to live with our aunt and uncle, neither of whom care very much for us. Not that it matters right now, as we've lost contact with them after the the rebellion started, when we were at the market.

"I'm fine, Nora." I'm anything but fine, actually. I'm worried about myself, about my fellow District 3 citizens and, most importantly, about Nora. But I don't want to admit this, because then she'd worry about me.

"Okay." My sister slips towards the exit of the room and instantly I'm on my feet.

"Where are you going?"

She turns back to me with a forced smile. "I'm checking the other rooms for supplies. Who knows? Maybe someone left some stuff in here."

"But..." The protest dies on my lips. Nora is a big girl, older than me. She can look after herself. Who would be in such a derelict building anyway? Still, if a shell hit us and we were separated...

"I'll be right back, Teddy. Don't worry."

I watch her leave the room, wishing I could feel as she said. How can I not worry? People die in the District every day. Blown up my mortars, or shot by snipers hiding on the rooftops. Sometimes even just ran over with tanks. No one cares about us unaligned citizens in this war; not either side.

I sigh and drift towards the window. There's been a rare lull in the artillery. For some reason they've stopped firing. Why could that be? Does it matter? Not to me. Maybe Rebels have assaulted them...

Down in the streets a shape bursts out from the building across from us. It's a man, dressed in dusty and ripped, but otherwise fancy clothing and screaming at the top of his lungs before a gunshot rings out through the quiet night.

The man stumbles to the ground. He does not get back up.

"Sniper..." I mutter my thoughts, but something doesn't add up. The way he fell, you'd think he was shot by someone from my side of the street. But that can't be. I'd have seen anyone else walking the street, unless they....

Oh no.

I throw myself away from the window, go running for the marble staircase where Nora disappeared. No, no, no! Not good! The only way someone could have shot that man from this side was if they were inside the building.

"Nora!" I scream my sister's name as soon as I reach the bottom of the stairs. In response, I hear her scream.

"Nora!"

The scream comes from the door on my right and I throw myself against it, slamming it open. I stumble into a room very similar to the one I was just in and see her.

Nora lies on the ground, eyes closed and breathing slowly. A large, purple bruise covers the side of her face and a tall and thin young woman stands over her, clutching a black pistol. Behind her, half a dozen people mill about, all of them armed.

"Nora!"

I let out a scream and rush for the unconscious body of my sister, only to be intercepted by one of the gun-toting goons. His thick hands clamp around me and he lifts me into the air, kicking and screaming with furious rage. "What do we do with him, Camilla?" The guy asks.

The young woman turns to face me, brushing a strand of red tinted blonde hair out of her face. Regarding me and my screaming with a contemptuous roll of her eyes, she scowls. "He's making too much noise. Silence him."

Before I can do anything else, the big man slams me against the wall and all goes black.

Aisha Hakeem (The Tower)
The door opens only half an hour after Palutena left. I roll myself off the bed the instant I hear that familiar muted pop, but I'm still not quick enough to be the first to the door. Blade and Banette race from the kitchen, nearly knocking me over in their haste to reach the door. The others follow much slower, and I join them after dusting off my sleeves.

Blade and Banette stop a few feet from the door, staring at the figure that has just appeared. Dressed entirely in black, wearing the same type of cloak that my rescuers did, the figure wears a mask inscribed with a "5". Unlike most of the others, this one seems to have a smaller body and is only slightly taller than Josef.

"Who're you?" Blade asks with a scoff, clearly not intimidated.

"I guess I'm supposed to be your guide." The figures' voice is young, younger than I'd have thought. It's also vaguely familiar, though I can't imagine how or why that would be.

"Guide?" Banette snorts loudly, stepping forward so he's toe-to-toe with the figure. "Guide to what?"

The figure shrugs. "To the Tower, I suppose. But first things first." Gloved hands reach for his head, and with one deft motion, slide the mask off.

Someone behind me gasps as a young, smiling face turns towards us. The boy laughs as he sweeps his dusty brown hair back with one hand, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. "Amaya recognizes me," He says with a chortle.

We all spin to face Amaya. The girl is staring at the boy with wide disbelieving eyes. Then she glares. "You're with her, aren't you? You helped that imposter!"

"Huh?"

The boy frowns as Banette snaps his fingers in realization. "Stephen! You're Stephen Star!"

That's when it dawns on me. Why I recognized his voice, why his face is so familiar. Stephen Star was the District 10 male from my original Games. He died on Day five, torn apart by a pack of ferocious mutts. But if he died...

"How are you here?" I ask him, suddenly very suspicious. Was he revived like us? And if so, why?

The boy scratches his head. "What do you mean?"

"She's wondering why you're not dead," Doug speaks before I can. His tone is calm and level, and his eyes betray no emotion. "In fact, I'm wondering the same thing myself."

"Oh!" Stephen slaps his forehead, laughing. "I forgot the Capitol faked my death."

"Faked?" We all pretty much speak at the same time.

"Yeah. I didn't die. Neither did Aelia. The two of us were taken from the arena by Those Who Don't Exist and--"

A loud, shrill shriek cuts him off. Amaya, who until this point has been very quiet, suddenly steps forward until her nose is inches from Stephen's own. "Shut up! Aelia is dead! Your masters killed her!"

Silence.

