ME: A/ME: Now time for Thread to get to work.

Three days; seventy-two hours. That's how long it took my Peacemakers, along with Clark and his division-sized Garrison, to bring back civilization to the citizens of District Eleven.

We have identified sixty escapees from the security camera records in Eleven's central city. I signed their arrest warrants. Though Clark would rather have them all shot immediately, justice is something to be dispensed carefully. Therefore, the suspects are to be detained while a court-martial panel of lower-ranking Peacekeepers determine whether they are truly guilty or not of the crimes they have been accused of.

This also frees me up for more important tasks.

For whatever reason, the President had the late Mayor's bodyguard, Victoria (who I now know has the given name of Leonidas, for he was named after a pre-Panem warrior king who died defending his nation along with his troops during the Battle of Thermopylae), flown out via hovercraft to the Capitol in order to be given robotic legs (even though conventional prosthetics, while not nearly as advanced, are more than sufficient and in fact have enabled some Peacekeepers to return to duty) and presented his Medal of Honor. In the place of our dear leader, I as a Head Peacekeeper could've done it but I do not question orders pointlessly.

I learned about the state of this District's central city, and will never fail to appreciate my hometown back in Two ever again.

This particular Sub-District, not counting the Peacekeepers, is barely populated even compared to some of the smaller quarrying villages and factory towns in District Two. It is more for administration than anything else along with dealing with exporting and importing goods. All the intra-district train (there is a similar monorail network in Two) lines terminate here; they then offload their cargo, trailers loaded with produce (cotton, fruits, vegetables, rice and sweet corn are what is grown here) that are moved via truck to District Eleven's Inter-District Maglev System station for shipment to wherever they need to go. Due to the fact that civilians here consistent solely of government officials (save for people like the Mayoral House servants), there are numerous abandoned shops due to simple lack of customers.

I am discussing the reports from the various Sub-Districts with the new Mayor, Robert Smalls, when the Head Auxilia walks in, my junior aide having let him in; the fact I reminded her not to let anyone interrupt the meaning must mean this is important.

Auxilias are not considered to be true members of the Peacekeeping Force and thus lack formal ranks, with all subordinate to even Peacekeeper Privates; however, fireteam and squad leaders may be appointed among them, while the man before me serves as technically the highest ranking of the Auxilias and serves as an Advisor to Clark. It's just like my Brigade's Command Sergeant Major does with me, only instead the enlisted are being advocated for.

"Head Peacekeeper Thread, sir," he reports. He does not wear the straw hat and white balaclava standard amongst Auxilias due to the fact he is inside the Peacekeeping Garrison and thus has air conditioning and a lack of need to hide his face from potentially vengeful traitors, rendering both articles of clothing useless. He does, however, wear a white armband with the seal of District Eleven that distinguishes him from ordinary civilians.

"What is it, Head Auxilia?" I reply neutrally.

"The trials have been concluded, sir. Half were found guilty on murder or attempted murder charges and are to be executed, five were only found guilty of vandalism and thus will be flogged and the remainder were found innocent by the court-martial panel. Head Peacekeeper Clark wishes to know if you want to dispense any of the lashings or executions yourself."

There are four legal methods of execution under the Law of Panem; decapitation (typically conducted by sword), death by shooting (either a firing squad consistent of rifle-armed Peacekeepers, a simple bullet to the head (it is not specified whether or not a handgun or rifle is to be used, but most of the time this death is carried out by a 5.7x28mm round) or, most uniquely, three Peacekeepers putting their handgun's to the condemned's head but only one of them having a FMJ or JHP round; the other two executioners have blanks), hanging (favored for saving resources like decapitation but also more sanitary) and death by fire. The first three punishments are chosen by a judge or a Head Peacekeeper post-sentencing of ordinary death row degenerates, while the last one is reserved for those who rape or murder children (or attempt to commit such crimes) and typically done via flamethrower.

"Yes," I answer. "I'll decapitate the condemned myself. And get me my Lieutenant before you inform Clark."

"Yes, sir."

