The Hunger Games: The Repairman

by AndrewK9000

Set twenty-five years before the books, an ordinary citizen of The Capitol and his friends stumble on the truth of the horrors occuring in Panem and decide to do something about it.

Greetings fellow readers and writers! This is my first venture into the realm of The Hunger Games and I hope you like it! When I first heard of the series I didn't think much of it. Then I heard that they were making a movie out of the first book and I decided to give it a chance. I read the first book in about a day and a half, and both the second and third each in roughly the same time, which is pretty impressive for me, considering that I finished Order of the Phoenix in less than four days, Half-Blood Prince in less than three days and Deathly Hallows in just over twenty-six hours.

This fic is a one-shot prequel to the series, taking place approximately twenty-five years before the first book, with majority of the action in The Capitol. This is the tale of what happens when an ordinary man and his friends realize just how horrible things with Panem are, and decide to do something about it, in a very extreme manner.

Just so you know, in this story there are acts of terrorism, which from the point of view of the protagonist, are acts of defiance in the face of dystopia, tyranny and injustice. Now before you say anything, I do not support terrorism in any way, shape or form. This is just a story of what happens when a man grows tired of tolerating the evils committed by their government, his overwhelming frustration and his subsequent journey into the realm of madness.

Now, I don't own the Hunger Games, just the original characters in this story, so don't sue me. And now, without further delay, please enjoy…

The Hunger Games: The Repairman

By AndrewK9000

1.

My name is Titus Wellington, and I'm about to die, and if you're reading this, be you a Peacekeeper or a civilian of The Capitol, or even from one of the twelve Districts, then I know that my death will not be in vain.

You're wondering what I'm talking about and how I got into this situation. Well, it's complicated, and I don't have much time to tell it. I'll try to keep it short, yet it's still complicated, because you need to understand why I did what I did. And to understand why, you need to know who I am.

I'm part of a dying breed in The Capitol, though I'm certain that there's hundreds, if not thousands of men and women in the Districts whom follow my profession; I'm a repairman. In an age when the elite of Panem can simply throw away a device that's broken in one way or another, or simply flawed, and easily purchase a new one, there's very little need for a mechanic or a technician.

I'm both and more. As far back as I can remember, I've always been fascinated by machines and technology, especially how they work, and so was my father, and his father, and his father, for as far back as the family can be traced. My family has been repairmen in The Capitol since its founding, since Panem was created out of the ruins of North America.

Despite being in this world where the rich can afford to be wasteful, myself and other repairmen are still needed in The Capital for one simple reason; the rich and powerful would rather hire me to fix their toys at half the cost of buying a new one. There was a time when the reverse was the rule, but for me, I'd rather not try to mooch off of the moochers and looters. What I earn is enough to keep a roof over my head, clothes on my back and a full stomach each day, and a few other things that helped make life worth while for me, but I'll get to that later.

I do my job because I liked it. No matter what the device I was called to work on, I enjoyed it; observing the machine to determine the fault, dismantling it to repair the fault and then putting it back together so it worked, sometimes making it work better than before. Often my clients were simply ignorant in the proper use of the device but too proud to admit it. Even then, simply seeing them smile when I showed them what they did wrong seemed to make it worth the effort.

That's another part of my job that I like. I don't have an office where I do my work. I do have my own workshop in my apartment, but that's my personal space where I do my own projects and tinkering. No, I make house calls. The public transportation system of The Capitol is so extensive, so efficient, I can pretty much go anywhere in the city inside of two hours, allowing me to make several house calls a day.

It's incredible the level of trust my clients had in me; inviting a near total stranger into their homes in order to fix their gadgets and toys. But then, this is The Capitol, where nearly any whish or whim can be fulfilled. Besides, I'm no thief. I may have done terrible things in recent months, but thievery is no sin of mine.

If I had one vice before I began my rein of terror, it was that I was too curious, and it was my curiosity that lead to my more heinous crimes. I secretly questioned why The Capitol is the way it is. I wanted to know where the city's electricity came from, where all the food, textiles and electronics came from and how the. I already knew, like everyone else in Panem, that each District produces a different category of product.

District 1 makes luxury items, the District 2 mines stones and precious metals, and also responsible for The Capitol's defense. District 3 produces electronics, 4 has a monopoly on fishing, 5 produces all the power for all of Panem, 5 regulates transportation, 7 produces lumber and paper, 8 manufactures textiles, 9 grows grain, the 10 produces livestock, 11 also grows grain, as well as fruits and vegetables, and 12 mines coal, while lost 13 mined graphite and had control over the country's nuclear weapons.

This is common knowledge, but what I wanted to know were the people who worked for the needs of The Capitol. I wanted to talk to those people, learn from them, and most of all, I wanted to know why, after over half a centaury years after The Dark Days, that those people harbored such hatred for The Capitol that every year two children from each District are forced to fight to the death.

While I hate them now, in those days I was indifferent about The Hunger Games. While nearly everyone in The Capitol was obsessed with watching children murder each other, I merely watched out of curiosity, because I wanted to know who would live. But now I know the truth, and soon you, whomever is reading this is, will know the truth as well.

It was two weeks after the end of the 50th Hunger Games, the 2nd Quarter Quell, where twice the normal number of tributes were brought into an environment where nearly everything in the area was poisonous in one form or another.

Everyone in The Capitol was still high with exhilaration from the final battle, where the last two wound up at the boundary of the arena and the underdog, one Haymitch Abernety from District 12, turned the tables on the other remaining tributes and won. It was while everyone was still celebrating the unexpected turn of events of the game, when my life started to change.

I was coming home from a job, where I had to fix the PDA of a upper level office clerk for the government, when I decided to visit one of my favorite junkyards. It's more like a recycling enter, where all the discarded electronics of The Capitol are sorted and shipped out to a processing facility in the 3rd District. But they usually ship the day's 'garbage' at midnight, so there was plenty for me to rummage through.

It's not exactly a crime for me to take used electronics from the center, but it's not smiled upon either. But neither is it illegal to offer the centers' workers and guards a discount on my services, so they look the other way, while I'm like a kid in a candy/toy/fireworks store. As I said, a lot of what's thrown out still works, it's the people who use them are broken in some way, so more often than not I strike gold and bring home a perfectly working device.

That day I scored several palm computers, approximately the dimensions of an average smart phone from the early 21st centaury, but with ten-thousand times the processing power and storage capacity. I can ramble on about my love of machines, both mechanical and electrical, but again, time is of the essence here.

Usually when I bring a computer home to my workshop, I always wipe and reformat the hard drive to preserve the privacy of its former user. As I said before, I'm no thief, nor am I a blackmailer. But today I noticed that one of my new computers was different. Not only was the design different from the other personal computers, but all of it's technical aspects; processing speed, hard drive size and whatnot, were twice what would be found today. This was no home computer, this was a government device.

My first instinct was to turn it in to the authorities; either the local police or Peacekeeping Headquarters, or even to the government itself. Not only could the computer have information it's none of my business, but something important that would be needed.

But something stopped me from going out again, something that stopped me from erasing and reformatting the hard drive. I know now it was my intense curiosity. What could be on something that the government that was so casually thrown away? I wondered.

I uploaded the data on the government computer to my own computer, and low and behold, I was disappointed; just historical data from before the founding of Panem, from before the wars and cataclysms that reshaped our land, most of which is available to the public in the Central Archives.

But there were a few files that caught my eye, files that weren't in the Central Archives. These were technical notes and schematics, written by scientists who were working on new and radical weapons during the days that lead up to World War III. These were weapons of mass destruction far surpassing conventional nuclear weapons used during the war; anti-matter warheads and pure fusion bomb, weapons that could have destroyed not just all life on Earth, but the very planet itself.

My knowledge of the past told me that it was possible that the ancients had the means to manufacture those weapons, while other designs, like a black hole generator and teleportation units, seemed the stuff of science fiction, even by today's technology.

But one schematic intrigued me, not only because it was possible to have been built in the world before, but that I could be built, and used, today. This would be a machine that can project an energy field around any object, be it a human, an automobile, a hovercraft, or even an entire city, and render it completely invisible.

Yes, I am speaking of a cloaking device, and I built one.

2.

The blueprints were easy to follow, and the materials needed to construct the device were, for the most part, easy to obtain from the recycling centers. The hard part was getting the power source, a solar battery the size of an ancient Silver Dollar, yet had the power to light up several city blocks. Those were a lot harder to come by, but my job as a repairman takes me all over the city, and my clients are connected with all aspects of city life, you just need to ask the right person for a favor.

It took a few weeks for my client to pull through for me, during which I began construction on the prototype cloaking device. It'll take me days to recite the construction process, and I doubt I have more than a few hours left, but needles to say, by the time I acquired the battery, I had my device finished.

The finished machine was about five feet long, two feet wide and a foot and a half tall, weighing nearly three hundred pounds and bristled with wires and circuits. It was ugly, but remember, this was just the prototype; elegance and beauty would come with later models.

For my first test, I aimed my machine at my couch in my living room and turned it on. The machine projected the energy field that rendered my couch invisible not only to the naked eye, but also the infrared and ultraviolet spectrums, which I proved thanks to some makeshift scanners I made in my workshop, long story. I quickly put together an X-ray scanner and proved that it couldn't see my couch either.

My device was perfect in every respect save one; it was big and heavy. Normally, creating a cloaking device of any size and mass would make any tinker's day, but for me, it wasn't enough. Not only did I want to make a smaller cloaking device, but one that was portable. It didn't take me long to realize why the designs were originally forgotten. The machine worked, even in the ancient world, but it wasn't practical, for in order to remain invisible, the person or object had to remain inside the projected field, making the machine not very practical, but I wanted to change that.

I became obsessed with the device. Every spare moment I had was devoted to improving the design and miniaturizing the final product. I had to pull nearly every favor I had stored up in order to get more batteries for the improved models I made. I spent weeks with almost no sleep and food. I knew that my clients and collogues were noticing my gradually failing health and poor workmanship, but I didn't care. All I could think about was my machine. But in the end it was all worth it.

After months of sleep depravation and malnutrition, I had done it, a cloaking device that could be fitted as a belt buckle. I tested it out immediately; I attached the device to my belt and activated it. I felt a slight tingling all over my body as the energy field encircled me and I found myself completely invisible. I could still see myself and the world around me, albeit now through a slight blue haze, but other than that there were no apparent side effects, which would show up later.

But for the time being I was on top of the world. I had done something that no one else had ever done before, and it felt good, really good, like on a drug.

But then my high began to fade as I realized that while I had done the impossible, what then? What was I to do with the power of invisibility? I'll admit, I was completely dumbfounded. I took the device off, placed it on the table in front of my television set and looked at it as if it were the most bizarre things in the world. Now that my project that had so consumed my life was complete, what would I do now?

For the time being, nothing. I resumed my normal routine of fixing the toys of the elite and harvesting used gadgets while catching up on my sleep and making up for lost meals. I was soon healthy and hale again, but my friends and clients soon noticed that I was different yet again.

I realized that I had lost myself, my inner spark, the drive that kept me happy. I felt that I had nothing left to really live for, just existence, going through the motions.

But then when I was in the Central Archives researching a part I needed for a special repair job, which under normal circumstances would have sent me over the moon. Yes it was a trip to the Central Archives that constituted my idea of an adventure. Pathetic, huh? But that was who I was in the old days. In a way, I'm still like that, that despite all the things I've done since, I'm still that innocent repairman at heart, and I'll still be that way when I die.

Moving on, I was waiting for my turn to use one of the computer terminals to do my research, when I looked at a door near the entrance that up until that day I had pretty much ignored. It was simply marked 'Restricted: Authorized Personal Only.'

I asked a nearby archive attendant what was behind the door. He told me that it lead to a room that had a special computer that had access to information unavailable to the general public.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"It means," said the attendant, "that you have to be a high-level member of the government, preferably in President Snow's inner circle, or working for them, to be able to get into that room, for only they had the special electronic key that could open that door.

Once again my curiosity got the better of me, leading to another obsession; I had to know what data was on that restricted computer. In a way it was good, because I started to feel alive again. I had something to work towards and it made me happy.

I was easy for me to construct a device that would bypass the electronic lock to the room, and another to hack into the computer itself. Stealing information is just as much a crime as stealing something material, such as jewelry, or food if you live in the Districts. But it can be done if you know the right people, and I've helped out quite a few hackers in my time.

I already had the perfect means to get into the Archives after hours, my cloaking device. All I had to do was go to the archives about an hour before closing, wait until almost the last moment, slip into the bathroom outside the records hall, turn it on, slip back into the record hall and wait for everyone to leave the building.

It was nearly an hours' wait for the visitors to leave, and another hour for the Archive staff to close up, so I was invisible for longer than I had been before. That's when I first felt the headaches. I didn't know if it was the energy field or simply seeing the world through a blue haze, or maybe having the extra mass of my shoulder bag carrying my hacking tools, or simply just being invisible for so long, but something was giving me a headache behind my eyes. I'd later learn it was a combination of all factors, but I had other things on my mind.

Once I was sure that everyone was gone, while taking measures to ensure that I could get out, you'd be amazing how simple a trick as some electrical tape on the lock of the front door can be overlooked, I turned off the device, took out my electronic lock pick and used it to enter the restricted room.

It was simply a white room with an overhead lamp and a simple wooden desk and a comfortable office chair. The real prize lay in the elaborately crafted desktop. I attached my hacking device to the computer and waited for it to bypass security, which didn't take long. I had full access to the restricted data, my curiosity was rewarded, and almost immediately I wished I could forget I had ever thought about seeing the data, or even so far as discovering the plans for the cloaking device. What I found in the restricted data scarred my soul.