Doug glances warily at Amaya. Her hair is frizzy and wild, eyes bright with a burning rage. Everyone else steps away from her as Stephen brings his arm up and taps against his wrist. A dull 'Pop!'echoes and I get the feeling that there's something different about him now.

"I don't know what you're talking about," He tells Amaya, backing up. "Aelia--the real Aelia--is alive and well. You saw her when she came to rescue you."

Amaya let's out a scornful laugh. "Oh? Did she? All I saw was an imposter. An imposter who killed my best friend!"

"What is she talking about?" I sidle up besides Doug and ask. I have no idea what she's going on about. Or what Stephen is saying. Two Aelia's'? Real and imposter? Huh?

He doesn't answer, but his eyes seem to gleam with knowledge.

"You're just confused," Stephen tells her, clearly uncomfortable now. "You should get some rest. Then you can--"

Amaya lets out a screech and leaps for Stephen, hands flying for his neck. But once she gets within inches of his skin, she's thrown backwards into the air. She zooms across the room, smashing into the far wall, where she slips and falls to the ground, shaking violently.

"What did you do?!" Blade shouts in horror at Stephen as Doug rushes to Amaya. Her shaking stops as his handa grab her shoulders, and he carefully checks her pulse.

"She's alive," He says.

"I--She grabbed me!" Stephen's stunned gaze flits between our horrified faces. "I didn't do anything! She just set off my pulse shield!"

"Pulse shield?" I raise a questioning eyebrow as I watch Doug tend to Amaya. Her skin smokes ever so slightly as she lies on the ground, breathing fast and shallow. If I didn't know better, I'd say she ran into a force field.

"Y-yeah. I-it's a thing we have here at the Tower," Stephen peers over Blade's shoulder, watching Amaya with concerned eyes. "It's a shield, kinda like--"

"The Capitol's force fields?" I interject.

He nods. "Yeah. But smaller and mobile. Nanoparticles are woven into our cloaks, which is why we wear them all the time. I don't know the scientific specifics, but they're strong enough to fend off bullets. Of course, only the Council and 9's have the best. My shield can probably only take one bullet at close range before oveheating and sputtering out."

"That's amazing technology," Doug says, rising to his feet.

Stephen shrugs. "We have lots of amazing things here."

"That's great and all, but will she be okay?" I nod at Amaya. I don't particularly like or even know the girl, but she survived the arena and that has to count for something.

"What?" Stephen lools back to where Amaya lies prone. "Oh, yeah. She'll be fine. Just unconscious for a few hours. Probably will miss the tour..." He turns around and begins fiddling with his wrist. "I have to tell the Council what happened. You two move her somewhere comfortable."

Josef and Banette, under Stephen's order, pick up Amaya and move her to her bunk. I notice that they're not very careful, just tossing her down and moving on. Once that's done, Stephen turns back to us with a forced smile. "Okay! Council said that the tour will continue as planned. Now--"

"Wait!" I hold up my hands. "How did you contact them?"

He smiles, showing us his wrist. A faint ceruleaun light glows from underneath the cloak. "I used my DNAC. But don't worry. I'll explain that later. For now, you have a tour to take."

Pandora Stryker (District 7)
The overwhelming scent of pine floods over me as I slowly move through the forest, feet dragging behind me as I aimlessly wander towards...somewhere.

The pine trees loom up like wooden skyscrapers, reaching for the sky with their frizzy birstles. Birds scatter in the sky, letting out shrill squawks as a hovercraft shoots overhead, leaving orange streaks against the pale-blue sky. I duck behind a nearby tree peeking my head up. Is it one of ours?

No.

The symbol on the hull is different. The Capitol mark has been scrubbed out, replaced with the glowing triangle that those rebels so love. It's not a Capitol craft, but at least it doesn't belong to Those Who Don't Exist.

Unlike District 7.

Their invasion began only hours after the 400th Games ended. As the screens went black, the first of the bombs dropped. Their soldiers poured in from the sky, flying like winged demons as their pulse fire and missiles tore apart both men and steel. The local Peacekeeping force could do little to stop the massacre.

I, of the noble Stryker family, was only here by chance. I was learning about the District in an effort to gain the escort job. I inhabited the Mayor's home as the assault came, and I fled through the basement window when the killers came, slaying each and every person aligned with the Capitol.

I've been on the run ever since, desperately seeking a way back to the Capitol without being discovered. Because if I do, I will die.

The hovercraft disappears from sight, no doubt on its way to the main portion of District 7, where the homes and buildings are. If there's one good thing about those Rebels, it's good that they dislike Those Who Don't Exist almost as much as we do. Pitting them against one another would be a good idea.

I set off the moment the hovercraft is gone. Heading at a walk towards the mountains in the distance, it's peaks are like a row of arrow tips reaching for the sky. If I remember correctly, then the Capitol is pass those mountains. My home is a long way away.

My feet already seem to hurt as I move through the forest over nettles past glades. The peaks rarely seem any closer, and motivation is hard to come by. What will I even do when I get there? I know nothing about surviving out here. I'm surprised I'm not already dead.

When I first set off, I held out hope that the Capitol would send someone to retrieve me. After all, I am Pandora Stryker, cousin to the President and one of the most influential persons in the countfy. But then I recalled that it would be Leopold who is calling the shots. He'd never send a ship out only to collect me. He certainly wouldn't risk losing men and effort in an attempt to rescue a cousin he doesn't even like.