Unlike my senior aide, a born-and-raised District Two Captain, my junior aide is a Second Lieutenant from the Capitol. She is not hedonistic like many of the debt-payers that join (of course, for those scum aren't intelligent enough to even be accepted to OCS), but her parents gambled away their life savings and made her serve for their incompetence. It is a shame-this young woman was accepted into university at age fourteen, though fortunately she was able to graduate before enlisting. She deserves better parents than her sperm donor and his whore of a wife. Thankfully she was accepted into OCS for her intelligence and graduated at the top of her class.

She walks in. "Head Peacekeeper, sir, what are your orders?"

"Five civilians were found guilty of vandalism and are to be flogged, you are to dispense their lashings. Make sure to get their whippings in as quickly as possible, for it is cruel to pause or hesitate to the condemned."

She raises her eyebrows, but all I need to do is look her in her widened eye. "By your command, General."

My sword, unlike the Gladii used by non-Head Peacekeepers (officers having a Gladius with a gold grip, NCOs silver and junior enlisted undecorated), is a Model 1913 Cavalry Saber. Designed by the North American commander General George S. Patton, it weighs more than the Gladius but it is more than practical for combat just like it's shorter counterpart. Though ornate, the grip is only gold-plated for pragmatism and durability reasons; in my honest opinion, it still looks nice enough. Dressed in a Utility Uniform (my Service Uniform or Dress Whites would be seriously impractical in District Eleven weather, not to mention I like the protection provided by my ballistic vest), I walk to the District Square. There the thirty inmates lie on their knees, Peacekeepers and Auxilias guarding them (the latter only have combat knives and batons-electroshock ones for stunning civilians, rapid containment models for when bludgeoning targets is necessary or whenever a stun baton is unavailable or otherwise inappropriate for the task-though they are more than sufficient for keeping these murderers in line).

"Condemned," I address them, "you have been found guilty of either murder or attempted murder by a court-martial panel in accordance with the Law of Panem. Your sentence is death by decapitation, which I will carry out myself via sword for I will never ask of my subordinates what I would not do myself. Do the condemned have any final statements?"

Some express regret or remorse for their crimes, others plead for their lives or cry, others stoically accept their fate while others glare at me, defiant. The one closest to me, a woman in her late twenties, even shouts, "Give me liberty or give me death!"

I reply by decapitating her with a swing of my Saber. Twenty-nine beheadings later, I find myself wiping off the blade on the thirtieth corpse. My vest has blood on it-I understand the historical reasoning behind Peacekeeper uniforms being white (there is camouflage in arctic environments and the fact the color does not attract attract heat like darker ones do), but I will be the first to admit that in the field they are impossible to keep clean.

"Citizens of District Eleven," I inform the locals via the television cameras, "know this: Your District operates under the same rules and regulations as the rest of our glorious Nation. Anarchy and chaos are not the law; I am the law. The men and women I have just executed are-or were-common criminals found guilty of murder or attempted murder by a fair trial. Obey our great and magnanimous leader, President Coriolanus Snow, and you will have peace and prosperity. United we stand together as the culmination of human achievement and civilization, divided we fall alone into barbaric primalism."

My Brigade's Command Sergeant Major informs me of bad news. Clove Domitius, the female District Two Tribute (and savior of my youngest niece, for she had been Reaped but spared by Clove volunteering), had her skull cracked by the male Tribute from here, Thresh. She died despite her partner, Cato, begging for her to live. Couldn't that brute with all his strength have simply snapped her neck and at least given her a painless death?

Such is the price of the Capitol Massacre during the Dark Days-every year since then (not counting the Second Quarter Quell, where that alcoholic fool Haymitch emerged while forty-seven others went home in caskets), twenty-three Tributes have fallen for the treason of their ancestors.

Surprisingly, according to Mayor Smalls one Sub-District did not rebel at all. I believe this is too good to be true out of realism, so I have my hovercraft readied for an inspection of the village in question; the Commander in charge of the Peacekeeping Department there and his civilian counterpart, the Magistrate (more or less a lower-ranking Mayor), will not be informed of our visit ahead of time. This ensures that if they are lying-be it to cover up their own incompetence at failing to maintain order, or worse, being outright traitors and secret supporters of rabble terrorism-they will not be able to cover it up.