3.

As I walked home three hours later I was still struggling to fully understand what I had just learned. I had wanted to know who the people of the districts were, and I got more than I asked for.

I learned that all the people of the Districts are all suffering in one form or another. I saw evidence of the people working grueling 12 hour shifts for slave wages; lack of sanitation in civilian areas; barely any doctors, relying on apothecaries and home remedies, and worst of all, people dieing of starvation on a daily basis.

There were other shocking facts in the data; men and women executed in the streets for the slightest offenses, the most common offense being stealing; children being torn away from their families and sent to workhouses. There were reports of people vanishing without a trace, innocent people murdered in the night, reports of mutations running wild in the wilderness, full list of atrocities committed during The Dark Days, and it went on and on.

I was so stunned by what I saw on that computer screen, so sickened by what my own government did and allowed to happen, I could barely think. My own curious nature took over as I took out from my bag a portable hard drive, which I always take with me when I work, sometimes I had to copy a client's data onto an external hard drive while I repaired the first one.

But now I used my portable hard drive for something else. I copied as much of the restricted data as I could onto the drive, 500 terabytes onto a machine the size of a pack of gum. I then used the hacking device to clear the data history on the restricted computer, shut it down and exited the building.

It wasn't until I was home when I finally started to think again. The biggest thoughts were questions; how could this be happening? How can the government be responsible for so much evil? How can they allow the people of the Districts to suffer so much? And most importantly, how could they allow the Hunger Games to go on for as long as they have?

The Dark Days ended over 50 years ago. Everyone who was alive at the time is either dead or will soon be, so why does the government continue to punish the Districts? And even more so, how can the citizens of The Capitol take such pleasure in watching innocent children tear each other to pieces?

These questions and more cruised around my mind like a hurricane and I knew that I would never be at peace until I had the answers, yet I knew that I would never be able to get the answers, not on my own that is.

I couldn't keep this to myself anymore. I had to tell someone, but who could I trust? Whom could I tell this horrific secret I've stumbled upon without them thinking that I'm insane? Or worse, without them turning me over to the authorities?

I couldn't speak to my clients, they'd definitely laugh in my face, or worse, hand me over to the Peacekeepers. I could try my fellow repairmen in the city, but they're somewhat different, more so than I am. Some of them are eccentric to an extreme, others are simply loners and recluses. And then of course, there's the chance that one of them could be a spy for the government, keeping watch on the citizens of The Capitol.

I then realized that there were a few people I could trust, people I've been friends with since I was a child, people I could truly call my friends.

Marcus Halloway was my next door neighbor. The son and grandson of teachers, Marcus specialized in mathematics and bio/chemistry. In an age where the children of the elite can learn their lessons at home from a computer, there are still those who feel that a real life teacher has a certain, 'charm.' So they pay Marcus to tutor their children in math and other subjects.

Then there's Helena St. Claire, my other next door neighbor. As a psychiatrist, Helena caters to the mental woes of the rich and powerful, providing advice and words of healing. Even in this day when the elite can have their every wish granted, there are some things that only a healer of the mind can provide.

As I said, I knew Helena and Marcus since we were children. We lived on the same street in The Capitol, we took lessons together, we went to the same entertainment events together and have kept touch as we joined our current professions.

One thing that truly bound us in friendship is our fascination in late 20th and early 21st century culture. My interests lay, naturally, in technology, specifically the startling advances in computer sciences. Marcus is a fan of cinema and television programs, while Helena loves rock and roll music.

Sometimes we'd laugh at each other's interests, other times we'd discover one subject that we could share, but in the end we always got along.

So when I called them in the middle of the night to come over, saying that it was important, more important than anything before, they gladly came over.

I spent the 15 minutes it took them to arrive to go over in my mind what I was going to say. Not only did I plan to tell them what I learned from the restricted database, but I also had to show them my cloaking devices. I had my prototype and my belt unit already on the table in my living room, when the doorbell rang.

Marcus was the first to arrive. I opened the door to see his deeply tanned face, indigo eyes and brown dyed hair (last time I saw it, it was died jet black) styled with mouse, with a red jacket and blue jeans, similar to the 20th century actor James Dean.

"I don't care how close you come to emulating them, my friend," I said as I smiled, "you'll never start a fashion trend that brings back old actors."

"I can try, man," said Marcus as he grinned happily, "I can try." We then both laughed, shook hands heartily and I welcomed him into my home. We were just settled into the living room, making small talk, when the doorbell rang again.

Helena was what the average citizen of The Capitol would call, 'ordinary.' Her usual attire consisted of a brown and black pinstripe business suit and brown high heals for her work. She had olive skin and deep blue eyes and straight black hair hanging down past her shoulders. Tonight she hand her hair tied in a ponytail and was wearing a blue and white track suit and white running shoes.

"This has better be worth it, Titus," said Helena irately as we walked to my living room , "I had several patients today who went over their time limits. I had to work an extra three hours in order to get the rest of my patients in, and I've got more of the same tomorrow, so what is so important to drag me out of bed in the middle of the night?"

"I'm curious to that as well," said Marcus, "so what's the big secret?"

"It's big, alright," I said, "you'll have to see it to believe it. You know that I've been acting more than a little strange lately."

"You have been a bit out of touch," said Marcus, "I just thought you had a big project that turned out to be a disastrous pipedream."

"I considered the possibility that you finally had a girlfriend," said Helena, "and was dumped after only one date."

"If only it were any of these," I said gravely, but then I smiled eagerly, for the time of sharing secrets was at hand. I started by telling my friends of my discovery of the ancient blueprints, then before any of them could scoff at my claims, I aimed my prototype cloaking device at my television set and made it invisible.

When I saw the looks of stunned silence on my friend's faces I nearly burst out laughing. But then Marcus started laughing, "great party trick, my friend," he said, "you've been taking magic lessons."

"Now I know something's wrong with you," said an annoyed Helena, "dragging us out here just to see a parlor trick. I thought you were more mature than this."

"It's no trick," I insisted. I then explained the technical details as best I could, then showed them the belt unit in action. I became invisible and as they looked around in wonder at my disappearance, I ran my finger up Marcus' spine and my hand through Helena's hair, earning cries of surprise from both of them.

I then allowed both of them to use the belt unit themselves, experiencing invisibility firsthand. I had other demonstrations in mind, but by then both Marcus and Helena were full believers.

"This is incredible!" said Helena as she looked at both the prototype and the belt unit, "to think that the ancients had discovered the secrets of invisibility, only to have it forgotten in the cataclysms."

"To think that our tinkering friend found it and made it work," said Marcus, "but why tell only us? Why haven't you shared this miracle with the Ministry of Science and Technology?"

"And have them take all credit and leave me to wallow in obscurity?" I asked, "I think not! Especially not after what I did with it."

"What do you mean?" Helena asked cautiously, "Titus, what have you done?"

So I told them that I snuck into the restricted archive and copied a lot of data. Their reactions were…understandable.

"Are you out of your ever loving mind!" shouted Marcus. I could swear that the veins in his forehead looked like they were about to burst from his outrage.

"It's a distinct possibility," I admitted.

"You're more than insane, my friend," said a Helena, whom looked more afraid than angry "taking items that are bound for a recycling center is one thing, and so is violating another persons privacy by viewing their computer information, but what you've done is certifiably criminal. They can lock you up for life for this."

"I know!" I nearly shouted at them, "I know I can have the book thrown at me, but when you see what the data has to say…"

"I don't want to!" said Marcus, "I'm involved deep enough with this as it is. I don't need to be an accessory to larceny."

"Me neither," said Helena, "Titus, whatever you've taken from the archives, just get rid of it, before the authorities trace it to you."

"It's too late," said Titus, "I've got it all in my head," I tapped my mind, "as the old adage goes, 'photographic memory.'"

"Then why did you bring us here?" Marcus asked, "just to impress us with parlor tricks and get us involved in a crime?"

"I called you over because I needed your help!" I said. I then sighed with exasperation, "look, I learned something tonight that's chilled me to my bones. I'm trusting you with my discoveries, both the cloaking device and what I read in the archives. Now, will you trust me? I swear, if would just look at what I 'borrowed' from the archives and if you still don't want to be involved, I won't stop you from leaving and we can end our friendship at that point, and I wouldn't even be shocked if you went straight to the Peacekeepers."

"You know I would never betray you to the Peacekeepers, or anyone," said Marcus. He looked at Helena, "we're already here, we might as well look at what our friend 'stole.'"

At that Helena sighed, "well, we are already here. What's the worst that can happen?"

If only they knew.

I then showed them to my personal, highly modified computer, uploaded the data from the archives and let them read it. I left the room and sat in front of the window, looking out at the brightly lit city. My apartment is on the south face of the 47th floor of a 60 story building in the northern sector of The Capitol, on a slight rise with the mountains behind us, giving me a spectacular view of the entire city. I got it relatively cheep because I offered to fix my landlord's electronics whenever he needed them.

I sat in my chair, watching the city and gradually dawn crept over The Capitol. My friends came out of my workshop room with blank looks on their faces but shocked eyes.

The first thing Helena did was leave a message for her secretary to cancel all her appointments for today, while Marcus also cleared his schedule.

"This can't be real," said a shocked Marcus after he and Helena sat down, "that data, is just can't be real."

"You must have made a mistake, Titus," said Helena, "what you downloaded, it's too horrible to be true."

"I wish I could tell you it wasn't real," I said, "but I can't prove it's true or false. I only showed you what I got from the archives."

"It just can't be true!" Helena insisted, "our own government just can't be committing all those atrocities."

"All those people, forced to work for almost nothing," said Marcus, "with no doctors and barely enough food to stay alive. And The Hunger Games, those children, being forced to kill each other, I…" his face then paled, "I never really thought of them as children, real children, and they're forced to murder each other."

"If you're wondering why, we're on the same side," I said, "I'm sure you've seen what was said about all the Districts, how the people are being worked like slaves and given next to nothing to survive."

"But they're people!" said Helena, "ordinary, brilliant, stupid people, and they're being treated like…less than human. But, it can't be like that. It just can't be. Normal, healthy, sane people don't treat other persons like that, they just don't."

"Who said that the government was normal?" I asked, "what makes you think that our own government is full of normal, healthy people? The data also shows evidence of corruption among the upper levels of the government; officials secretly taking more than their pay should allow. They are stealing from the people of the Districts, while turning a blind when someone is falsely accused of stealing and is executed on the spot.

"And even more so, among the data there are unconfirmed reports that our own president, Coriolanus Snow, murdered his way into office, and there's more."

"Wait, just stop for a moment, will you?" Marcus asked, "before we all get deeper in this, we have to asked, is this real? Is any of the data real? If it is real, where's the evidence proving it real? And if there is evidence, what do we do with it?"

"More importantly, should we do anything from this point onward?" Helena asked, "if any of this is true, then we have stumbled upon the most diabolical conspiracy in living memory."

"A conspiracy?" I asked.

"It's a conspiracy," said Helena, "because the government is keeping the truth about the Districts from the citizens of The Capitol. Tell me," she looked at me and Marcus, "have any of you ever heard from anyone you know in the city, that they have ever talked about the people in the Districts? Other than what everyone knows about what each District produces and that they send Tributes for The Hunger Games."

Neither I nor Marcus could say yes to that question.

"And The Hunger Games themselves," continued Helena, "they're more than just punishment for a war that's been over for half a century. It goes so much deeper than that."

"How so?" Marcus asked.

"Well, just consider that the data is real," said Helena, "all of it. The government set up The Hunger Games not just to punish the Districts for their rebellion, but also to keep them divided. Each year a boy and girl from each District is chosen by random ballot to fight to the death. The one who lives is celebrated as a hero by The Capitol and the child's home District, which is given extra resources for a whole year, while the other eleven continue to suffer, causing the other eleven to hate the winning District.

"Also, all information about each District is suppressed from each other. Travel between the Districts is tightly restricted, so that the people cannot interact and learn from each other, further keeping the Districts divided.

"And as for The Capitol, the Games serve to keep the citizens sated and content, and highly entertained. Throughout all of Panem everyone watches the Games, with it being mandatory in the Districts and as pure entertainment for The Capitol, and the citizens of the city enjoy it. I should know, all my patients talk about it the days leading up to, during and after the Games, it's all they talk about."

"So do the children I tutor," said Flavius, "they barely pay attention to my lessons during the rest of the year, but when it's time for the Games, it's nearly impossible for me to get them to pay attention to the curriculum I've set up. And I've caught some of gambling on who dies when and who survives."

"Oh yes, the gambling," said Helena, "there's another factor that I've considered."

At that Marcus shook his head, "this is all hypothetical. We have no way to prove any of this. And again, even if we can prove it, what o we do then?"

"I think the first thing we should do," I said, "is determine if the data is true."

"And how do we do that?" Helena asked, "we can't go to the authorities with this, or pretty much anyone else. We'd be reported to the Peacekeepers and they'd round us up inside an hour."

"Then we prove it ourselves," I said. "Call me crazy, but maybe we were supposed to find this information. Call it chance, call it fate, but I believe that this was meant to happen."

"I'll argue about the difference between fate and chance later," said Helena, "now how are we supposed to prove this data?"

"We go out to the Districts ourselves," I said, "we see the state of the people's lives with our own eyes."

"You want to go all the way out as far as District 12?" Lucius asked.

"If I could," I said, "I'd go see the ruins of District 13."

"They'd never let us," said Helena, "since when has anyone from The Capitol have ever gone out to the boondocks of Panem? other than on official business that is."