With that option gone, I thought that maybe I could meet up with some Peacekeepers while they attacked the District. Unfortunately, none ever showed up. I can only assume that is because the situation is too dire elsewhere for forces to be spared in an effort to regain a District that excels in a mostly useless export.

My journey continues. The sun stretches into the sky and my mouth begins to dry just as spot a gem-blue stream in the forest. It is seeping and dribbling as it swerves through the trees. Pebbles whisk about in the under wash like pieces of glitter as I kneel beside it and take a pleasant drink.

I remember that someone once told me that rivers are the heart of the forest. That they're where all life flocks, where roads open. Is this a good sign? I stand and glance up to the skies, where the serrated mountains loom in the distance. The river seems to stretch down from it's slopes. Could it be that I only need to follow it?

"Oh! Hello there!"

I freeze as a strange voice greets me. Leaves crunch underfoot as the person approaches from behind. Panic jolts me into action. I leap to my feet, hands flying out in what I assume to be a defensive position. I will knock him out. I will--

A young kid stares back at me, a bemused expression on his youthful face. "You planning on attacking me?"

My arms fall back to my side. The kid is like fourteen years old. What harm could he do? Tell the rebels were I am...

"Who are you?" I challenge.

He shrugs. "Just a boy trying to survive."

"That's not an answer." My eyes study the boy more carefully. His hair is a strange mix of black and white, blue eyes that twinkle with some silent promise. He's thin, but tall. Taller then me.

His eyebrows wiggle. "Yeah? Well, I don't see why I have to give an answer out here..." His eyes glance downwards. Only for a fraction of a second, but it's enough for me to notice the dagger curled in his hand. He's armed.

"Are you with the Capitol?" I adopt a small, scared tone, softening my features as I shrink away from the boy. I know for a fact that he's not aligned with the Capitol. Meaning he has to be with either the rebels or Those Who Don't Exist. Either way, it's best if it seems I'm frightened of the Capitol.

The boy is silent for a moment, then he laughs humorlessly. "I wish. Things would be much easier that way."

"Why is that?" Interesting. I fully expected him to vehemently deny any connection with the Capitol.

"Long story." The kid brushes past me, stooping beside the river and taking a long drink. I watch him carefully. I am no longer afraid of him. Even with that dagger I know I could take him. But, he seems to be useful...

"Why is a kid like you by yourself?" I ask him when he's finished drinking. He narrows his eyes.

"You're from the Capitol, aren't you?"

A paroxsym of shock spreads through me. How could he have known?! I open my mouth to deny the allegation, maybe come up with some lie, when the kid continues. "Your hair and accent is a giveaway. Also, your clothes are much too fancy to be out in the woods."

"You're perceptive," I say through pursed lips.

He shrugs. "Not really. I don't really...know much about the world."

"So why are you out in the woods?" I glimpse where and how he holds the dagger. He doesn't seem the slightest bit interested in attacking me. A good thing, that is.

"I..." He frowns and turns back to the water, muttering something to himself. "I need to get to the Capitol."

"Oh?" So do I. What a surprising similarity.

"Yeah. I need to get there...to heal myself." Pain flashes in his eyes as he turns around to gaze at the distant mountains. "I'm the last of my family. I can't afford to die. I need to live."

"I understand." This kid can be useful. He can assist me with what I need to do. So of course I need to be friendly with him. "What's your name?"

"Huh?" His eyes narrow for a moment, then he shakes his head. "I'm Finale. Finale Spectrus."

Altur Lysander (District 14)
I sit at my desk, carefully thinking.

The office walls are of paneled wood, and on the floor lies a hieroglyph covered rug that excudes power and prestige. It is thousands of years old, it's existence stretching back to long before the Dark Days. It has lasted the years, though all if it's owners have long faded from history.

A thin man stands before my bare wooden desk, just before the bloodstain where District 14's previous mayor had his head parted from his body by a Stryke Force operative.

"Our soldiers have not been able to catch the perpetrators, sir," The man is saying as I idly run a hand across the smooth mahogany desk, watching data and information stream across the flat-screen computers before me. "Whoever they are, they're very fast. Always slipping away into the shadows before our soldiers arrive."

"I don't want excuses, Spurius. I want results!" I drum my fingers against the desk and spin my chair around, staring out the wide, circular window at the gentle blue ocean behind me. The gigantic metal ships of God-General Belisaurus' National Fleet rest upon the waters, as still as death. Their commander is on his way as I speak.

"I understand, sir." Spurius bows his head. He is my assistant, a man whom I believe holds great potential. He is not very old, just entering his twenties, plenty of time to develop his skill further. And what skill he has. Manipulation, intimidation, and bribery are just a few of his many talents. He reminds me of myself.

But all his skills aside, his valuable position at my side is currently very tenuous if he does not get me the answers I seek.

Spurius' coiffed blonde hair bobs on his head as he bows his straight soldiers, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Sir, General Belisaurus will be here soon."

"I know that!" I eye him coldly before looking back out the window at the ocean. I still remember how I gazed upon this sight when I first gained office. The euphoria I felt whilst exploring District 14, from it's sugar fields to the fiery volcanoes hidden amongst it's jungles. I had everything I could possibly want. Money, power, a lab to continue my work. Everything was perfect.