In addition to Smalls (whose eyes are red from crying; his promotion and the Medal of Service, as I suspected, did literally nothing to alleviate his grief or his family's, for that matter), both of my aides accompany me. The junior's hands are shaking-hopefully she will accept over time that those five civilians would be flogged regardless of whether or not she used the whip. If anything she might have reduced their suffering by not taking her time with the lashings as others might have.

I am no engineer or scientist, but our hovercraft are technological marvels. They are powered by mini-fusion reactors (one is enough to support a hovercraft by itself) which generate heat that is directed through the twin engines for forward thrust and power the rest of the aircraft via electricity generated through a thermocouple converting the thermal energy caused by fusion into said electricity; this operates the instruments and repulsors, the latter using electrostatic levitation to counteract the effects of gravity in a manner similar to how our trains use magnets and through them magnetic levitation. This vehicle's only real flaw is the disposal issues of nuclear waste generated by nuclear fusion, though said waste will be dangerous for only fifty years, low-level waste another hundred years and within five hundred years will be as radioactive as coal ash.

Mayor Smalls hands me a map of the town (which apparently has a population similar to that of District Twelve, the smallest of all Panem's population centers). According to him, this map is a layout of the Sub-Districts in general for while not identical they all resemble each other somewhat.

First there is the Government Sector. There is the Magistrate's house, the Administration Hall (a smaller version of a Justice Building where official business is conducted, such as the registration of marriages and signing up for tesserae), the train station for the Intra-District Network, the fire station, the Sub-District Square, the granary, the community home, the school and the local Peacekeeping Department.

Next is the Market, where the merchants live and work (just like in Two, above the shops are apartments where the storeowner families live).

Last but not least is the Residential Area, which provides housing for the farmhands.

When I ask what they are responsible for producing, the Mayor says they harvest peaches from a nearby orchard. Additionally, the entire town is surrounded by a twenty-foot high chain link fence topped by barbed wire; it is not electrified since it is not the outer fence, but it is more than sufficient to keep the locals safe from wild animals and roaming criminals from the rest of the District.

We land at the local Airstrip after the pilots are cleared to land by the base's ATC; if the Commander (a Lieutenant Colonel) and the Magistrate are suspicious, there is no way the air traffic controllers can confirm their worst fears.

I ask one of the guards, "Where's your Commander?"

"The Administration Hall, sir," she replies.

I thank her and continue on. Though both of my aides carry assault rifles, per regulations (and for my own safety; a Head Peacekeeper, of all Peacekeepers, should never be complacent) I have a holstered pistol on my right in addition to the scabbard for my Saber on my left; I also carry both a collapsible baton and a stun baton on my person for dealing with criminals when non-lethal force is preferable.

Both the Commander and the Magistrate are talking about something. Whatever it is, they stop almost immediately when they see me.

"Head Peacekeeper Thread, sir!" The Commander addresses me as though a recruit, standing at attention and saluting me.

I return his salute. "Commander, we have received reports that this area did not riot like the rest of the rabble. I am just here to confirm your report."

He nods. "Affirmative, sir. There was no revolt whatsoever-if anything, the civilians here are more eager to return to their homes rather than riot needlessly."

"Then an inspection is in order, Commander. I always verify."

For starters, we go over the granary; other than water, food is the most critical thing to keeping humans alive. In contrast to the dark and rectangular wholewheat rolls of my home, the grain here is turned into dark crescent shaped ration loaves sprinkled with seeds. Fortunately, there seems to be enough grain in this building to feed all the civilians here.

Our next stop is the community home, also known as an orphanage, where children reside if their family cannot take care of them for whatever reason. It reminds me of where my siblings and myself grew up, only more cramped and without any Peacekeeper recruiting posters. The children here do not throw looks of hatred or resentment at us; instead, they avert their eyes and seem to be afraid of me in particular.