"We can go out to the closer Districts," said Lucius, "the 1st through 4th have several wildlife preserves and resorts, but beyond that," he hesitated with uncertainty, "it's not exactly illegal to go, but it's not smiled on either."

"And how would we get all the way out to District 12?" Helena asked, "there are trains and airships to the botanical and wildlife preserves, but only officials and Peacekeepers have regular access to the other Districts. And besides, how would we explain our absences to those who rely on our services? I've already used my vacation time for the season."

"I have a few days saved up," said Marcus, "and I could say that I got sick and had to stay at home for a few days more."

"We could also use the excuse of a family emergency," I said, "and as for getting out to the outer Districts," I looked at my cloaking belt, "I can make two more by this time tomorrow."

"You'd make cloaking devices for us?" Helena asked.

"Of course," I said, "we're friends, and we're in this together. If we can't work together to see this through to the end, then what good are we?"

"Not very good friends at that," said Marcus, "I'm in this, Titus, to the end, whatever that end may be."

"Same with me," said Helena, "we've started something together, something important, and we'll finish it together."

"Together," said Marcus.

"Together," I said. With a that the three of us clasped hands together, silently pledging to each other that for better or worse, we'd see this adventure through together as friends.

Little did any of us know, our adventure would tear our friendship apart.

4.

While I worked on the two new belt units for my friends, Marcus and Helena made arrangements to take two weeks off from their duties. Marcus asked for an extended vacation, while Helena said that she had a family emergency and needed the extra time off. I also made arrangements, calling in several favors from my fellow repairmen to handle my clients for the next several days.

My friends and I soon outfitted ourselves with everything we would need to spend a week in the wilderness. It's not uncommon for the rich and powerful of The Capitol to want to get away from civilization for a while, to experience the wonders of mother nature without the hustle and bustle of the city, so there were plenty of shops where one could purchase what they needed for a long camping trip.

Our gear consisted of three small weatherproof tents with matching sleeping bags, a GPS navigation device with a built-in map and compass, a real compass for emergencies, plenty of spare outdoors clothing, with each of us getting a pair of pre-broken in boots and rain ponchos, two weeks worth of instant food (just add water) and an additional week of emergency rations, an extensive first aid kit and just about everything else we would need to survive, with relative comfort, in the middle of nowhere.

With our bags packed, with our cloaking devices packed as well, we purchased tickets to a camping resort in District 4. It was Helena who suggested that we buy some fishing gear after remembering one of her clients talk about a river heavily populated by catfish.

"I think we could have done without the fishing rods," said Helena as we waited for our train at the Central Rail Center in downtown The Capitol, "my patient says he's fond of what he calls Catfish Noodling."

"What's that?" I asked hesitantly.

"It's where you fish with your fingers," said Helena as she smiled eagerly, "just wade into the water, find a likely spot where a Catfish has made his hole, stick your arm in, wiggle your fingers around and when the fish bites, just bring the bugger up out of the water and sock it to him good!" she then mimed throwing a punch, "whammo!"

"You mean you actually let the fish bite you?" a visibly disturbed Marcus asked.

"Well it's easier than trying to grab them by the tail," said Helena, "you just have to be careful with the teeth, Catfish tend to have some pretty big chompers about them."

"I'll just stick to our real trip," I whispered, then spoke a little louder, "and are you sure about revealing this about your patient?"

"It's only violating doctor-patient confidentiality if I give out personal information," said Helena, "my patient said that it was okay for me to tell my friends."

We would have talked further, but then our train pulled in and we went aboard to our compartment. It wasn't long before our train pulled out of the station and we were on our way. To anyone watching, the three of us appeared to be nothing more than vacationing tourists from The Capitol.

What our watchers wouldn't know was that when our train reached a rail junction down the line and stopped for fuel, we would activate our cloaking belts, which I modified to compensate for the additional mass of our gear, slip off the train and sneak onto a different train bound for District 12. We reasoned that that was the place to go to learn the full truth.

We got onto the other train without any trouble. The train had only three cars, each carrying supplies for officials and Peacekeepers in the District 12. With only a few guards and the train crew as the only other persons onboard, my friends and I were left to ourselves as we hid in one of the supply cars. We settled in among the boxes and containers and waited for the train so start again.

After about two days we reached our destination. Gathering our gear and whatever trash we had accumulated from our brief stay in the car, we donned our cloaking belts and exited the train, taking extreme caution that we did not touch anyone we saw. The schedule we had researched said that there would be another train due in five days, so we had that long to find the answers we sought.

When it was time for us to go, we had far more answers that we could have asked for. We had to stay invisible more often than not each day we were in the District 12, in order to remain undetected by the local Peacekeepers and from the local population. As I said, it's not illegal for us to be here, but it's not smiled upon either. But we were able to listen in on other peoples conversations, so long as we remained quiet and out of the way to avoid being touched.

The first thing we discovered was that the entire town was covered in a fine layer of coal dust from the mines. It was everywhere, but the people didn't seem to mind, to them it was just a part of life.

The people of the District 12 were divided into two classes. The first class was the mercantile who lived in the town. Their lives revolved in selling what was there to sell for the coal miners and their families. The merchants had, what would be considered to a citizen of the Capitol, simple lives, but for the local shopkeepers and such, they all had a sturdy roof over their heads, quality clothes on their backs and decent, if bland, food every day. Their homes had running hot and cold water and electricity and a few, sparse, luxury items. These were the more better off people of District 12.

The majority of the coal miners and their families lived in The Seam, a slum outside the town. That's where my friends and I discovered just how horrid things were.

Nearly every home lacked running water and electricity was rationed to no more than four hours a day. Sanitation was a matter of boiling water for washing and cleaning, while soap had to be made from whatever could be made at home, sold in the local marketplace at outrageous prices, as well as every other commodity needed for survival, or at the local black market, located in an abandoned coal warehouse called The Hob.

As for the miners, they worked 12 hour shifts hacking away at the rock to extract the coal, constantly exposed to the black dust that could, as Helena's background in medicine told us, lead to lung disease and cancer. The miners also risked death from poisoned gas, fire, explosions and cave-ins. And when a miner was injured on the job or was too sick to work, they had no money for a real doctor.

We saw signs of injuries that did not receive proper medical attention, such as broken bones and lacerations. We learned that the price of healthcare this far from The Capitol was so high that it was easier for the injured or sick to seek help from their local apothecary or herbalist.

Food was a not a question of 'what will I eat today?' but 'will I eat today?' Most families often went several days without food before scraping together enough money to buy more. Nearly everyone we saw in The Seam suffered from malnutrition, poor immune systems and other linked illnesses such as scurvy and so on.

We saw that the District was boarded by a supposedly electrified fence, separating the people from the wilderness beyond. Due to the rationing of electricity, the fence was off most of the day. We learned from overhearing a few discrete discussions that some people ventured beyond the fence to hunt wildlife and gather edible flora to feed their families or sell on the black market.

This was considered poaching in the eyes of the law and demanded harsh punishments, but the local Peacekeepers, so far from their homes and families, more often than not turned a blind eye and even did business with the hunters to add a little flavor to their diets. Even the merchants and salesmen, and even the town officials, would buy from the hunters and gatherers.

But hunger was a daily threat to everyone in The Seam, with people dieing of starvation nearly every day.

One of the few positive aspects of life in District 12 was that every child, no matter what social class they were born into, was given a free education. Marcus was glad to know that everyone in the District knew how to read, write and work sums, as well as the basics of chemistry and biology, but in terms of history, it was like hearing a litany being recited. Hardly anything of the world before the rise of Panem was being taught, while the version of events leading up to, during and after The Dark Days was rewritten to vilify the people of the Districts, making the war sound like it was their ancestors fault and that they deserved to live the way they lived.

Helena had plenty to say about the psychological state of the people, how that living with barely enough to survive was enough to bring on madness in some cases. She said that this was not life, it was barely more than existence. Nearly all hope for a better life had been trampled underfoot, save one, one that chilled us to the bones.

We learned that when a child becomes eligible for The Hunger Games, their name is automatically entered in the reaping lottery. At age 12 their names are entered once, with an additional entry, added each year leading up to seven chances for his or her name being drawn by their 18th year.

But more often than not, the child would add additional entries to the lottery in order to provide additional rations of food and oil for their families. The extra entries, or tessera, would cumulate with the normal entries, so by the time a child was 15 or so, he or she could have up to 20 entries or more, depending on how large his or her family is.

We learned that while the children were afraid of being chosen for the Hunger Games, they believed that if they were chosen, they still had the chance to win extra food for not only their families but the entire District.

While the families of those who had been chosen were devastated at having their children taken from them, other families were glad that their children were spared, at least until the next reaping.

We learned far more than we hoped we would, and we had no desire to go to other Districts to confirm the truth further.

When the train came we boarded it without incident and rode back to District 4. We didn't talk about what we learned as we spent the rest of our planned time doing what our cover story said we would do; camping and fishing.

When we got to our campsite by the river, Helena convinced us to say the hell with our fishing gear and try Catfish Noodling. Marcus and I watched as Helena waded into the river, rolled up her sleeve, stuck her arm under the water and after a minute or so, pulled up a 50lb monster of a fish that was doing its best to eat her hand. Laughing heartily, Helena punched the beast in the eye, knocking it out.

Our first attempt at cleaning a fish nearly made me throw up, while Marcus would up making a complete mess with the catch. Helena brought up a slightly smaller fish, which she and Marcus managed to properly clan and lunch was served.

Afterwards, Helena coaxed Marcus into the water where he watched up close as Helena pulled up another fish. This time she let it go after prying it off of her hand. Despite the small cuts on her hand and forearm from being bitten, Helena was having the time of her life, and soon convinced Marcus to roll up his sleeve and pull up a monster of a catfish and let it go.

I eventually worked up the courage to go into the water, but I would stick my hand down there to be bait.

Sorry, I was laughing for a bit there. Imagine me, a man guilty of so much death and destruction, was afraid to let a fish bite me. I think this could be considered black humor.

Anyway, we spent the rest of our vacation time enjoying the beauty of nature. We caught a few more fish, some we ate, while we kept three preserved to mount on the walls of our homes. We still didn't talk about what we learned from our visit to District 12, we just didn't want to ruin the happiness at the time.

But we were only delaying the inevitable. As soon as we were back in The Capitol and safely in my home, which had become our unofficial headquarters, we discussed our findings.

"What I don't understand," said Marcus after we reviewed the facts we gathered, "is how the government can allow this to go on? The Dark Days ended so long ago, why are they still punishing the people of the Districts to this day with The Hunger Games? Those children we saw, so many futures shattered before they had a chance."

"And the winners of each Game," said Helena, "having to murder so many other children or be killed themselves, while the Gamemakers throw all sorts of horrible things at them to make them commit murder, the mental trauma inflicted on them, it's a miracle any of them emerge even halfway sane."

"They do it because they can," I said in a neutral tone as I went to my window and looked out over the city, "because it gives them power, and power is as addictive as a drug. And they're keeping the truth from everyone in order to preserve their power."

"Well, what can we do about it?" Helena asked, "how can we make things better?"

"There's nothing that we can do," said Marcus, "the government, even if we went public with what we know, the government would say we were lying and they'd put us away, if not kill us outright."

"Who would believe us in the first place?" I asked, "the people of this city are so wrapped up in their lives, with what they know and believe to be true, that if we tried to convince them of the real truth, they'd laugh at us and go on with their lives."

"They are wrapped up in their lives," said Helena, "constantly pursuing new, more outrageous fashions, not just in clothing, makeup and hair styles. They die their skin and undergo bodily reconstruction that twist them into caricatures of their former selves. And then they go and whine about how their neighbors have one upped them on fashion trends. And when The Hunger Games come around, it's all they can talk about, how they bet on who lives and dies…now that I've truly thought about it all, it all makes me sick."

"And their children are no better," said an irate Marcus, "I try my best to teach them, to inspire them the thirst for knowledge that inspired me in my youth, but all those spoiled brats care about one form of mindless entertainment after another, it's disgusting how they waste their intelligence!"

"You think you've seen them at their worst?" I asked, "I've seen them in their homes, the parents and their kids. They buy the latest gadgets and gismos to play with, and when they can't get their toys to work, they either throw them away or call me to explain how to use them right.

"And the food, they host enormous banquets and throw away what they don't eat, while thousands of innocent people out in the Districts are suffering, living with almost nothing to keep them alive, which the people of this city don't know about or they simply don't care. That's how the Capitol gets away with it; they either don't know or they don't care.

"Well I say they should know, that they should care, and if they refuse to listen to the truth, if they won't care about their fellow human beings, than I say they should be made to listen, that they should be forced to care."

"How do you force someone to care about something that they don't care about?" Marcus asked.

It was then that a horrible idea began taking place in my mind, "they'll care if their lives depend on it," I said, "Helena, you've read that people, societies as a whole, have changed in order to survive a dire threat. Well, I say we threaten this civilization that is Panem, we threaten to destroy it, or at least the head."

"What are you talking about?" Helena asked cautiously.

"We're going confront President Snow and the government with the crimes that they are guilty of," I said, "we'll force them to admit their guilt to the people of The Capitol, to the people of the Districts, to all of Panem. We'll force them to change things for the better, or The Capitol will be destroyed, one piece at a time."

5.

"That's it!" exclaimed an exasperated Marcus, "I'm convinced, you've completely gone off the deep end!"

"You can't possibly be serious," said a shocked Helena, "you're actually contemplating mass destruction."

"And mass murder," I said, "if we're going to do this, we might as well get it all out in the open. I plan to use bombs on The Capitol. Now just hear me out before you say anything to try to change my mind."

