"We're the new face of failure. Prettier and younger but
not any better off. Bullet proof loneliness at best." —Fall Out Boy

Astrid Leonhart, Chairwoman of the Rebellion;

I stand at the head of the conference table, my palms placed flat on the table as I lean against its edge. The table is currently occupied by a dozen men and women, each representing his or her own district and sporting the same tight-fitting brown uniform and anxious expressions.

All of their eyes flicker back and forth, focusing on me, then blinking a few times and darting behind me to look at the television behind me.

The people, per say, aren't exactly the first thing I see when looking at the table. It's not the dozen anxious and squirmy leaders sitting at the table that catches my eye, rather it's the dozen weapons laid in front of them.

Daggers, knives, the occasional bow and arrow, and even guns were placed gingerly on the tabletop. A hand was behind each, every so often resting on top of the weapon then flying back to its original spot.

This is the weekly Rebellion Council, and nobody arrives at the Rebellion Council without a weapon. Even I'm sporting a curved knife attached to my belt.

However, something told me that all of our weapons would be proven useless at today's Council, seeing as today was Reaping Eve, the very day before twenty-four children would be plucked from their District and carted off for the Hunger Games. The very day before twenty-four sets of parents, or parent, would close their blinds until a wooden crate showed up at their door.

Nobody ever says it, but all the Rebels, even myself, know that we're at the Council for comfort—not to truly discuss rebellion plans. The tension and anxiety are a million times sharper than the weapons on the table.

Almost all of the Rebels seated at the table have children who are at risk for the Hunger Games. Most, if not all, of the adults seated at the table are scared out of their wits, and for the first time the entire year, they aren't scared for their own lives; they're scared for their children's.

"Jaeger," I decide to break the silence by addressing one of the Rebels. Quentin Jaeger is the rebellion representative from District Six, equipped with thinly-framed glasses and a freckled face. At the sound of his name, his head instantly snaps up, his eyes slowly meeting mine. "I received your holo-message last night. You spoke of breaking the Arena, and air-lifting the tributes out of it."

Before Quentin can open his mouth, a voice chimes in, "That won't work."

My eyes flicker to the direction of the voice. Katalina Temple, my assistant, the co-leader of the rebellion, has her fist pressed into the table as she glares at Quentin.

Quentin turns his head to face Katalina, an eyebrow raised upwards. "Why won't? We have the equipment. We have the troops."

Katalina spread her hands in a rather placating way, as though the answer is completely obvious. "Are you that thick, Squint?" Quentin purses his lips at the sound of his nickname, well-earned from the permanent squint he always seems to have behind his glasses. "We were reserving that plan for the Quarter Quell. After it failed decades ago, we decided to give it another shot next Quell."

Quentin shakes his head, "The rebels from the Districts will be discouraged by then," his squinted eyes begin to flutter around the room nervously, "The Rebel Armies in my own District are already becoming impatient. We might even lose some of the equipment; who knows how long it will be before the Capitol realizes we've taken their hovercrafts? We have to act now, while the rebels are full of spirit and willing to help."

"They'll be full of 'spirit' when the President announces the Quarter Quell twist in a few years." Katalina objects as soon as Quentin finishes his drawn out speech.

"It took decades for them to gain enough spirit and courage to even join the rebellion. They're impatient; they want change."

Katalina's hand clenches around the hatchet in front of her. "We all want change, you idiotic—"

With an aggravated sigh, I remove the knife from my belt and stick it into the table with one swift movement, lodging the blade into the wood with a loud boom. "Enough bickering!" I raise my voice, stony and stern, as I remove the curved knife from the tabletop and slide it back into the holster.

Katalina breathes heavily while she reluctantly sets her hatchet down. She then spreads her hands and stares at them with disbelief, as if she didn't realize she picked up her weapon.

Quentin stares at the table, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and swaying back and forth just slightly.

"Katalina is correct," I glance at Quentin, "Although breaking the tributes out from the Arena this year was intended to be our main goal, we've decided to save that plan for the Quarter Quell, however, even then we might not be ready."

A hand tentatively raises into the air. I turn my head, and see that the hand belongs to the representative from District Twelve, a woman with dark brown hair, olive skin, and blue eyes. Callahan Youngblood.

"Yes, Callahan?"

Callahan clears her throat and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. "If you've decided to cancel breaking the tributes out this year, Chairwoman Astrid, might I ask what the plan is for this year, then?"

A murmur of agreement rises from the table, nods bobbing up and down and hands covering mouths as the Representatives whisper to one another.

"Good question, Miss Youngblood," I begin slowly. "As far as I know, we won't be interfering with the Games as we had hoped. Instead, we'll simply be planning uprisings and riots in the Districts."

Callahan frowns, "That's it? We've been doing uprisings for a decade."

I bite the inside of my cheek, chewing thoughtfully. "Well, Caine Toren of District Three has informed me that he and his Rebel Army have figured out a way to hack into Capitol technology," I try not to appear desperate as I look at Caine at the far end of the table. "Would you like to explain, Mr. Toren?"