But then Panem was flung into another war. The District's assailed. Even the Capitol's mighty forces couldn't prevent the outpouring of forces that attacked its borders. Several District's have even fallen, slipped from the Capitol's grasp. Needless to say, President Stryker is not happy.

I, however, remain in his good graces. Save for the District's that form the Inner Core, my District alone has not yet been assaulted by Those Who Don't Exist. My District alone that does not hide rebels amongst it's citizenry--I had stomped those out long ago. My District alone creates weapons above all others. Living weapons of mass destruction.

I, Altur Lysander, head of the Stryke Force B-Squadron, am one of the few people who currently does not earn the ire of our President.

Which makes the arrival of General Belisaurus very peculiar.

"Excuse me for asking," Spurius watches me through the tops of his eyes. "But why does a God-General come here? To District 14? Surely there are far more pressing matters for him to attend to."

Indeed. General Belisaurus is amongst the six highest ranked operatives in the Capitol. They control the armies, the navies, supply lines, battlefield operations, and tactical operations. They essentially lead the battle against the rebels and invaders.

So why does one come here?

The answer to that question lies with the string of unsolved murders that Spurius and his men have failed to crack down on. I turn to my assistant now, fingers steepled. "He is coming, because you have not yet managed to apprehend that murderer!"

The young man's face flushes red. "I assure you that I am trying my hardest! It is just that this is not a normal murderer! He seems inhuman! And there's those reports of wild mutts running about--"

"Stop! Just stop!" My composure has begun to slip. There is only so much stupidity one can put up with. "Stop with that nonsense!"

"But, sir--"

I hold up a hand and he silences immediately. "There are no wild mutts," I tell him firmly. "That is a lie fabricated by over-imaginative citizens bored with their meaningless lives."

"Sir, I really must insist--"

"Shut up, Spurius!" I slam my fist down onto the desk, rattling the computer screens and silencing my assistant immediately. "The murderer is a normal human being. He is not a monster, not anything remotely inhuman. He is a man. Plain and simple."

"Sir, if you would--"

"As for this supposed "mutt pack"," I continue, ignoring his protests. "I've checked every factory and found that no mutts have escaped. None. So there is absolutely no possibility that a pack of them are running loose in the District. Anyone who thinks otherwise is an uneducated ignoramus!"

"Sir..." Spurius tugs at his collar and points into the now open doorway. "General Belisaurus has arrived."

I turn my shoulders and curse inwardly as a heavyset man steps into the room. Tall and imperious, with a square chin and face chiseled from marble, wearing a rugged white shirt, smog-gray jacket, crisp and squared, decorated with bright red buttons, General Belisaurus steps up to my desk.

"It is interesting to hear you say that," He speaks with a loud, booming voice that echoes around the room and back. "Because, as it so happens, President Stryker has sent me here with the precise aim of investigating this "mutt pack" that you so vehemently deny exists."

Spurius steps back from the desk, shrinking into the shadows. I watch him coldly before turning back to the General, fake smile plastered across my face. "I have found no proof of this pack, despite a weeks worth of searching. So, I hope you would excuse me for not believing it exists."

I did not anticipate this. Why would the President send a God-General to investigate such a meaningless problem? And why Belisaurus, of all six he could have chosen? Belisaurus is well known for his straightforward nature and workaholic attitude. He also possesses a high moral fiber and prides himself on his honesty and trustworthiness. Essentially, he is a damn fool.

"Perhaps you are right," The General does not even look at me, passing by my desk as he goes to stare out the large viewport. "Or perhaps you are wrong. Either way, I mean to discover this for myself. I assume that you will lend me any assistance that I may require?"

My fake smile twitches on my face. "Of course, General. I will offer any services you may require."

How dare he treat me like this? I, Altur Lysander? I've studied more technologies than he has eaten! I've created majority of the mutts he's used in warfare! Any success he may have achieved on the battlefield belongs to me!

And he just strolls into my office with no sign of respect or deference! Without knocking! He has the gall to just ignore the proper necessities that I am owed! Who does he think he is?

A God-General, of course. The only people in all of Panem that hold more water with the President then I do, save, perhaps, the Capitol Council.

Belisaurus nods and moves away from the viewport. "Very well. My men will sleep on their ships, so you will need not find the housing to accommodate them."

"Is that all?" I can barely suppress the anger seething inside me. He came to tell me absolutely nothing then? To just impress his power upon me? I cannot stand that. I rise up to my full six feet, still several inches shorter then Belisaurus. "You'd better have had a good reason for coming here!"

He stops and eyes me coldly. "I don't believe you're showing the proper amount of respect for a God-General, Altur." He turns his back once more. But my hand shoots out and grips his jacket sleeve.

"I am Altur Lysander," I tell him as he eyes me in sudden surprise. "Mayor of District 14 and head of the Stryke Force B-Squadron. If you wish for any modicum of respect from me, you will treat me with the proper respect that I deserve." He stares me in the eyes for a long moment, then he dips his head, lips twitching into a faint smile.

"Very well, Mayor Lysander. I will."

I eye his expression carefully. I do not like this man. Wonder how much the rebels would pay to see his ships scuttled in the night... "Did you have any other reason for coming?" I ask. "Besides for informing me of your investigation?"