"I don't want to hear anything," said Marcus, "getting involved with stolen data is one thing, sneaking into the boondocks of Panem to prove that data is another, but this, using bombs on a city in order to bring about change, that's…I don't even know what to call it."

"It's terrorism, that's what it is," said Helena. She then irately glared at me, "Titus, you're contemplating a road of evil that'll only lead to tears for so many people. And don't even get me started on what I think of your state of mind."

"It may be evil," I said, "it may be insane, but consider the alternative of simply doing nothing, of allowing the government to continue to get away with all these attrocities, of letting the people of The Capitol live in blissful ignorance, of allowing almost two dozen innocent children be murdered and one scarred for life each year. Allowing all of that to continue unchecked would be an even greater act of evil, or at least that's my opinion."

"Be as that may," said Helena, "what you're considering is still terrorism."

"Then let it be terrorism!" is snapped at her, "the people of this city have been asleep, wasting their lives in both mind and body, while the people out in the Districts continue to suffer, and the government keeps this going year, after year, after year. It can't go on like this!"

"There's only so much you can push someone before they push back. It's only a matter of time before the people of the Districts try another uprising, leading to another war. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not even in a hundred years but someday there will be war, and a lot of innocent people will die.

"The government has always had the advantage in terms of organization and technology, and the audacity to wipe out an entire District in order to break the spirit of the rebellion. They're keeping the memory of the horrors of war alive in the minds of the people in order to discourage another rebellion. Right now no one in the Districts has the courage to stand up to their oppressors. So if things in Panem are to change, it'll have to be here in the Capitol.

"That's where my plan for bombs comes into play. We'll start with targets that will result in property damage, both public and private, while keeping casualties to a minimum. These attacks will get the attention of the government, the media and the people of this city.

"That's when we'll inform the government of our demands for change, while sending a copy of the data from the restricted archives to the media, and also a condensed form of the data, and a list of our demands, to the people of the Capitol, a…what word am I looking for?"

"A manifesto," said Helena, a slight smile betraying her interest in my plan, while Marcus looked on with growing interest as well.

"Yes, a manifesto," I said, "we'll all work on it together before we start setting off the bombs. We'll worry about publishing and distributing the manifesto when the time comes. Hopefully, and I hope with all my heart, the people will read what we have to say and some will believe it. I don't expect everyone to believe at first, I'm not that crazy.

"I also don't expect the media to believe us as well. The government, whom surely will not give in to our demands at that time, will do their best to keep things quiet and say that the bombs so far were accidents, or the work of a lunatic."

"How right they are," laughed Marcus, but I could tell that he was thinking that the government would be right on that part. I would later ponder on the question of my sanity of that time, but at the time I was thinking more clearly than I had since I first read the restricted data.

I continued with my plan, "we'll then present an ultimatum to President Snow and his inner circle. Unless things change for the better in Panem, then not only would the bombings continue, but we would focus on human casualties as well as destruction of property.

"The first persons to be targeted would be government workers and high-level Peacekeeper officers. From there we'll focus on civilian areas; public transit, entertainment centers, shopping malls and the like.

After each bomb, we'll present our demands to the government and to the people, and if they do not agree to our demands after a day, we'll set off another bomb, and another, and another, until they either give in, or there's nothing left in the Capitol but rubble and ghosts. One way or another, things will change for Panem."

"There's still the fact that once we start," said Marcus, "and the government realizes what we're trying to do, they'll vilify us, making us the bad guys." I noticed that Marcus used 'we' instead of 'you,' signifying that he was with me in this dark venture.

"It's true," said Helena, "if we do this, we'll be terrorists, and the government and Peacekeepers will do everything in their power to find us, and then we'll be up a certain creek without a paddle."

"But they'll have to find us first," I said, "and let's be honest, do we appear to fit the role of terrorists? I mean look at us," I pointed at Marcus, "you're a teacher," I pointed at Helena, "you're a psychiatrist, and I'm a mild-mannered repairman," I then looked at my cloaking devices, "whom happen to have the power of invisibility."

"Of course!" said a smiling Marcus, "we can use the cloaking devices to plan the bombs! They can't catch a bomber whom can't be seen!"

"I just had an idea," said an eager Helena, "can we make a cloaking device small enough to fit onto a bomb, making the bombs invisible?"

I admit that I had never thought of that idea, but it made me eager to explore it, "I don't see why not," I said. I then knew that whatever doubts and hesitations that were in the minds of my friends, they were gone now and they were with me to the end.

I then touched my prototype cloaking device, "the government believes themselves safe in their power, but we too have power," I then took Helena's left hand in my right, Marcu's hand in my left and they took hands together, "and with this power, we'll start a change that will bring about a new world, a better world, free of fear and injustice, a world where no one ever goes hungry again."

6.

It was a grand plan, easier said than done of course, despite our newfound unity in our cause. Almost immediately we encountered problems, the biggest of which was agreeing on exactly what would go in our manifesto, the selection of bombing targets, and the one problem that would shatter the plan was the fact that none of us knew how to build a bomb.

We also had to figure out what kind of bomb would we use; how powerful the blasts would be, would they have shrapnel for taking out large numbers of civilians, what kind of explosive would be used, what kind of timer, the list went on.

Eventually it was agreed that Marcus would use his knowledge of chemistry to manufacture the explosives, I would use my knack for mechanics to create the fuse and timing device, while Helena would research the target locations. We also agreed that Helena would draw up the draft for our manifesto, while Marcus and I would help edit it and the three of us would later agree on the final draft when it was ready.

We did all of this while balancing our normal day to day lives. Helena continued to see her patients, Marcus would keep teaching and I would keep fixing the toys and gadgets of the blissfully oblivious of the people of the Capitol.

I'll admit, it was a strain for the three of us to keep up appearances during the day without betraying that something else was happening in our lives, but we avoided suspicion, for during the day, we knew that after the workday was finished, we would meet at night to further our plans.

After about a month, Marcus had produced a sizable amount of the plastic explosive known as C4. I had manufactured an electrical fuse with a digital timer, while Helena had selected multiple targets that would result in a lot of property damage, while keeping human casualties to a minimum, for the time being.

On a Sunday we went up to the mountains surrounding the city to test out the explosives. With a mass the size of a marble and a simple remote controlled detonator, we blew up a large rock. We then blew up a larger rock, and another and another.

We then tested my timer detonator. I set the countdown for three minutes, giving my friends and I enough time to take cover. The bomb blew a car-sized boulder to pieces without any problems.

Next I used my cloaking belt to see hw long I could remain invisible with a bomb inside my toolkit. My job as a repairman has so far allowed me to go throughout the city without attracting unwanted attention, but it would eventually draw notice if I were going to placed I had no business going to on that particular day, so t plant the bombs, I would need to be invisible.

Again, I found that long term use of the cloaking device cased headaches, despite my improvements of the belt unit. I made a note to work on that problem when I had the time. Things were beginning to come together at that point. Helena was almost ready with the first draft of the manifesto and she had already selected our first target; a popular restaurant that was closed for renovations.

The Capitol's public transportation system runs round the clock, week in and week out, so I had no worry about getting away. With my friends wishing me luck, I placed the bomb into my took kit, checked that the cloaking belt was working and I left my apartment. If anyone asked me I was out on an emergency call from one of my clients.

I admit that my heart was beating a mile a minute as I rode the public rail thought he city, then transferred to a bus line. But so far no one had sensed anything out of the ordinary with me, and that helped calm me a bit, but not much.

As I got closer to the target, I could hear my own inner mind telling me to stop what I was doing before it was too late, to go home, dismantle the bomb, smash my cloaking devices, destroy the plans for the devices, erase all the data from the restricted archives and forget the whole thing.

But then I reminded myself that I was doing this not for myself, but for all of Panem, that what I was doing here would set in motion a better life for all people of all classes, no matter the cost. I then realized that for better or worse, I could not back down. I knew that what I would do that night could result in the deaths of hundreds, if not thousands of people in the city, and maybe lead to the destruction of the city itself, and more so, it would cost me my mind, if I wasn't crazy already.

But I also knew that if I had to give up my sanity, and possibly my soul, to bring about a better world for all, then it would be a price worth paying.

With that in mind, I reached the block where the closed restaurant was located. I ducked into a side alley, made sure that no one was looking and activate my cloaking device. I then went inside the building undergoing renovations, found a good spot in the middle of the restaurant, placed the bomb, set the timer for one hour and left.

As far as I could tell at the time, my coming and going was unnoticed. The half forty-five minute trip back to my apartment was one of the most agonizing moments of my life. Questions kept pounding through my mind; would the timer work? Would the fuse work? Would the bomb be discovered and if so, would the bomb kill those people?

I returned to my apartment with just over ten minutes before the bomb was scheduled to go off. My friends said nothing to me as I walked in, they didn't need to talk, I could see in their eyes the same raging questions pounding through my head, and another question, would I get caught?

We sat in my living room, waiting for the final minutes to tick away. We knew that from this part of the city, we wouldn't see or hear the bomb going off, so we had to rely on the news to inform us. When the detonation time finally came, I turned on my television set and waited.

As the channel displayed the usual patriotic propaganda commercials and fashion programs that were scheduled of that time, we sat with nervous anticipation. Would the bombing make the news at all?

But then after ten minutes of waiting a sudden newsflash was aired. The anchorman spoke of a sudden fire breaking out at the restaurant. Firefighters had been dispatched and the fire would soon be under control. The anchorman then reported that no one had been hurt and that the cause of the fire would be under investigation, although firefighters were saying that the cause could be attributed to a freak accident.

But my friends and I knew better. We knew that we had succeeded, that tonight was only the beginning of what would be the greatest rein of terror the Capitol had seen since The Dark Days.

7.

We celebrated by getting drunk on the best liquor we could buy at that time of night, which turned out to be pretty good booze, even though my friends and I aren't that big of drinkers.

As our inebriation deepened, Helena pulled out the karaoke machine I built for her birthday one year, I can't for the life of me remember exactly when I made it, but it worked. Normally, Helena has a lovely singing voice. She once admitted to me that she could have chosen music as a carrier, but her parents had already determined her fate in life. I now believe that her willingness to join me in my acts of terror and sedition was, for her part, an act of defiance to her parent's control over her life.

Back to that night, Helena had programmed the karaoke machine with all her favorite songs and that night she sang a lot of them. She even had me and Marcus join her on some songs. Marcus' voice is…fair, where as I am what is best described as tone deaf.

Still, we had fun, or at least I did until I passed out from one too many glasses of wine. I later learned that Marcus and Helena then crept into my bedroom and made love for the first time. At that point it was a spur of the moment thing brought on my too much liquor, but it would later blossom into a romance that, for them, would keep them alive and sane.

As for me, as I lay oblivious to the world, I had the first of many dreams that would further unravel my sanity.

I dreamed I was back in District 12, wandering The Seam. I had no idea why I was there, what I was looking for. And what made the setting most bizarre was that it was the middle of the day, yet no one was in town, not a soul.

I soon found myself near the electrified fence separating the District from the wilderness, yet the electricity was turned off. There was a hole in the fence so I went through and entered the woods.

I soon fond myself on a small trail and up ahead, barely in sight, was a girl with long brown hair tied in a single braid. She wore a brown jacket and boots that seemed to fit her with natural grace. Over her shoulder was a bow and a quiver of arrows.

Overhead I could hear a bird singing, repeating the same four-note tune. I then saw the girl stop and looked up at a nearby tree branch, where a mockingjay was singing the song. She then seemed to sense me and started to turn around.

I woke up before I could see her face, more confused than I had ever been before in my life. Who was this girl? I didn't see here during my visit to The Seam, and I chould swear she didn't belong to the Capitol.

Also was the fact that there was a Mockingjay in the dream. Before that I had only seen Mockingjays in books. I knew what they were; the descendents of jabberjays, an artificial species created by the Capitol during The Dark Days to spy on the rebels. The rebels turned the bird's ability to repeat human speech on their creators and the species was allowed to die off. But the birds mated with the local mockingbirds, creaking Mockingjays.

But why would I dream about things I had never seen before in real life?

But then all questions were blotted out from my mind as my head began pounding like a base drum, replaced by the question of why do hangovers exist?

As I steadied myself and stood up, that's when Helena and Marcus came out of my bedroom, both of them as hung over as I was and more than a little embarrassed that they had sex and slept in my bed.

After an awkward moment we all laughed and winced in pain. I then got a pot of coffee going, while Marcus dug out some painkillers from my medicine cabinet.

Helena by then had the news on with more about the bombing. The authorities still claimed it was a freak accident, but again, we knew better.

Once everyone's head stopped pounding like jackhammers, we got back to work, our real work that is. Marcus and I went over Helena's draft for our manifesto, while Helena researched our next target. She chose a popular shopping mall where several buildings were under renovation. She determined that the construction crews all took the same lunch hour every day. We wanted the next bomb to be a daylight attack to plan the suspicion that it wasn't a random accident.

The plan was to have the bomb go off during the construction worker's lunch hour to minimize the risk of collateral damage. This time around I would stay within watching distance of the mall to witness the explosion, then I would go to a public phone booth and telephone my apartment, where my friends would be waiting for a codeword from me, signifying that the bombing had been a success.

Taking public transit again, I reached the mall twenty minutes before the workers went on break. It blend in I pretended to be browsing through an electronics store. I admit that I was fascinated by the latest gadgets and toys and would have spent the whole day in there, but I had a mission to accomplish.

I went to the restroom, and after making sure I was alone, I activated my cloaking device and took the bomb to the area under renovation. I placed the bomb in a store right in the middle of the renovations, set the timer for fifteen minutes, left the area, returned to the restroom and deactivated the cloaking device without anyone spotting me.