Caine pushes out his chair and stands up immediately. He picks up his dagger and slides it into its holster on its belt and marches up to the head of the room, standing next to me.

"Chairwoman Astrid is correct. We were able to hack into a Peacekeeper's receiver using this little device." Caine pulls off a small piece of metal from his belt, no larger than a seed.

He licks his lips, rolling the metal between his thumb and forefinger carefully. "When we sent a small chunk of District Nine's Rebel Army to the Capitol to be captured, I sent them with another device similar to this," Caine holds the device up in the air, "When they were captured as planned, one managed to stick it onto a Peacekeeper's holo-message receiver."

"From then, it was simple. As you may or may not know, every Gamemaker and Peacekeeper receives a small copy of the Hunger Games Arena, sent by holo-message. The chip that was clipped to the receiver is synched to the one I hold in my hand. Now, we not only have messages sent by the President and Head Gamemaker, but a hologram of this year's Arena."

The table lets out a collective gasp, all eyes wide.

Callahan cups her hands over her mouth, forming a make-believe megaphone. "Get on with it!"

Caine smirks, looking awfully smug as he glances at me for permission. I nod solemnly, trying to contain the emotions inside me.

We haven't gotten this much information on the Capitol in years, I think earnestly, this could be huge. If we can see the Arena this year, perhaps we'll be able to see it every year from here on out.

Caine places the chip at the head of the table and taps it twice. Immediately, a long list of messages hover above the chip, glowing in a vibrant shade of green. Caine scrolls for only a moment before tapping one of the messages.

On cue, gasps rise from everyone, including myself. The arena's hologram stretches across the entire room, detailed and exact.

"What is it?" Katalina whispers, reaching out to touch the hologram.

Caine hisses instantly and smacks her hand away. "Don't touch it! It's fragile!"

Clearing his throat, he regains his composure and spreads his hands in a rather placating way. "It's quite obvious what it is, Katalina," he points at a random spot on the screen, "That's just one of many of, what appears to be, ziplines."

"Ziplines." Katalina repeats slowly, letting the message sink in.

"Yes, ziplines. If you ask me, this Arena is taking the Games to new heights. The Arena itself appears to be composed of multiple islands. Islands, as you know, aren't entirely rare to see in arenas. However," Caine points at the bottom of the hologram, "these islands are different in the way of which they seem to be floating."

Murmurs of concern rise from the table.

Monroe of District Seven voices his concern loudly, "Floating? Since when have they been able to do that? That defies the rules of gravity itself."

"New technology?" Flora, District Ten, suggests with a simple shrug of her shoulders. She appears to be much more invested in the bowl of chocolate covered strawberries in front of her, only glancing up at the hologram after finishing off a berry.

Caine shakes his head impatiently with a tsk, tsk noise. "How they're making the Arena doesn't matter. What matters is that this is the Arena. We have access to the Arena. We know the layout, the Mutts, the everything."

"What are you implying, Caine?" I ask, scanning the hologram with my eyes, "What do we do with this now?"

Marina from Four interjects before Caine can respond, "I'll tell you what we do. Nothing. The Capitol is expecting us to do something after we sent part of Nine's Army. For all we know, they're letting us see this. Maybe this isn't even the real Arena," she slams her fist down on the table, rattling bowls of strawberries and weapons alike, "We need to lie low this year. All we can do is warn the Mentors. We can't do anything else."

A silence hangs in the air for no more than a minute before I open my mouth,

"Marina, you're suggesting we simply let twenty-four more children enter the Arena, and allow twenty-three of them to die?"

She snaps back instantly, "I'd let a hundred more kids enter the Arena if it meant we can bring down the Capitol. We have to lose some before we can strike back."

I wring my hands together, straightening my back. "Alright. Let's take a vote. Majority rules. Raise your hand if you agree with Marina, as in, we should allow these Games to go on without interfering."

Marina's hand is the first to shoot up, followed slowly by more hesitant hands. Soon, everyone has raised their hand, some more reluctant than others.

"It's decided. Quentin and Callahan, you're in charge of alerting the Mentors about the Arena and plans. Caine, you send a hologram of the Arena to each of them. The rest of you, alert your armies of the plans. Understood?"

The dozen leaders before me nod their heads and make a half-hearted salute.

"Council dismissed."

A/N:

Hey guys. This is my first SYOT (are SYOTs still a thing?), and I'm very excited.

I tried to make a 'different' prologue, so hopefully it wasn't too confusing. It probably was. All you need to know is that there's a rebellion happening, I suppose.

Uh, yeah.

If you're interested in joining, go ahead and fill out the form on my profile. Everything about this story, so far, is on my profile. Be sure to PM the form to me, not by review.

Let me know what you thought! I'm looking forward to hearing from you all, and hope to have a great time writing 'To New Heights'.