This is troubling; I am a Peacekeeper, law-abiding citizens have nothing to fear from us Boys and Girls in White.

The school is right next to the orphanage, so my entourage of five literally only has to make a short walk with me. In addition to vocational skills (namely teaching proper use of farming equipment), basic Panemanian (our official and sole language; I remember it being a descent of the North American dialect of a communication system from a land called England), math and a weekly lecture on the history of Panem are what's taught. Though farmer's children frequently are exempted from school with parental consent to provide additional labor for harvests, the literacy rate seems to be at least somewhat higher than is average for this District.

The fire station, manned by trained civilians, is the fourth building inspected. Firefighters are critical here because of the fact crops provide fuel for fires; I specifically prohibited the use of thermobaric or incendiary munitions for this reason. The locals salute me, and I am pleased to note that they are more than capable of using their equipment.

The Sub-District Square has all the prerequisites necessary; stockades for the confinement of truants or farmhands foolish enough to skip school/work respectively, flogging posts for petty thieves and vandals among other such criminals, a gallows for hanging the condemned (though their most recent execution was of a would-be child rapist, and to the glee of the locals per legal SOP it was through flamethrower) and a National Banner off the roof of the Administration Hall.

Inside the Administration Hall, all is well. The paperwork is up-to-date; marriage, birth and death certificates, tesserae applications and housing licenses are all neatly organized by the clerks.

The rumors about this place might be true.

The Peacekeeping Department here is even more impressive. The reason the Commander here is a Lieutenant Colonel instead of a Major is that Sub-Districts here warrant a whole battalion for law enforcement, rather than a mere company of infantry Peacekeepers. His men and women haven't forgotten how to be Boys and Girls in White; they are fit, attentive, respectful, disciplined and competent from constant training whenever not on patrol. The battalion's communications and IT officer, despite being a POG (a...term of affection...for anyone not in the infantry), is one of the better shots of the Department. In fact, the S-6 Captain's handiwork is shown; one ragged hole, courtesy of 5.7x28mm pistol bullets, in a target silhouette.

For reasons unknown even to me, I insist on stopping by the Magistrate's House instead of the train station first. In addition to his wife, he has two children; a boy who looks around sixteen-to-seventeen and a girl who can't be older than fifteen politely greet me. Like most District Eleven civilians, they have dark skin (though lighter due to not being farmers; I wonder why this pigmentation is so common here, perhaps it is due to extreme sunlight or some pre-Panem historical reason). However, unlike the vast majority of civilians here (who have dark irises; I am no geneticist, but it must have something to do with heredity), the girl has green eyes that make her standout and actually reminds me of Clove somewhat. I do not know why I think that considering how much their skin tones contrast, I just cannot help but note this. Peppermint tea is served; I enjoy this herbal drink (unlike other teas) for both it's taste and the infusion itself helping my digestion.

"Is there anything you'd like to discuss, Mr. Magistrate?" I ask.

He finishes taking a sip before answering. "I requested solar panels for the Residential Area and Market; we already have solar panels to provide electricity for all the buildings in the Government Sector, you see, even the granary."

I nod, for the granary features a bucket elevator to load the grain it contains. "I see-why do you want this done?"

"Sir, it gets very hot here being an agricultural district. The electric fans you see in this house are a luxury; not even the merchants have them. I just thought that it would decrease cases of heat stroke amongst the local farmers-once they got the fans, of course-and help reduce my Sub-District's demands on the electrical grid. Even outside of orchard work, my citizens can get very uncomfortable at best in their homes; fortunately, we do have a reliable supply of water and thus outside of minor improvements I can't really see why you'd need to put in significant overhauls on our supply system."

I nod. Proper hydration is key to survival, especially in areas like Eleven where the sun's rays do not show mercy. "I'll forward your request to the President. Anything else?"

He nods. "The lockdown. The local workers are upset that they haven't rebelled but are still subject to the same conditions as those who did. Is there anything you can do?"