Keeping a careful eye on my watch but still acted normally so as not to arouse suspicion, I slipped out of the mall and waited at the bus stop for the bomb to go off. I was soon rewarded by the loud report coming from the renovated area. I hurried over to a nearby payphone, called my apartment and when Marcus answered, I said the codeword for success, 'sprocket,' and hung up.

But then I got far more than I bargained for.

A few seconds after the initial explosion there came a second explosion, this time from the other side of the mall, in the area of the food court. Then came another explosion, and another and another and another. Before long smoke rose from the area where the explosions came from, followed by rising flames.

Then came the screams. Men, women and children crying out in pain and terror, followed by the wail of sirens from fire engines and ambulances that were fast approaching the area.

I then found myself hurrying towards the burning area of the mall. I knew I shouldn't have, that I should be getting as far away as I could, but something drew me there, as if I had to see what happened, what I had done.

It was a nightmare come to life. The restaurants were set ablaze and one could smell the scent of burning meat. I thought that the food had been caught in the explosions, but then I saw all the people either running from or being carried from the area. Dozens of men, women and children had been caught in the blasts, most of them suffering from various degrees of burns, some of them burned from head to toe.

The smell.

The smell.

I never forgot that burning meat smell and I never will.

By then the firefighters and paramedics had arrived and I was ushered from the area. They must have thought I was trying to help. If only they knew the truth.

To this day I don't remember walking to the next bus stop and the trip home. The next thing I knew I was at my front door and walking in.

Helena and Marcus already had the news on. They didn't ask me anything as I walked to my chair in the living room and sat down in exhaustion. I was tired, more tired than I thought possible, not physically, but emotionally.

But then Helena asked me what went wrong.

"Nothing," I said, "I planted the bomb right were we agreed it would go. It went off without a hitch, right on time. But then came more explosions, and then the smoke, and the screams, and…and the smell, oh my god, the smell!"

That's when I rushed to my bathroom and threw up. I emptied my stomach into the toilet, then dry heaved for another half hour. Helena and Marcus didn't come in after me to see if I was alright, but I could sense their eyes on me, as if wondering if I had planted the bomb in the food court, intending on mass murder.

After I felt like I was finished puking, I cleaned myself up and went back to the living room. I then told my friends flat out that everything went perfectly with the bombing, that the other explosions shouldn't have happened.

They said that they believed me, but I could tell that their trust in me had been shaken.

We watched the news all afternoon as the fire at the mall was put out and those caught in the explosions were taken to the hospital. Once the fire was out, the news anchor said that the second explosions were caused by an accident.

Apparently, said the anchorman, one of the construction tools in the renovated area had malfunctioned and shorted out. The explosion from the construction area resounded through the mall, startling shoppers and causing a cook in the restaurants to knock over a saucepan on a stove, setting off a chain reaction that caused a kitchen worker to hit a propane tank rupture the fuel line and the escaping gas caught fire, setting off the tank, leading to more tanks in the entire food court to explode.

Initial estimations said that over two-hundred and seventy people, counting shoppers and restaurant staff, were in the food court when the tanks went off. Thirty-seven were killed instantly, mostly cooks, while one-hundred and ten suffered various burns. Seventeen more died from their burns.

Again, the anchorman stated that authorities were ruling the explosions a freak accident, but we knew better.

"We murdered all those people," said Marcus, "and they're calling it an accident."

"No," I said in a neutral tone, "you didn't do it, I did. I am the murderer."

"Don't do that!" snapped Helena, "don't you dare blame yourself for this! We all had a hand in it. I picked the target."

"And I made the explosives," said Marcus, "and you, Titus, made the timer."

"But I planted the bomb!" I shouted, "those people, the dead and the wounded, their blood is on my hands." It was then that for a blink of an eye, I could see my hands drenched in blood.

I could also smell the burning flesh of those caught in the blasts and I thought I was going to throw up again. But then the sensation passed, as did the sights and scents.

"Are you alright?" Helena asked.

I didn't know if I was, and I told my friends so. I then pulled myself together and remembered why I was doing this; all the people in the Districts working themselves for almost nothing, for all those starving people, for the children forced to murder each other.

I already knew that people would die in this plan of mine, that some sacrifices would have to be made to bring about the new world. But up until now it seemed like a game of sorts, even when I destroyed that single restaurant with the first bomb, it still felt like a game.

But now it was real. Real people had died by my hand, and many more would die so that others would live.

Once I pulled myself back together, I told my friends my thoughts, and they agreed with me. And they also agreed that we were past the failsafe point. Up until now we could have stopped and went back to our normal lives. But now that blood had been shed, there was no going back.

We truly were committed, and we were prepared to do what had to be done.

8.

We agreed not to launch any more attacks until we had our manifesto ready. While Helena worked on the final draft, I devoted myself to figuring out how to deliver our message to all of the Capitol.

It became clear that the best way was to simply post several copies of the manifest to President Snow and his inner circle, to the news networks and to several prominent citizens, all on the same day.

Marcus suggested that with the copies to the government and media we would send a letter from us, claiming responsibility for the bombs so far. The letter would say that more bombs would follow unless our demands were met, and that any deaths that would follow would be on the hands of President Snow and his entourage.

Finally, Helena had the manifesto ready. It simply stated that things were vastly wrong with Panem and that change was necessary for the survival of all. We stated the crimes that The Capitol had committed against the Districts and what had to be done…

That the people of the Districts be given fair wages and better working hours and conditions

That decent sanitation be provided for all

That medical care be provided for all

That more food and provisions be provided for all

That the Hunger Games be abolished forever.

Those were our primary demands. There were others, all designed to make things better in Panem, all in all to create a brave new world free of fear and injustice.

All and all we liked what Helena had wrote. Before we made copies of the manifesto and the letters, we were going to sign our names to them, using aliases to protect our identities.

But then I had the idea to make it look that only one man was responsible for the bombings. I explained to my friends that this way would make the authorities that a single man was behind the acts of terrorism, not three ordinary, disgruntled persons.

"This smells of self-centeredness and hubris," said Helena, "that you're trying to claim all the glory for yourself."

"Glory has nothing to do with it," I said, "I'm doing this to throw the authorities off track. They'll be looking for one man, a lone anarchist, possibly insane, not normal people like us."

"Makes sense to me," said Marcus.

"Alright," said Helena, "more work for me, but yes, let's play it that way." She then rewrote the manifesto and letter to sound like it was the work of a single man, not a group.

I then signed the letter and manifesto as The Repairman, being that my friends and I, as The Repairman, were out to fix the problems plaguing Panem.

Satisfied with the words, we made the copies and mailed them. Again, all we could do was wait for the packages to be delivered. We didn't have long to wait.

By posting them first thing in the morning, the papers were delivered by the end of the afternoon, and by the evening news, we knew that we had struck a nerve with the government.

The anchorman reported that a madman had claimed responsibility for the explosions at the mall and the restaurant. It was then reported that the madman had sent his demands to the government and the media, while similar demands were made to the people of the Capitol.

President Snow then released a statement saying that he had thoroughly read the manifesto and letter, then burned his copies. He made it very clear that neither he, his government, his city or any part of Panem would ever bow down to terrorists and anarchists, that every effort would be made to hunt down the lunatic responsible for the deaths of fifty-four innocent people, the wounding of dozens more and the destroyed property.

We heard the anthem start up and I turned off the television set before it got further than the first few notes.

"Well," I said, "we got their attention."

"They only said that there was a madman with bombs," said Marcus, "they didn't even mention our manifesto."

"They're covering it up," said Helena, "the government is censoring the media, and also keeping quiet the civilians we mailed copies to. They're trying to keep the people from panicking."

I then turned the television back on, hoping that maybe once, just once, the media would say more akin to the truth than what the government told them to say.

Instead the anchorman stated that the government had released the name of the bomber, 'The Repairman,' and that all repairmen in the city would be 'taken into police custody for questioning.'

My friends looked at each other and we then hurried about my apartment, concealing any and all trace of our exploits. I had discovered a hidden compartment in my hall closet that was big enough to hide all the bomb equipment, our copies of the letters and manifesto we had left over and most importantly, my cloaking devices and the portable hard rive containing the restricted data. We just finished hiding the plans for the cloaking device when there came a loud knocking at my front door.

I knew it was the police, so I calmly opened the door and let them in. they said that I was a person of interest and that I had to go with them for questioning. I asked about my friends. The officers said that, after seeing Helena's and Marcus' credentials, they weren't interested in a teacher or a psychiatrist.

I gave my friends a look that said that everything was going to be alright and I went with the police. They didn't handcuff me and were rather polite as they held the door to their car open for me.

Though I was calm on the outside, I was screaming in my mind. They knew, I thought, they knew it was me and they're going to torture me to get the truth out.

But when we reached the police precinct, I was shown in, taken to a rather comfortable interrogation room, offered refreshments and then the questions started. The detectives and government representatives were very polite but straight to the point when they asked me about my whereabouts during both bombings.

I gave them my alibi of being out at both times to visit clients, that both times they had been canceled because the clients either figured the problem out themselves or just threw the offending devices out and that I didn't know that the visits had been canceled until I got on site.

What the authorities didn't know was that both clients were actually aliases for other repairmen. Sometimes my collogues would pretend to be other people in order to have them visit each other's homes, specifically if the client was a woman and the repairman was a man. It was a game to them, a cheep thrill, one I never liked to play but they said that if I ever wanted to have a hour or so of free time to just sit and talk, to compare notes, I was welcome to use the aliases for my own purposes and they would back me up.

I then told the detectives that I went home after each canceled appointment and was with Helena and Marcus, whom would both back me up whole heartedly.

The detectives and government representative left the room to talk, but also to let me sweat for a bit. I could tell that I had been on camera ever since they brought me into the room and were looking for a sign that I was lying, or at least hiding the full truth.

I kept my cool and waited for them to come back in. When they did, the government representative said that he wanted to question my friends, individually. At that I blinked. I knew that if they questioned Marcus and Helena separately, then there was a very distinct chance that their stories wouldn't match up. The authorities would know that one of us was lying, and they would go to any lengths to figure out who.

But then another officer burst into the room and hastily whispered something to my interrogators, they paled in shock, asked if it was true and the officer said it was.

The next thing I knew they said I was free to go. I asked what happened and they said that another restaurant had been bombed, this time one full of customers. Seven dead had so far been conformed and the number of wounded was rising.

I did my best to remain calm as the officers drove me back home. I could hardly believe it that my friends would carry out an attack themselves, and more importantly, who did it? Helena or Marcus?

I found out as soon as I walked into my apartment, with Marcus waiting anxiously. He told me that as soon as I had left with the authorities, he and Helena quickly put another bomb together. Helena randomly chose a restaurant, donned one of the cloaking belts and left with the bomb.

By the time Helena came in, looking both terrified and exhilarated beyond her wildest dreams, the news reported that the death toll had risen to eleven and twenty more were wounded.

Helena said she got to the restaurant, activated the cloaking belt in a side alley, walked in past the reception, past the waiters and customers, ducked under an empty table, set the timer for ten minutes and got out of there.

"Why?" I asked, "I had everything under control with the cops and their government watchdogs. There was no way they could have fingered me as the bomber."

"We didn't know that," said Marcus, "we couldn't risk it. I'm sorry, but we had to do something that would divert suspicion from you."

"And now you have the perfect alibi," said Helena, "how could you be the bomber when one went off while you were right under the cops' microscope?"

"But what about you guys?" I asked, "firs to fall, you could have been killed by the bomb. It could have gone off prematurely."

"But it didn't," said Marcus, "I put the bomb together exactly as we did before."

"Everything went right," said Helena.

"But what about you, Helena?" I asked, "you delivered the bomb that killed eleven people."

"I know," said Helena, "I know that I've got blood on my hands, just as there has been since we set out on this endeavor."

"Didn't you take an oath or something when you became a psychiatrist?" I asked.

"The Hippocratic Oath," said Helena as she closed her eyes, "'first, do no harm,' that's what they taught us the first day at med school." She opened her eyes and looked at me, "I did swear the oath, but sometimes a doctor, in whatever field of medicine, has to make sacrifices. A surgeon may be forced to remove an infected limb in order to save the rest of the patient. I find myself willing to do whatever is necessary to cure a great sickness."

"Panem is suffering," said Marcus, "and it may have to get worse before it truly gets better."

"I won't argue with that," I said, "but what about the police? Now that you've played a greater part in the bombings, they'll be…"

"They weren't interested in us earlier," said Marcus, "and now they're not interested in you."

Try as I could, I couldn't shake their resolve and get them out of it before it was too late. But it was already too late. My friends had put their hearts and souls into this, just as I had, and now we truly beyond the point of no return.

9.

As soon as we were certain that the police's attention was diverted away from us, we moved all the bomb making equipment out of my apartment. Half we took to Marcus' home, the other to Helena's. We agreed that we would share equally the tasks of delivering the bombs to their targets.

With myself and Helena having already carried out an attack, Marcus was scheduled to go next. He brought the next bomb to an automobile dealership, placing the bomb under a car that was fueled up for a test drive. That time only a salesman and a customer were killed, but dozens of brand new cars were destroyed.

Once again we sent a letter to the government and media, as well as a few more chosen members of Capitol society. We, as The Repairman, claimed responsibility for the bombing and threatened the city with more death and destruction. President Snow and his toadies knew our demands, all they had to do was say yes and we would stop.