Belisaurus pauses where he stands at the foot of my table. "Indeed. The President has a few questions about...the specimens he had you commission." A gloved hand digs into his jacket pocket and returns clutching a tightly sealed manila envelope. "He would like you to look this over." He tosses the envelope onto the desk, and it slides just under my arms.

I watch it with glinting eyes. "You mean...the pair?" I ask him.

He nods. "The very same. You see they're rather..." He frowns, and I just notice the faint glimmer of fear in his eyes. I smile to myself. It appears I am still the absolute best when it comes to mutt manufacturing! "Well, they're rather unstable. President Stryker would you to report back to him as swiftly as possible. Now, if you don't mind..."

He jerks his jacket free from my grasp and heads back out the door, boots stamping along the wooden floors as he retreats out of sight. I forget about him immediately, turning to the envelope on my desk.

"He's a particular person," Spurius says, edging out from the shadows. I ignore the man as I pick up the envelope with deft fingers. What information does it hold, I wonder? What news of my greatest creations yet? I am quite certain that Stryker will be pleased with their performance...

"Handle the rest of my daily duties," I tell Spurius, heading for the door that leads to my personal quarters. "I have a letter to read."

Marcella Calico (The Capitol)
The floor beneath me is granite and angular. Black and white stones were arranged in mosaic to form an eagle carrying arrows, scrabbling across the floor in shades of obsidian and marble.

I neatly press my feet over the eagle, very careful not to tread across Panem's greatest sigil of power.

Above and around me, shadowed by balconies and lit in areas by small windows, the rest od the hall was built with stone and clad in mahogany and obsidian--every furnishing was either black or deep brown. Rustling in the evening sunlight were huge red banners, with the black sigil of Panem emblazoned on each one. Carefully, I raise a hand and touch one such banner, enjoying the smooth velvety feeling spread across my hand.

To my left, an armed guard makes a sound and I quickly retract my hand.

"Sorry!" I flash a small smile, but none of the gun-toting guards flash even a half-amused chuckle beneath their dark visors.

My escorts, all four of them, are apart of the Stryke Force. I was a little nervous greeting them at first, but they don't seem too threatening. Besides, they listen only to Leo; and he'd never authorize them to harm me.

I think back to the day the 400th Games ended. I was alone in my family's mansion, watching Madeva assault Aisha just after she killed Luxray. Then the inexplicable happened; the television cut out. For half an hour there was only speculation and re-runs. None of my Capitol sources could tell me anything.

I was about to up and leave when the television came back on, this time from a camera with a birds-eye view of the arena valley. It must have been attached to the dome of the force field.

It was an odd sight, but it became even odder when the camera began moving. Blue sparks flew from behind the camera, and suddenly it was pitching downwards. Steel beams and sparking plates of nanoFiber came crashing around as the camera began shaking and spinning as it fell. Everything was a blur, and then there was debris everywhere, light and shadow, then just light, light like a fire and--

The feed cut out again. Back to blackness, then a test card. But this time it was painfully obvious what had happened.

The forcefield had been destroyed, and the arena alongside it.

By this time no one was taking my calls. None of my sources would tell me anything. I was about to give up and check the streets when my phone called with a very welcome name. A childhood friend. Leopold Stryker. President of Panem.

He said very little, and spoke in a very quiet tone. Told me that the attacks were perpetuated by Those Who Don't Exist, the very same group that had killed my sister and father. But then he said that he had things to attend to, and that I should await his further instructions.

Weeks passed with no word from Leo. Panem slipped into rebellion, the District's rising up against the Capitol. And Those Who Don't Exist struck.

The very same night the Games ended, they blitzed District 7 and 13. Both fell within the night. Their superior technology and ruthless aggression were too mighty for even the Capitol. The Inner District's are safe for now, but how long would that last? We lose ground every day. Sooner or later the barbarians will be at our gates and...

My worries had abated when Leo called me. He told me to meet him in the mansion immediately and not waste any time. The Stryke Force operatives showed up at my door and then I was off, being led to the Presidential Mansion.

The guards transition me to another hall. I expected to me taken to the Reception Hall, but instead the guards take a left at the end of the huge lobby and down into a lavish--but far more secure--section of the mansion. Perhaps we are going to Leo's personal presidential quarters? A place where even I, after years growing up here, have never seen.

More turns. Right, right, left, right and then down to the end of the corridor, up to a large gold-painted door. One of the guards quietly knocks.

"Come in," A faint, but fantastically familiar voice emanates from within. I suppress a grin as one of the guards open the doors. They motion me inside and I quietly step over the threshold and into the tool. The door shuts behind me.

I stand in a large hall. It is, perhaps, larger than the lobby, and maybe even the Reception Hall. The walls are clad in flawless white marble, but there are no windows. Spotlights illuminated objects on plinths and inside of display cases, but everything else is cast in a deep shadow. I pace forward a few steps, looking at the items.

They vary in size and type: in the closest display case lay a larger-then-life marble bust of a long, austre faced man wearing a top hat. Atop a plinth in the far corner lights illuminated a black and partially destroyed vehicle of ancient aerial warfare--a helicopter. Along its side, huge white words, smeared and scorched with age, read USA.

"Admiring the Hall of Antiquities?"

He steps out from the shadows behind a display case, hands holding a small, age-battered book. My heart thuds against my chest as I see him. Leo! It's been so long since I've last had a real conversation with him! I admire his shapely face as he stops a few paces from me. "It's truly remarkable, isn't it?"