I think of the food meant for the various Sub-Districts but withheld in the Central City ever since the riots began after Rue's death. "I will call the President myself, Magistrate, I swear on my honor.

Our final inspection of the Government Sector is the train station. Fortunately, it is in superb condition (I would not be surprised if more than a few others got burned down in other Sub-Districts by ignorant rabble). The Intra-District System, like the one in my home District, is slower than the Inter-District System but is still fast at 150 MPH. These maglev monorail trains are responsible for the transport of cargo and people from one Sub-District to another, though overwhelmingly the former unlike my home outside of Reapings; similar to Two, one Sub-District is chosen every year to publicly represent the District while everyone else picks up the slack (though Warrior Academy Cadets, unlike here, are always included and volunteer in place of those chosen).

The Market and Residential Area's conditions are abysmal, with the shacks of the latter being comparable to prison cells unlike even the homes of quarriers I have seen in mining villages, which look like Victor Mansions in comparison. The Market apartments are larger, but in all honestly they are only desirable compared to the quarters farmers get.

I remember the bombardment of the Capitol during the Dark Days; considering this District (along with Twelve and Thirteen, the former quite possibly even more emasculated economically and the latter wiped off the face of the Earth quite literally) contributed the troops involved in the attack, this must be the National Government's revenge outside of the Hunger Games for all the dead civilians who needlessly perished in the Capitol.

The fence only has two gates; both are so Peacekeeper vehicles can travel through and farmers can leave the Sub-District for work, though neither has happened due to the lack of need for reinforcements and the lockdown respectively. Regardless, the gates can only be opened by Peacekeepers inside the checkpoints.

My inspection complete, I return to my hovercraft with my aides and the Mayor. As we fly back, I call Clark and tell him to request an audience with the President on my behalf. When I get back, he greets me and informs me that all I have to do is make the call; the President is waiting, though this time it will not be a videocall.

I do not mind, for in fact the audio-only fiber-optic lines are easier to secure. Apart from seeing the other person's face, I do not really see the point in video communications (though I would be lying if the ability to see and speak to my brother from, say, Twelve while he was in Two wouldn't be a reason to have such technology).

"What is it, Thread?" Snow answers my call.

"Sir," I say clearly, "I have a proposal to further discourage insurrection."

"Go on," the President replies; I am grateful that he is willing to hear me out.

"Mr. President, the food meant to be distributed to the farming Sub-Districts has instead been held here in the Central City. Since one of said Sub-Districts did not riot at all, I propose that tomorrow we give them all of it and have it televised throughout the entire District as an example of what happens when you're loyal and productive."

"I like your thinking, Thread," is the response of the President. "You have my authorization. Snow out."

I am pleased to have gained our dear leader's permission for my idea, for otherwise it would only be a dream.

The next day, as the sun falls, there is a ceremony at the Sub-District's square. I stand and speak into a microphone, the Magistrate, Mayor and Commander behind me.

"Citizens of District Eleven," I tell both the assembled local civilians and the cameras transmitting this for the local television channel (larger Districts have their own channel, unlike Twelve, out of necessity), "our National Government seated in the Capitol demands much of you."

I pause just as a train stops at the station.

"But it also rewards you generously for loyalty. As this Sub-District, unlike the others, did not riot or rebel, you shall be rewarded while they are punished."

The Department begins distributing the food. Though the locals seem suspicious at best initially, soon they realize it is not a ruse and sincerely thank the Peacekeepers handling the food.

"May Coriolanus Snow's Presidency last for ten thousand years."

ME: Robert Smalls is a reference to a former slave who helped found what is now Marine Corps Recruit Depot Parris Island. One of the methods of dispensing capital punishment is a reference to the Divergent series. The last line is a modified version of a phrase that originated from Ancient China.

A/N: The kind of Maglev trains I imagine as being responsible for internal transport in larger Districts like Eleven and Two exist in real-life; look up Maglev 2000/Magneticglide's suburban/urban models. And no, Snow didn't let Thread have a Pet the Dog moment via handing out the food out of decency; the reason he authorized giving out the food and televising it was to foster divide in District Eleven.