Once again the evening news stated that President Snow thumbed his nose at our demands and that he would not rest until The Repairman was brought to justice. At that my friends and I laughed at the president's idea of justice.

Over the next few weeks we would deliver one bomb after another. We tried to carry out at least one attack a day, sometimes two, while other times we would wait a full day between attacks, just to shake things up a bit more. Sometimes we would attack during the day, others at night, never at the same so as not to give the authorities a pattern to follow, and never the same target twice in a row.

Sometimes we would target restaurants, other times it would be shopping malls and boutiques on the streets. We bombed car dealerships, fuel stations, public transit hubs, when there weren't as many people around that is, entertainment centers, beauty parlors, coffee shops and nightclubs.

Marcus and Helena did put their feet down on the subject of bombing private homes. I told the that my reputation as a respected repairman would allow me near unlimited access to private homes, but my friends told me that was out of the question.

"We're not doing this to be outright cold blooded killers," said Marcus. "We're trying to get the people to understand that we're doing this for the greater good."

"If we start blowing up people in their own homes," said Helena, "we'll truly be the monsters that the government says we are. And it would cause a panic the likes of which would tear the city apart. We do want to keep The Capitol alive for the new world right?"

I found myself unable to dispute their words. I still thought myself as human and had no desire to have no more blood on my hands than necessary.

So we kept our attacks to public places. By the end of our third week of bombings, we had killed an estimated 210 men, women and children, while severely wounding another 287.

By then the streets of The Capitol were more quiet than they had been in living memory. The people were afraid, some of them too afraid to leave their homes.

All the while President Snow and the media kept reassuring the people that they were doing everything in their power to catch The Repairman, that there was nothing to fear, but the people were afraid nonetheless, for they had another name for the man who was keeping them in terror; The Phantom Bomber.

It's funny how things turned out. We tried to change the world and wound up becoming the boogieman.

Anyway, as time went on we came to realize that it didn't matter how many public places we attacked or what kind of public place we bombed. President Snow would not relent, nor would the media broadcast the full details of our manifesto. It was soon made clear that all copies of our manifest that we mailed to the public had been tracked down, destroyed and the people who read them had either been bribed or threatened with prison time. Either way, our message wasn't getting out to the general population of the Capitol.

Even more so, the government was spending huge sums of money on repairs to the attacked places. Within two days after a bombing, repair crews had restored the building to pristine condition.

I could hardly believe that after all the hundreds of people dead and wounded, we weren't making any progress towards changing the world. In fact, there were rumors that things were getting worse for the Districts.

We heard that the people were being forced to work longer hours at greater risks, that less food was being distributed and that the Peacekeepers were cracking down, inflicting horrific punishments for the slightest of transgressions.

People were still suffering, and it became clear to us that we were only making thing worse.

But it was too late to stop, that if we did then it would all have been for nothing.

So we kept making bombs and setting them off, destroying more buildings that were restored in a matter of days, killing more people and wounding many more, while scaring the rest of the Capitol half out of their minds, but not enough for them to challenge the power of the government and make them give into our demands.

All this time I kept having the same dream, where I was in an abandoned District 12 and following that archer girl out into the woods, where a mockingjay sang overhead. Each time I woke up before I could see her face, but the distance between us grew less and less with each dream. I reasoned that by the time I caught up with the girl in the dream, I would finally see her face.

The dreams were wearing on me more and more, and the toll of everything was finally starting to get to me. I found myself going to work less often, sometimes spending days working on bombs. By then I had learned how to fully put them together and how to research and pick a target, allowing Marcus and Helena to catch up with their lives.

I would have considered myself an idiot not to have noticed that my friends were having an affair. It was mostly a sex thing with them, but they had their moments of romance. Some nights, while I planted a bomb in a concert hall or somewhere else, the two of them would 'brave' a popular restaurant for an evening to togetherness. Other times they would spend the afternoon in a park, waiting for a building within earshot to explode.

Yet as Marcus and Helena's happiness grew, I became more and more frustrated. My plan to make a better world was becoming a pipe dream, and I knew it, and that only made me angrier than ever.

By then I had perfected a much smaller version of the cloaking device that required only a normal battery, and with it I began taking greater risks and launching more devastating attacks, without the approval of my friends.

I would make two bombs, pick a target, attack the micro cloaking device to one of the bombs, go to the target, plant one in one part of the building then plant the one with the cloaking device somewhere else in the building and set the second timer to go off an a half-hour after the first, killing firefighters and paramedics whom were there to save lives.

Other times I would go back to the scene of a bombing while it was being restored. I would plant a cloaked bomb with a fifteen minute timer, killing construction workers and destroying their tools and equipment.

All along I kept working, making more deadlier bombs and more efficient cloaking devices and growing more angry that the government wouldn't agree to the terms in the manifesto. I was soon obsessed with it all, with my frustration rebounding upon itself, the dreams, and months of no success, it was all driving me further into madness.

Just when I thought I would truly lose my mind, I had a moment of clarity. I realized that President Snow and his inner circle would never, ever, relent and change things in Panem, and that the only way for things to ever get better would be to kill them, and I knew how to do it.

Every year the Gamemakers come up with a different arena for the Hunger Games. Six months before the next game, they take their ideas to President Snow and his inner circle, whom then select what they like best for the game. They always meet in the same penthouse business suite in the same hotel on the same day each year, like clockwork.

I reasoned that this would be my best chance to eliminate the problem at its source, killing President Snow and his inner circle, with his likely successors there as well, along with all the Gamemakers, removing them all from the government. Once they were out of the picture, and after the inevitable chaos, someone willing to listen to reason would take charge and change things for the better.

I ran to Marcus' apartment with my plan and found both him and Lavina waiting for me, with the news on, with a broadcast of a report on the latest bombing finishing up.

"A playground!" said an outraged Helena, "you bombed a playground, full of children!"

At that I was slightly taken aback, then remembered that just that morning, before the sun came up, I did plant a bomb in a playground, set to go off when the area would be at its fullest.

"We agreed that we would stay away from children whenever possible," said Marcus, still shocked from the news.

"Ah, yes, well," I stammered, "well…I've been kinda…" I couldn't find the words.

"You've been acting on your own for months now," said Marcus, "we should have realized that you were going off the deep end, but we were so wrapped up in our own lives."

"We're sorry, Titus," said Helena, "that we haven't been there for you, but damn it! Seventeen boys and girls died today! And that's not the first! Yesterday you attacked an athletic center, killing twenty-two!"

"And last week you bombed a youth group," said Helena, "killing sixteen! What were you thinking?"

"I…haven't been thinking," I said, suddenly very ashamed of myself. "I…"

"Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?" Helena asked, "you're becoming the monster that the government is portraying you as! Go on, look in the mirror!" she held up a compact and showed the mirror to me.

I then realized that I was different than before; in the space of a few months, I had aged five years, and my eyes, oh god, the eyes, they were the eyes of a man with nothing to lose.

But I did have something to lose, and I was losing my friends.

At that I began crying, "I'm sorry," I sobbed, "I…I'm so sorry, it's just…they won't listen! We've killed so many people, but the government won't listen! And the dreams…"

"Don't you start on dreams!" snapped Marcus, "we're having weird dreams too, you know."

"What?" I asked, genuinely surprised, "you're having dreams too? About what?"

"What are you dreaming about?" Helena asked.

I then told them about the dreams; about being alone in District 12, following the archer girl into the woods and the mockingjay.

I then told them about the dream from last night, with it being the worst one yet, for in the dream I finally got a look at the girl. The only thing I remember about her face was her striking brown eyes that spoke volumes to me, eyes of a survivor, eyes of a dangerous young woman whom had endured everything horrible the world could throw at her and fought back.

But then the dream became a nightmare as the girl caught fire. Her whole body was engulfed in flames, yet she wasn't burning, like the fire was part of her, and it truly scared me. But what really terrified me was that the girl drew an arrow from her quiver, but it wasn't a normal made of wood and stone, it was an arrow of fire. She drew and shot the fire arrow at me and I woke up.

"So, am I crazy?" I asked, fearing the worst but willing to accept the truth.

"If you're insane," said Helena, "then so am I, because I've been dreaming of the archer girl as well."

"So have I," said Marcus, "our dreams matched perfectly; the abandoned 12th District, following the archer girl into the woods, the mockingjay, but the girl never caught fire.

"She didn't catch fire," I said, "she was the fire."

"When did the dreams start?" Helena asked.

"The night of the first bomb," I said, "I thought it was the liquor, but as time wore on, they got more and more frequent, each dream brining me closer to the girl, the girl on fire."

"They started for us after we started delivering the bombs," said Marcus, "when…my god, when Helena and I started using the cloaking devices on a regular basis!"

"Of course, the cloaking devices!" shouted Helena.

It was like a gold brick had hit me on the head. The cloaking devices. I had been relying on them to carry out my bombing attacks, spending hours invisible, ignoring the headaches. I should have realized that there would be other side effects, possibly including madness.

"We can't use them anymore," said Helena, "if they're causing us to have this same dream, and look at you, Titus, you're a mess."

"I know," I said as I looked at my creations with disgust, "I should never have made them," I then looked at my friends, "but we can't stop now, not when I finally have a plan, the plan!"

"What plan?" Marcus asked with disgust, "you're going to murder more children! We started this so that children wouldn't' have to die, not lower ourselves to the level of our enemies!"

"But this time no children will die!" I said. I then told them my plan to assassinate President Snow, his inner circle and the Gamemakers. "We'll take out our enemies in one blow. Cut off the head and the body will die, and a new, better life will emerge for all of us!"

"And how many more will die in the ensuing chaos?" Helena asked.

"I've already taken into account the coming chaos," I said, "It's a fair price to pay in order to bring about the new world. Sacrifices have to be made!"

"No!" exclaimed Marcus, "no more sacrifices! Not now, not after…" he then faltered, words failing him when he seemed to want to say something important.

"What is it?" I asked, "what's happened?"

"We want out," said Helena, "Marcus and I, we've had a long, serious discussion and we've realized that we're not making things better, only worse."

"But they will get better," I said, "once President Snow and all those other monsters are dead…"

"You'll only succeed in creating a bigger problem," said Helena, "Marcus and I want no further part in this, and we hope to convince you to stop as well."

It was then that I realized that my friends, my dear friends, had betrayed me, or at least that's how I thought of it at the time. I wasn't thinking too well at that point, and I would later regret it, and I still do.

"How long?" I asked in a calm tone, "how long have you been waiting for a chance to abandon me?"

"We don't want to abandon you," said Marcus, "We want to help you. You're driving yourself to death."

"I've never felt more alive," I said.

"You sure don't look that way," said Marcus.

"We're not doing this to hurt you, Titus," said Helena.

"You could have fooled me," I said, my anger starting to show in my voice, "I seem to remember the three of us promise to see this through to the end, no matter the cost. Well, the end is almost here. We have this one great chance to bring about a better world for all, and now you're going to throw it all away, and for what? Because you've got too much blood on your hands?"

"That's part of it," said Marcus, "that and…"

"And what?" I asked, "have you become sick of my company? Does my willingness to do what has to be done, to go further, does it repulse you? Do you no longer see me as a friend but as a monster?"

It was then that Helena slapped me across the face, "I'm pregnant, you stupid bastard!" she shouted.

The shock from the pain and Helena's words left me speachless. I finally looked at both my friends, first Marcus, then Helena, "you, you're…?"

"I'm six weeks along," said Helena as she placed her hand on her stomach, "we found out yesterday."

"Then…" I said as I looked at Marcus.

"I'm the father, alright," said Marcus.

"We wanted to tell you," said Helena, "but then we were so wrapped up in our lives, in our own happiness, that we failed to see how far you've gone."

"I guess I'm more than frightening you," I said, once again ashamed of myself. Here I was, terrorizing an entire city and I ended up terrorizing my dearest friends. It made me want to curl up and die.

I then stood up and looked out the window, "and now you want to get away from me before something terrible happens."

"It's not just you," said Helena, "it's the president, the Capitol, all of Panem, we've had enough. We're going try and get as far away from this rotten place as possible, find a new life for us," she then touched her stomach again, "and our baby."

"It's still too soon to tell if it's a boy or a girl," said Marcus, "but our child will not grow up surrounded by people who don't care, not in the capitol that is."

"And we're certainly not raising our child in the Districts," said Helena, "not where he or she will be forced into the Hunger Games one day."

"There won't be any more Hunger Games," I said, "not after this one last attack. One bomb to bring about everlasting peace for all."

"No, Titus," said Marcus, "we've had enough, and nothing you say will make us change our minds."

I could tell that he was telling the truth, so I didn't press the matter. "Then were will you go if not somewhere else in Panem?" I asked instead.

"We'll try the ruins of District 13," said Helena, "there has to be survivors from The Dark Days. And after thinking about it, we think that maybe the government may have lied about destroying it."

"There wasn't any word of that in the restricted data," I said, "at least none that I read." Now that I thought about it, I hadn't even read a tenth of what I pulled from the restricted archives. I made a mental note to check it out as soon as I could.

"If there's nothing there," continued Helena, "we'll try South America or Europe. Panem can't be the only country to have emerged from WW3 and the cataclysms. There just as to be other people out there, there has to be."

"If there is," I said, "how will you get there?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," said Marcus, 'the point is, we're leaving and never coming back."

I knew then that it would be pointless to argue with them, so I asked, "when are you leaving?"

"As soon as we can tie up our affairs here," said Helena, "we'll sneak aboard one of the District-bound trains, get off and head for the wilderness. We'll take with us enough supplies to keep us going for a while, then we'll see where we'll go from there."

"We know how to survive in the wilds," said Marcus, "while you've been lost in your plans, we've been making ours."