"What is this place?" I ask, gazing at the plinths.

"A place where we keep antiquities," He opens the book and flips through a few pages. "Things from long ago, best forgotten by the citizens of Panem. Some of the things here are old memories of the past, others would incite rebellion by merely being seen."

"Why do you keep it then?"

He shrugs. "Because it remains useful to those who wish to remain peace. If you know how your enemy thinks--or hopes to think--you can crush them before they start."

I nod. Leo was always so smart and strategic. I always knew that he would grow to be a fine military leader and diplomatic commander...It was why I always knew he'd never be mine.

Leo crosses over to an empty display case, carefully sets the book down and waves his hand. Immediately the glass retracts over it. "You know whom it was that destroyed the force field and ended the 400th Games, I presume?" His voice is flat and distant.

I nod. "Yes. Those Who Don't Exist."

I feel my blood boil at the very name. Those cowards were the ones to destroy my sister, assault my country...I couldn't hate them more.

"These items are from a time long passed." Leo waves his arms at the display cases around us. "They are ancient, and possess a powerful allure. Mixed with today's technology and beliefs, they could very well end the world once more." He paces towards the center of the room, where a dispay case sat elevated above the rest. The black rectangular item within was small and scorched, but it clearly was valued higher then everything else.

"Do you know anything of the world before Panem?" Leo asks quietly.

"I...no. Only that natural disasters destroyed it." Why is he asking me this? No one is taught about history that long ago. It's pointless.

Leo turns and offers me a small smile. My heart skips a beat. "Those Who Don't Exist are much like the items kept here," He tells me. "Powerful with words and actions. Old-thinking, but deadly. They rile up the District's to try to wrest me from power, but I very much doubt they have any plans on what to do when the rebels get out of hand. You see, that's the problem with people who make overly grand plans. They never know what to do once it works."

"I understand," I say.

Of course you do. You're a smart girl, Marcella." The smile he sends my way makes my knees as week as jelly. "So very intelligent and perceptive. I know that you will be perfect for this task."

"Task?"

"Yes. Task." He slides open a panel in the centre display case, carefully grabbing the item within. He turns it over in his hands, smiling. "It is a very valuable task. One that--if you succeed--could help change this war. It would also, and perhaps more importantly, allow you to avenge your dear father and sister."

I don't know what to say. An important task? Me? He trusts and values me enough for this? Even with the time we grew apart? I knew it! I knew Leo would see! I know that he hasn't forgotten about me! And when I succeed, I know that he'll forget all about that awful Anais Morrisa...

"Are you up to this, Marcella?"

This is the moment I've been waiting for. The opportunity I've always wanted. I can prove how great I am, why he should love me. No one else could help him as much as I will. No one else has the skills that I will use. No one else would full-heartedly put their life on the line for him like I will. I am the only person suited to do this.

"Are you up to this, Marcella?" Leo repeats the question, eyes boring into me. And I have the only answer I could ever give him.

"Yes."

Tate Lockwood (District 2)
I wake in a dark, cold room. Everything is eerily silent as I quietly lie flat on my back, one hand rubbing my head, where a large bump has formed. It hurts like hell, but I don't remember what happened to me. Must have made a mistake at the circus...

Memories of Harley and Blair flash back to me, and suddenly I remember where I am and what happened.

I sit back up quickly, blinking in the darkness. My mouth is warm with blood. I was entering Harley's room when something struck me over the head, and I must have been knocked unconscious. But...who hit me?

I reach out into the darkness with my hands, finding slight comfort when they brush against a wall on each side. I'm not in a large, empty room. That's good. But I might be in a small, cramped cell. That's bad.

"What have you gotten yourself in to, Tate?" I try to stand up and gaap in pain when I hit my head on something hard. Blinking away tears of pain, I stumble backwards and suddenly the wall behind me gives away and I fall out into a brightly lit room.

"Tate! You're awake!"

A familiar voice washes over me as I blink rapidly, adjusting to the sudden light. Soft hands grab my shoulders, helping me up to my feet. A warm scent touches my nose and I know who it is immediately, even before I see her. But when I do see her, I nearly faint with joy. Her fiery-red hair seems to radiate with an innate glow as her chocolate brown eyes stare into my own.

Harley.

I throw my arms around her, bringing in for a hug that lasts minutes. "I had to come rescue you," I whisper into her ear. "Before he could harm you."

Harley breaks the hug, staring into my eyes quizzically. "What? Who?"

I don't know how to explain, but I have to try. But first, I check to make sure that the door is shut. It is.

"How..did I get here?" I ask, remembering that I had entered this room before being struck. "I thought someone attacked me."

"Well..." Harley looks off to the side.

"Harley...why are you blushing?" I can't help but notice the red flushing her usually pale cheeks.

"Well, I kinda...It was me who hit you."

"What?"

She fiddles with her hands, a faint smile playing on her lips. "You see, I was planning on escaping from here, so I took a vase and waited for someone to come in. I thought it would be one of my father's men, so I didn't hesitate when you..." She trails off, looking only slightly ashamed.

I grin, despite my pounding headache. "You hit hard!"

She punches me playfully in the shoulder. "You already knew that!"

"Well, yeah..."