I wanted to tell them that escape was hopeless, that the authorities would catch them before they got 50 yards beyond the borders of Panem. Even with the cloaking devices, how long would they last before they were as crazy as I was?

But then I realized that I had alienated myself from them and that I couldn't sway them from their plans, so I got up and walked for the door. I ignored their pleas for me to stay as I left the apartment and headed back to my own.

Not wanting to feel the pain of my friends leaving, I focused my thoughts on the cloaking device. Has it really driven me insane? Will there be other side effects? Was this the real reason why the scientists from the old world abandoned it? And another question; will I still be sane enough to use the device to carry out my plan to kill President Snow and his conclave?

I immediately took my belt unit apart and gave it a complete once over. I still had the original plans for the device on my computer so I looked those over as well. It took me an entire day but I found the flaws that were causing the headaches and the dreams. I couldn't say what was causing my madness, maybe it was me all along, but I had made my device more safe, not for me, but for my friends.

Before I could go back to Marcus and Helena, I had a sudden urge to look more closely at the restricted data. I still had the main copy and soon I was poring through the files.

I soon came across several that were heavily encrypted and I didn't have the means of unlocking them, so I passed them by for more interesting data, the most shocking being the fact that District 13 was alive and well, surviving in vast underground complexes while the surface remained in ruins.

There was hope for my friend's escape after all. They had a chance to find sanctuary and allies.

There were other things in the restricted data that I found interesting, including the schematics for a new design of hovercraft that could go into space, but I didn't care. My friends had a chance, and I would make sure they got it.

I called Helena's place to make sure they were still there and nearly had a heart attack when her answering machine picked up. I thought they had left already, that I was too late and they were as good as dead.

Then I remembered that they were at Marcus' place the other day, so I called his apartment. I was relieved when he answered and I told him not to leave before I could come over, that I had something important for them.

Just as I was about to leave I grabbed the portable hard drive with the original restricted data and uploaded the plans for my modifications to the cloaking device. I then rushed over and found Marcus and Helena in the middle of packing for their journey.

"Thank goodness, you're still here," I said. I then explained to them my modifications to the cloaking device and upgraided their belt units, "now they're safe," I assured them, "no more headaches, no more recurring nightmares, and hopefully, no insanity."

"But what about my baby?" Helena asked as she placed her hand on her stomach again, "won't the cloaking device affect it?"

"I've already taken the child into account," I said, "as long as you're okay, the baby will be okay. Trust me."

"We do," said Marcus, "and thank you. I wish we could convince you to come with us, wherever we go."

"I have to finish this," I said, "I'm sorry, but that's how it is. But you don't have to go wandering around the wilderness forever," I then handed the drive to Marcus and told him and Helena about District 13, "if anyone can help you, it's them. Give them this, it might just have some things they'll find interesting."

At that my friends were at a loss for words. Finally they said their thanks and embraced me, knowing that this would be the last time we could be together. Before long we were crying and I knew that before long my resolve would break and I would go with them.

But I had a task to complete, so I said my farewells and left the apartment. I never saw my friends after that. I have no idea where they are or even if they're still alive, but I hope with all my heart that they are and that they're safe.

10.

I waited until the day before the day President Snow was to meet with the Gamemakers. I then sent him what would be my final ultimatum, that this was his last chance to change things in Panem for the better, or he will be the next to die, He promptly responded on live television that he will never give in to terrorism and that all of Panem stands with him against the lunatic that is The Repairman.

If he's so anxious to die, I thought, then I'll be happy to oblige him.

I then set out to the hotel with my toolkit loaded with as many bombs as I could fit, each modified with its own cloaking device.

I reached the hotel. The whole building and several blocks outward were crawling with Peacekeepers and Snow's personal security force. Under the cloaking field I snuck past them like they were all asleep. I infiltrated the hotel without any problems, waited until housekeeping went up to the penthouse floor and I set out planting my bombs throughout the floor, concentrating half of them in the room where Snow and his minions would be contemplating the next slaughter field for children, as if I would let the next Hunger Games come to pass.

Once all the bombs were in place and cloaked, with the timers set for 9:00 A.M. the next morning when the meeting was scheduled to start. I then left the hotel and went home. I nervously alternated between sitting in my chair, gazing out the window and pacing back and forth. It was well after midnight when exhaustion overcame me and I drifted into the realm of sleep.

Once again I was in with the archer girl and the Mockingjay. I then saw the girl turn to face me and she burst into flame, yet for some reason I was unafraid. I felt compelled to stay in the dream, to see it through to the end.

The girl then raised bow with her burning arrow drawn back, aimed at me, but then she raised the bow higher and aimed at something above me. I looked up and saw it was the seal of The Capitol, greatly enlarged to cover half the sky.

The girl then loosed her arrow, but as she did her fire flared up even brighter and she changed, along with her bow and arrow, all morphing into a Mockingjay which shot up with the speed of an arrow and shattered the Capitol seal into oblivion.

I woke up then, feeling more at peace than I had in months. The dream left me highly confused, but happy. All I could tell that the dream meant something important.

I noticed that the clock was well past 7:00 a.m. Less than two hours to go. I wanted to be within eyesight of the hotel when the bombs blew, so I grabbed my cloaking belt and headed for the door.

But then on an impulse I began rigging my own apartment to explode. I'm still not sure why I did, maybe I thought that in the ensuing chaos of the assassination, someone might break into my home and find my cloaking devices. Either that or something else, I couldn't take the chance of the technology falling into the wrong hands, whomever those hands may be.

I put together another bomb, not a big one, but big enough to destroy not only my computers and all the information on them, but also my prototype cloaking devices and my remaining models. I kept my belt unit with me, intending to smash it as soon as I knew that President Snow and his toadies were dead, leaving the only working cloaking devices in the hands of my friends, whom by now must be halfway towards District 13.

I rigged the bomb up to a simple tripwire near my front door, positioning the wire s that it would break if the door swung open too widely. If anyone were to simply barge in, the bomb would go off.

When the appointed time came I went downtown and took up an observation position on the roof of a high-rise building a block from the hotel. I had a perfect view of the penthouse level.

I was calm as the clock approached 9:00 a.m. I imagined first the Gamemakers settling into the room, then the security escorts for Snow and his inner circle, then the inner circle, then the big bastard himself. I could see in my mind all of them making small talk, enjoying snacks and coffee before they got down to business.

I looked at my watch and saw that there was only a minute to go.

"Almost there," I said, "almost over," I then looked up at the sky, "god, if there is a god, please understand, I did what I did to bring about a better world for my people, for all people of Panem, for the whole world.

"I do regret that I did what I did, and I am sorry that I have to kill again, and I know that my actions have probably damned my soul. Bt if my going to hell is the price to pay in order to free the people of Panem from fear, injustice and hunger, then so be it. Bring on the flames and pitchforks!"

Then came 9:00 a.m., and nothing happened. At first I was confused, maybe I set the timer incorrectly. Then came 9:03 and still nothing. Did I make a mistake? Has my mind become so confounded that didn't connect a wire right? Or another mistake when I put the bomb together?

But then all thoughts of what I did wrong were cast aside as a hovercraft approached the hotel. My instincts told me that I was in danger and I wasn't in the mood to argue. I activated my cloaking unit and went back inside the building, taking the spiral stairs to the ground level.

I wasn't more than halfway down when I head boots thundering up the stairs toward me, boots I guessed belonged to Peacekeepers. I reasoned that I was spotted on the roof and had sent troops inside after me. I exited the stairs at the nearest floor and hurried to the stairwell on the other side.

But then I heard more Peacekeeprs following me, less than ten yards behind, which I knew was impossible. How could they know where I was or where I was going.

I reached the second stairwell and ran down as fast as I could. I could hear the Peacekeepers in close pursuit. What is going on here? How can they be following me?

I risked a glance back and saw that the lead Peacekeeprs had some sort of scanning deice. I didn't even bother thinking how it was picking me up, all I could do was run.

But then, just as I was only three flights from the ground floor, I heard one of the white-uniformed goons shouting to the others to stand clear. I looked back and saw that the Peacekeeper who shouted had some sort of weapon, aimed at me. Before I could duck, the bastard fired the weapon, unleashing a white pulse of energy.

The next thing I knew it felt like I was being hit by thousands of jolts of static electricity, and I saw little blue lightning bolts running around my body, concentrating on the cloaking device, and for an instant, then another an another, I was visible. Somehow they had affected my cloaking device and they could see me.

I jump down to the next stair landing, but I landed wrong and twisted my ankle. The next thing I knew I was falling down the stairs, rolling down three flights and eventually coming to a rest at the bottom.

By some miracle I wasn't still alive and conscious, only dizzy from my long roll. But I felt that something inside me was broken, and each breath felt like I had been stabbed with a hot knife. I felt blood in my moth and guessed my ribs had punchered my lung.

I then realized that my cloaking unit was still emitting blue sparks and I was completely visible. I then heard the boots of the Peacekeepers running towards me and I knew that I could never get away in time.

Realizing that I was finished, I pulled the cloaking unite off of my belt and began bashing it against the floor with all my strength. By the time the white-uniformed goons reached me I had rendered my cloaking unit into a mess of broken metal and electronic parts, and I still kept smashing it. Even as the Peacekeepers grabbed and tried to restrain me, I kept smashing the unit, doing everything I could to make it unsalvageable.

When the Peacekeepers restrained my arms I smashed the unit with my feet. When they restrained my legs I bit one of them. Then one of the white-uniformed raised the end of his weapon and brought it towards my head, and after an unimaginably painful impact I let the blackness take me.

11.

I don't know how long I was unconscious or exactly what they were doing to me, but when I finally regained awareness I knew that they were keeping me alive, for a reason that wasn't good.

The pain in my head was lingering, but slowly fading. I risked opening my eyes and realized that I was in a hospital somewhere, with my arms and legs restrained to the metal bedposts. Multiple I.V. tubes ran into my arms, infusing m e with painkillers and what I guessed were medicines designed to heal, for I was breathing without pain. My ribs and lungs were on the mend, as well as whatever injuries I sustained.

None of the persons in hospital uniforms who came to check on me spoke. Either they had orders to remain silent, or they simply couldn't speak. I only saw them a few times in the homes of my more lucrative clients, but I recognized an Avox by the way they swallowed.

That was another part of the manifesto that we worked on; that the practice of cutting out the tongues of those who piss the government off be abolished and those already mutilated be freed from their slavery and compensated for what was taken from them.

But I knew that none of it mattered, for they caught me. The only reason I could think of why they were keeping me alive was so that they could kill me publicly, after a show trial of course. I was to be another form of entertainment, nothing that compared to the Hunger Games, but I could tell that the mobs of the Capitol would enjoy seeing me die.

When a real doctor declared that I was fit to travel, a full score of Peacekeepers came or me. They didn't bring me to the Justice Building or to a television studio for my trial an execution. Maybe they were going to take me up to the mountains, shoot me and leave me to rot.

Instead I was brought to a nondescript building, escorted inside and lead to a large square room with two doors on opposite sides, a large table and two chairs on opposite sides of the table. The room was lit by a single overhead lamp that was bright enough to make me squint at first. When my eyes adjusted, I looked around and saw that each upper corner of the room had a camera that was blinking. Whatever was going to happen in here, it would be recorded.

I was told to sit in the chair near to me. I didn't protest and sat down. I expected restraints, but instead I heard a slight electrical hum from the walls and before me the room had a slight haze. I guess they had projected a force field, bisecting the room and table. They clearly wanted me on this side of the room, and for good reason.

It was then that the door on the other side of the room opened and I finally came face to face with president for life Coriolanus Snow. I immediately recognized him from his many television appearances and his signature white rose in the lapel of his suit.

"Titus Wellington," said Snow as he walked towards the table, "Otherwise known as The Repairman, at last we meet."

"You honor me, Mr. President," I said, "I thought that your Gestapo would have me executed by now."

"Oh, that wouldn't be right," said Snow as he sat down. Under the too-bright light of the overhead lamp, I got a more detailed look of the man who had absolute power over Panem. His televised image, and his many public appearances, didn't do justice to how snake-like his eyes were, or his puffy lips, most likely have been surgery altered.

And the smell, that overly sweet smell coming from that rose in his jacket, it was as if it was masking another scent, and didn't do a very good job. At first I thought I was imagining it, but I was smelling blood on the man, but I couldn't tell where it was coming from.

"You've been a very naughty boy, Titus," said Snow, "may I call you Titus?"

"Only if I can call you Coriolanus," I said. For some reason I was keeping my cool. I knew that no matter what happened, I was dead, so I might as well go out in style.

"So then," said Snow, "I feel that we have much to talk about."

"What do you want to know?" I asked in a joking manner, "my favorite foods? What clothes I wear? Whom do I date? A better question is whom I haven't dated, which would be everyone. I'm a bit of a loner."

"Don't play games with me, Titus," said Snow in an irate tone, "I cam make it so that you live a very long time in unimaginable agony, with a new torture every day."

"And when you run out of tortures," I said, "you'll start over from the beginning. I…" I would have said more, but then I realized where the smell of blood was coming from. It was Snow's breath, as if he had been drinking blood.

As if to further confirm my suspicions, a few drops of blood had dribbled from his puffy lips and dripped onto the table, leaving a small trail of blood down his chin. For some reason, I was engrossed by the blood, like he was a vampire. Regardless, at that moment I was convinced that the man was a true monster, and I still believe it.

Snow then looked at me strangely, "is something the matter, Titus?" he asked, "Or am I boring you now?"

"Huh? Oh," I said, coming back to my senses, "sorry, it's just," I pointed at his chin, "you've got red on you."

Snow touched his chin and saw the blood on his fingertips. He then pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the blood off his face, "I do apologize about that. I bit my tongue earlier today."

I could tell that the man or whatever he was, was lying, and it was starting to frighten me, "what are you?" I asked, "are you even human?"

"I'm the last person you should have pissed off," Snow said in a serious tone, "enough small talk, let's get around to business. You're wondering how you were caught, am I right?"

"It crossed my mind," I said cautiously.

"It's quite the story," said Snow, "the Peacekeepers were hard pressed to accept the suggestion that The Repairman, or Phantom Bomber as the people referred to you, had the power of invisibility. I'll admit that I found it hard to believe myself when the investigators came before me with the theory. Such a concept is far beyond my scientific understanding," he then leaned closer, the smell of blood and that white rose threatening to overwhelm my senses, "but not beyond my imagination.

"I went to the most brilliant scientists at my disposal and they began developing a means to track that which was invisible. It became clear to them that The Repairman had a machine that could render himself invisible to the naked eye, as well as to infrared, ultraviolet and x-ray detection."

"This is quite the tale you're weaving, Mr. President," I said, struggling to keep control of my outrage that this worm of a politician had dared to delve into my secrets.

"It gets better," said Snow, "it was only after that last attack on that playground, where you destroyed all those children, which even shocked me."

"And I thought you'd be desensitized by now," I said, "after all the years of watching children murder each other on live television, one would think that nothing phases you."

"Not much does," said Snow, "but I have my limits. Unlike you, I do regret the taking of lives, and only end lives when necessary.

"Anyway, it was after your last attack that the eggheads came to me with a means of finally detecting you."

"How?" I asked. Once again my curiosity got the better of me. How did they do it? I kept thinking, was it a motion detector? Did they invent a sensor for air displacement? Or pheromones from body odor?

"They devised a highly sophisticated sensor that could detect electromagnetic fluctuations," said Snow, "we found out that your cloaking device emitted a distinct electromagnetic field, one that could be tracked."

Those words hit me like a tone of bricks. Of course! An electromagnetic field! Why didn't I take that into account?

I felt like such a fool for having overlooked that textbook mistake, but then I suddenly felt afraid. Marcus and Helena, they didn't know that the cloaking devices have a weakness.

But I played it cool and looked Snow in the eye, "so you found out the chink in my armor, and as well as a sensor to find me and my bombs, you built a weapon that can destabilize electromagnetic fields, which is what happened to me; you shorted out my cloaking device."

"I'm glad we're on the same level," said Snow

"We are not on the same level, Coriolanus," I said in an irate tone, "I meant that I understand. But so what? You caught me, big deal," I leaned back, placed my feet on the table, crossed my arms and looked at him confidently, "but you have to admit, I had a very good run."

"Oh yes," said Snow, "you had a very good run, Titus. For a time you had the city in the palm of your hands. You could have killed me any time you wanted, but you waited until now. Why?"

"I wanted to take out the rest of your inner circle," I said, "including the Gamemakers. You know that one of my goals was to abolish the Hunger Games."

"Yes," said Snow, "you wanted to save the lives of children, when in fact you've been murdering children yourself."

"So I'm a hypocrite," I said as I threw my hands up in frustration, "so I violated my own principals! But what I've done pales in comparison to what the Capitol has done to the people of the Districts since the Dark Days."

I sighed and sat back, "you know, we could argue over right and wrong, over principals and such, until the end of time, so let's just get this over with. You're here to tell me that I'm a dead man, right? So get it over with! I can only die once, so you might as well make a show of it."

"Believe me, Titus," said Snow, "if I could I would make you suffer for as long as physically possible. But then, I would disappoint those in the scientific community, and my own curiosity as well."

"You, curious?" I asked, "what do you, with all of your power, have to be curious about?"

"Your cloaking device," said Snow, "even a layman could tell that a simple repairman, such as yourself, regardless of your many talents, couldn't have come up with the cloaking device on your own. My scientific friends were impressed nonetheless; they found that their collogues from the old world had experimented with a cloaking device before the great change, but couldn't make it work, but you did."

"I guess I'm special," I said.

"How right you are," said Snow, "my friends were so impressed that you succeeded, that they begged me to let you live so they could talk to you. They want you to explain to them how you perfected the cloaking device."

That's when I knew that the only reason why Snow hadn't had me killed was the possibility that I could be useful. Snow would keep me alive so long as I could further benefit his interests, to increase his power, and when I was no longer useful, then that would be it, game over.

I still tried to play it cool, "your friends are mistaken," I said, "I didn't perfect it. Yes, I got it the machine to work, but there are side effects, headaches for starters, then recurring nightmares, followed by…well, look at me, I'm nuts! Besides, I destroyed my cloaking devices, my prototype and all subsequent models and also all my blueprints and notes. By now your minions have gone to my apartment to get my secrets. I left a surprise for them."

"Yes, you set up a bomb in your own home," said Snow, "it did destroy all your devices and papers, but the scientists are hopeful they'll find something salvageable. I commend their resolve, but I believe that you hold the keys to everything we want."

"I'm a tough lock to pick," I said.

"Regardless," said Snow, "my friends still want to talk withy you. The knowledge is still in your head and the device can be recreated," he placed both his hands on the table and looked at me with his snake-like eyes, "you will give us the secret of the cloaking device."

"And if I refuse?" I asked, "you'll slowly torture me to death?"

"In due time," said Snow, "but we'll also torture your friends."

For a second I thought that they had Marcus and Helena. But then Snow would have named them, so I called his bluff, "I have no friends," I said, "only collogues, other repairmen, whom have had nothing to do with this."

"But you do have friends," said Snow, "your friend the teacher and the psychiatrist. They may have 'skipped town,' but we'll find them in due time. As for your colleges, your fellow repairmen, you don't have to worry about them, they no longer exist, not as humans anyway."

If there wasn't a force field separating us, I would have strangled Snow then and there, "what did you do?" I asked.

"I gave your fellow repairmen to the geneticists," said Snow, "they're expected to become rather fascinating mutations, or muttations as they're known in the Districts. You're the last human repairman in the Capitol, so why drag out your suffering?"

Once again, I knew that no matter what, I was dead, so I decided to stop playing games and tell it like it was. I looked Snow right in the eye and said, "go to hell, you blood-sucking freak! I'll bite my own tongue out and rip out my ears and eyes, then crush my own hands, before I tell you or any of your mad scientists anything. And if you torture me, I'll kill myself at the first available moment."

"You still don't grasp the gravity of your situation," said Snow, "you've failed, Titus Wellington! Your efforts to change Panem have only resulted in the deaths of hundreds of innocent men, women and children. Nothing will change for the Districts and the Hunger Games will continue, with each game more glorious than the last, or at least that's what the Gamemakers promise me.

"As for you, if you're so adamant about dieing, I'll grant your wish. You'll face public execution for your acts of terrorism. It'll be broadcasted throughout all of Panem; all will see you die, then they will forget all about you. Your name will be erased from all public records and everyone you've had contact with will be made to forget your face.

"Within a year it will be as if you had never existed, this I swear to you!" at that a few more drops of blood escaped from his lips, "unless you accept my offer. Well? what say you now, Mr. Wellington?"

"I still say go to hell, you festering sack of pig vomit!" I spat, "and you've got more red on you. Are you alright?"

"I'm perfectly fine, you stubborn fool!" snapped Snow as he wiped his lips clean again, "this is your last chance at life! You will give me your secrets or you will die!"

"Then I choose death," I said calmly. I then looked at the guards, "we're done here, now take me back to my cell. I'd like to spend the rest of my life alone."

"Then you will be alone," said Snow as he stood up, "Enjoy your last twenty-four hours, Titus Wellington, that's exactly how long you have left to live." He turned around and headed for the door.

"You're not immortal, Coriolanus," I said, "someday you'll die too. One day you'll take things too far in Panem. Someday you'll piss off the wrong man, or woman, or even a child, and then you'll die as well. And I'll be waiting for you in hell."

"You'll have quite a long time to wait, my friend," said Snow. With that he left, and the next thing I knew, I was being manhandled by Peacekeepers through the hallway and thrown into a small cell that had only a sink, a toilet and a cot.

But there was one other thing in the cell. There on the cot was a pad of paper and a pen. On the top sheet was a simple note…

'Use it well, for you won't get another chance.'

At first I thought that it was a trap meant to get a confession from me, or just a last joke from Snow. But I figured, what the hell? Why not tell my story?

12.

And that's everything, my story of who I am and what I did. There's nothing else to tell, but judging by the clock in my cell, I've got about ten minutes before they come for me, so I might as well write down my final thoughts.

I guess that, when it all comes down to it, I have only a few regrets. If I could live my life over again, the only things I would change would be that I would have checked the cloaking device for side effects. If I had been just a bit more careful, I would have found the flaws that caused the headaches and dreams, and possibly stopped myself from acting so crazy.

If I had done that, I wouldn't have killed so may people as I did, and I definitely wouldn't have targeted children, and for that I am truly sorry.

Chances are, if I had the opportunity, I would have gone straight after Snow and his inner circle, killing them all before they had a chance to figure out how to catch me.

Also, I wouldn't have alienated my friends, my dear friends who stuck with me for so long when anyone else with a sane mind wouldn't have gotten involved, or would have gone to the authorities.

My dear friends, Helena and Marcus, wherever you are, I am sorry, I am so sorry about what I said and how I acted at the end. I'm truly sorry, and I truly wish that wherever you are, whatever you're doing, you're happy.

I do have one more regret. If I could change anything, it would be when me, Marcus and Helena went Catfish Noodling. I would join them in sticking my hand into the river bed and pulling up a catfish.

They say that just before you die, your life flashes before your eyes and you remember the highlights of your memories. I only want the memory of us at the river before my eyes when I die. Our short vacation was the happiest time we had before things got bad for all of us, my idea of heaven. If there is a heaven for me, then it would be that river, loaded with catfish waiting to be pulled out of the water.

It wouldn't be the same, since Marcus and Helena are still alive, and I wish with all my heart that they, and their baby, live for a very long time, somewhere safe, somewhere free.

Since I've got a few more moments left, I might as well tell you about the last dream I've. I stopped writing only once to rest for a bit and wound up falling asleep.

One again I was in the woods with the girl on fire. She aimed her bow at the Capitol seal in the sky and fired, with she and her arrow merging into the Mockingjay and destroying the offending seal. But then the pieces of the seal came together, forming a new seal, one of a golden Mockingjay grasping an arrow.

Then the live Mockingjay turned around in the air and few towards another seal, one that showed twelve silver stars around a red and gold torch alit with emerald fire.

I then saw a gold lion proudly standing atop a mountain, glaring up at hundreds of ravens all with glowing red eyes. Next to the golden lion was a silver doe, whom was with a bronze stag, while perched on the doe's shoulder was a brown sparrow.

As the lion, doe, stag and sparrow faced the menacing flocks of ravens, they were oblivious to the amber falcon and obsidian wolf standing behind it, as if waiting for the right moment to attack.

Then the Mockingjay flew towards the mountaintop, scattering the flocks of ravens, while some vanished into puffs of smoke as the Mockingjay touched them. I then saw the Mockingjay landed next to the lion, whom, along with the stag, doe and sparrow, bow to the Mockingjay in respect and friendship, while the wolf and falcon backed away slightly, as if they were afraid of the tiny bird.

But then scene changed, to one where the wolf and falcon and what appeared to be millions of ravens, along with other horrific creatures I could not identify, attack and wound the lion, then chase the doe towards the hordes of dark creatures, whom were flying a flag that had a pentagram pointing down, inside which had the head of a goat. The Mockingjay then lead the stag and sparrow, along with another, smaller wolf, this one with blue and green fur, after the doe.

I then saw the Mockingjay then revert back to the archer girl, the girl on fire, as she stood in front of a grand army possibly larger than the entire population of Panem, facing the hordes of monsters. She then notched an arrow to her bow, drew and fired, the arrow flaring up as soon as it took flight and shoot towards the hordes of monsters like a blazing comet.

I woke up more confused than I had ever been in my life, but the feeling of peace soon crept over me and has been with me since. I've been writing ever since.

It's almost time. I can imagine them walking down the hallway to my cell. They'll expect me to be afraid when they open the door, that they'll have to drag me to my death, desperately trying to escape. I won't give them the satisfaction; I won't resist. I'll insist that I can walk to the execution yard without their 'assistance.' If I'm going to die, I'll be with a proud head held up.

I wonder how they'll do it? There hasn't been a public execution in The Capitol since The Dark Days, and Snow will want to make an impression that won't be forgotten, at least for a while.

Will it be a simple hanging? Or will there be a firing squad. Or will they make my death messy? Being hung, drawn and quartered would definitely make a splash, or maybe the rack, or an Iron Maiden. I hear crucifixion was popular thousands of years ago.

I knew I should never have read that book on ancient torture devices, but as every my curse, I'm curious.

I won't even bother hiding this when I'm done writing, it was out in the open when they put me in here yesterday, so why bother? Whomever left it will most likely collect it when I'm gone. I hope that whomever you are, reading these words, my story has made an impression on you.

And when they ask me if I have anything to say before I die, I'll shake my head, for I've just finished saying all that there is to say.

The End.

And that's it, my first Hunger Games fic.

But don't fret, fellow readers and writers, I've got plenty of ideas. Already I've started work on a direct sequil to the books, in which this fic which you've just finished will play a major part in. Titus Wellington's story may be over, but he will not be forgotten.

Until next time and 'may the odds ever be in your favor!'