I pull her in for a long kiss. It's been such a long time since I've been allowed to kiss her. Much too long. I never want to stop, but unfortunately I must. We're still in danger.

"Are you going to tell me what you came here for?" Harley asks as I pull away and check the only window in the room. It's over the garden, but the ground is much to far to jump. "I take it you didn't just break in to see me, right?"

"Originally that was the only reason." I wish it still was. The fact that I'm here puts us in even more danger isn't lost on me. "But now things are...worse then ever." I relate what I heard on my way to her, and she listens in silence. Not until I finish does she speak, shaking her head slowly.

"No...No, he wouldn't kill me!" She's shocked. And rightfully so. What kinda monster kills their own daughter? "He's...he's not perfect, but he'd never kill me..."

"He sounded pretty serious, Harley."

"Yeah, but..." She blinks twice, turning away and holding her face in her hands.

I watch in miserable silence when a baby makes a noise and I turn to see little baby Blair lying in his crib. As usual, I lose my breath as I stare into his liquid eyes. I never get tired of watching him...

"When does he plan on doing it?" Harley spins back to me.

"Do what?"

"Kill me! When does he want me dead!" She's terrifyingly calm now. Eyes flashing with a cold fury as she paces across the room, hands folded behind her back.

"Whenever he catches me," I tell her. She stops and regards me with a fierce expression.

"And you thought it would be wise to come here, knowing that?" Her voice has begun to rise now, and I sense the panic coming off her in waves. "If he finds you here..."

She doesn't need to finish. We both know what will become of us if we're caught. "We need to escape," I say suddenly. "Before he finds out."

"And how do you expect we do that? He has all the entrances guarded!"

"I know." I need to think. Think of a plan. There's vines outside the window, just like the ones I used to climb up. I could easily get back down that way. But could Harley? And what about Blair? No way can I leave him behind. "Maybe we can climb out the window."

"With Blair?" Harley raises a sceptical eyebrow.

"Well, maybe I could climb down first. Then you could drop him to me--"

"I'm not throwing my baby out a window!"

"You're not throwing him! Just...lowering him down," I sigh with exasperation as I see that Harely i® glaring daggers at me. That idea is done for. But what idea is left for us? We can't just waltz out the front door. I saw the type of security that was set up, and I have no doubts that it will be almost impossible to escape by simple means...

"Tate." Harley's voice is thick with worry as she gazes at the circular clock on the wall. "We have to go. Now."

"Why? I mean, why exactly now?"

She swivels her head to face me, eyes flashing with fear and worry. "Because my Father sends a guard to my room every three hours. And the next shift should be starting right now."

Teddy Bridges (District 3)
I have vague memories and thoughts flit through my head after I am knocked out. I can barely understand what is happening, what is going on. I can't see anything. My hands are tied behind my back, a strip of tape covers my mouth. Something over my head.

Rough fabric scratches against my face as I shift around on the hard metal floor. The air that filters through my mask is infuriating. Warm and thick. And with my mouth taped, I can only breath through my nose. Several times I panic and think I'm about to suffocate before remembering to breath and remain calm.

Remain calm. Stay down. Stay silent. Wait for an opportunity...then strike.

Whatever it is that covers my face--whether it be a cloth or mask--is pulled taut over my head. Down to the base of my neck, where it is tied off with a belt or something. My hands are stuck behind my back and the metal ground, raw and throbbing from where the ties dig into my skin. My ankles have been bound the same way.

Where am I? Where is Nora? Consciousness has begun to flood back to me as the ground beneath me shakes and rattles. Am I in a vehicle? But if I am, who put me here? That woman and her thugs? Why would she do that?

I wince and give a muffled gasp of pain as the vehicle gives another sharp jerk and my body bounces over my bounds wrists. Another, similar gasp echoes from the darkness around me.

Nora?

I try to call for her, but the words can't get out from beyond the tape. Nothing can be done about it. I don't think I can do anything about anything. I'm trapped, prey. Whoever captured me has me at their mercy. I just pray that they actually have mercy.

I don't know how long I lie in the truck. Minutes, hours, days. I don't know. It could be only seconds, for all I know. But then it happens. The truck shudders to a halt. Engines turn off. I hold my breath and wait.

A door swings open. Behind me. I hear the sound of feet upon gravel as a pair of hands roughly grab me around the shoulders and drag me out the back of truck. I fall to the hard gravel with a gasp.

"Get up!" A man's voice growls at me as a boot connects with my hindquarters. "Get in line with the others!"

Others? I still cannot see through the bag, but I can sense the presence of others around me. And not just those who captured us. Others like me.

Hands pull me up and shove me along. The air is cooler, less thick. I can feel a pleasant breeze upon my hands. We're outside. But outside were? I don't hear the city. I don't hear the air sirens, the explosions, the gunshots. I don't sense the ground shaking with impact from the shelling. These noises are the lifeblood of the city. And even in the quiet moments when they are gone, there is a hum of electricity, a buzz of life. But I hear none of that.

Instead, I hear the swishing of the bag around my head, the whistling of far-off birds, and the crunch of gravel under my feet.

Where are we?

We walk in silence. I try to count the steps, but my head is too muddled to keep my numbers clear. Eventually the gravel under our feet gives away to paving, then lineoulum. Hands shove me to my knees, loosen the belt holding the mask in place, and then rip the thing off my head.

My nostrils flare with fresh air as overwhelmingly bright fluorescent lights shine down from above me, nearly blinding me. Dark shadows lurk around me, and I think I can just make out the shape of Nora, kneeled beside me.

Somehow the sight of my sister calms the panic that has been rising inside me. Now that I know she is here--for now--I worry about nothing.

Except for what these people might do to us.

"Think they'll be recruits?" A voice from behind us asks.

"Nah. I think boss just wants them outta the way. Too many people running around the District complicates things, ya know?"

"Correct. Also keep in mind that they stumbled upon one of our hideouts. If they were to tell the Capitol..."

They speak a lot. I can't wrap my head around all of it. Too much muck in my head. My vision is still adjusting to the bright lights that surround us. Nora sits beside me on my right, to my left is another brunette haired girl. I don't recognize her at all.

Then there's more footsteps and I look up to see another person entering the large, empty room through a pair of swinging doors. She's someone I recognize. It's the woman. The one from before, the one that ordered the man to knock me out.

"Don't just keep them here!" She snaps at the men behind us. "Take them down the corridor and place them with the others!" Once more hands haul me to my feet, but then the woman yells something at the guards and the mask is shoved back over my head as I'm steered away.

It's not a long journey. A minute or two of walking, and then the mask is once more pulled off my head and I'm face-to-face with a gaunt faced middle-aged man. A long, jagged scar runs from the bridge of his nose to the base of his neck. "Give me your hands," He growls, rancid breath billowing in my face.

Reluctantly I hold up my tied wrists. The man produces a rusty knife from his belt, and I cringe as he brings it down towards--

The blade slices through the rope and then I'm being shoved into a cold, barren room. Moments later, Nora and the other girl land beside me as I turn and see the man slamming a metal door shut and locking us inside. Quickly, I rip the tape off my mouth and wiggle the rope off my ankles.

"What an ignoramus!" The unknown girl huffs as Nora embraces me in a big hug.

"I'm so glad you're safe," She whispers in my ear. Safe? Not the word I'd use. Not when a group of grungy rebels just locked us inside a cobblestone room.

But I don't tell her this. Nodding numbly, I throw a glance around the room. "Where are we?"

The room isn't very big. About fifteen feet deep and twelve wide. Lumpy gray mattresses lie in the far right corner, four in all. The walls and floor and ceiling are made from the same exact material. A simple gray cobblestone. But I don't pay much attention to the decor, because in the near corner rests a much more interesting sight.

A trio of people.

"Hello, there." One of them steps forward, warily regarding me, my sister, and the other girl with cautious blue eyes. "I see we have more roommates."

Nora shoves me behind her as the other girl nods at the man. He must be in his early twenties, at least. His arms are thick and muscular, giving me the impression that he could snap my neck as easily as I snap a twig. He smiles wryly at us.

"I'm not going to harm you," He says to Nora. My sister huffs.

"Can't trust everyone."

"No. No, I suppose not." His eyes wander over our faces, and I notice the pair behind him watching us with much more malice then he is. One, a tall and broad-shouldered man with a thick skull and deep-set brown eyes, cracks his knuckles repeatedly.

"I don't like the looks of them, Dexio," He rumbles, voice sounding just like the truck running over the gravel.

"Easy, Edric," The guy apparently named Dexio waves a hand at the bigger man. "They're here just like us. Don't think they volunteered."

"Still don't trust them," The large man's gaze seems to focus on the unknown girl with us. Why does his eyes gleam with so much distrust?

"We were captured by those...people." Nora decides to take charge of the situation. "So, we have no idea why we're here or where here even is. I'm assuming they captured you three too?" Smart. My sister is so smart. Not that it's surprising.

"Yup." Dexio nods his head a bit more cheerfully then the situation requires. "They jumped us in the street, took our supplies, and knocked us out. Next thing we know, we woke up here."

"How long have you been here?" I ask, curiosity getting the better of me. I shrink away as their gaze turns on me.

"Not long," Dexio answers. "Just a few days. Newt's been here a bit longer." He jabs a thumb at the third member of his group. He's just as tall as the others, but thinner and younger then them too, not much older than Nora or the girl with us. He has neatly kept brown hair and brown eyes, but these eyes never seem to drift from the door where we were thrown in. "Isn't that right, Newt?"

The boy nods slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, we were taken a few days before Edric and Dexio."

"We?" Nora whispers in my ear. Who is he talking about? No one else is here with him, other than us three new arrivals. For some reason, the absence of another person sends a chill down my back.

"Why have they taken us?" The other girl speaks now. She's been silent for a long while, but now rises to her feet, dusting her hands off as she approaches the door. "And what will they do with us?"

Dexio shrugs. "No clue. And I don't think they've decided that, yet."

"They don't know what to do with us?" Nora asks incredulously. I feel another twinge of despair and fear inside my gut. "Then why'd they take us?"

"I already told you I don't know," Dexio sits back down, his back resting against the cobblestones. "But I don't think they're going to kill us. I mean, they seem to only hate the Capitol. And none of us are Capitolians, right?"

"Right." The unknown girl gives up on trying to force the door opens and drifts back to the center of the room. "I despise the Capitol."

"So do we," I say quickly, before anyone gets the wrong idea.

Dexio chuckles. "Good, good. Long as we're not affiliated with the Capitol, I think we could be just fine."