A/N: New chapter! Yay (finally)! I haven't had a lot of chances to write, but I think I can safely say that I'll update at least every other Thursday morning.

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A giant sword blade comes hurtling viciously down on my right but I side step and slip right through the District 4 boy's guard and slit his throat. Their previous jeering and laughing at finding another "victim" to add onto their kill list had turned into cries of anger. The two that were left charged me simultaneously.

I manage to slay another one with silent, cold, precision, completely unlike the first time I had killed. That time I had spent the better part of the day heaving whatever I'd just ate out of my stomach and when nothing was left, just choking and spluttering. A waste of valuable food but I suppose there was nothing else I could have done. That was not the case now.

I turn around, as fast as I can, which, believe me, is wicked fast. But still I'm a little too slow. I let out a pained cry as my arm is wrenched up behind me, my knife tumbling from my fingers. It lands on the grassy ground with a dull thud.

"Thanks for taking care of those two," the boy from District 1 hisses in my ear. "It saves me the effort of getting rid of them. And now, you're gonna —ah!"

A gurgling sound bubbles up in his throat and he collapses, frothing at the mouth.

"We'd live longer with two of us," says a soft voice that I recognize instantly.

I know which line comes next. Guess you just proved that. Allies? But my throat is stuck for some reason. I blink several times, rapidly, to clear my blurring vision. "Maysilee?" I ask blearily. I can't see anything, just the fallen Careers' bodies morphing, as if they were molting feathers and turning candy pink, long, thin beaks protruding out of their faces...

"Maysilee!"

Her screams fill the air.

The screaming doesn't stop even as I wake up, and for a few heart stopping moments, I feel that it actually is Maysilee and that my entire life has been a dream, the Games being the reality. But soon enough I am lucid enough to realize that the voice is not hers.

I roll over in my bed, groaning. There's a crick in my neck and a red dent in the side of the flesh where I slept on the small portable television. It's currently blaring on the loudest volume setting.

I confirm that the screaming had been coming from the television, but it's stopped now, and I hear the laughter and congratulations of what can only be Careers. Curiously, I sit up and survey the the scene, wondering how much role Peeta had had in the District 8 girl's death.

I find him still lurking near the back, evidently having not contributed much. So I flip to Katniss's channel, to the camera following her. The scene doesn't change. Confused, I flip through all the channels, but...oh dear.

Only the occasional flash of dirt smeared orange backpack and dulled green jacket can be seen through the tree cover, but she is there. Her expression is hidden though, the camera view unable to penetrate the foliage cover. I am grateful for that at least. She's in for more surprises than she could ever imagine.

Despite my thoughts being elsewhere, Maysilee's screams still echo in my ears hauntingly. Sleep has been giving no relief from the Games. I spend the day immersed in the pine woods and tall grass; the night is filled with meadows and mountains. My dreams have become more vivid, present and past mingling into some sort of crazy parallel universe. Some dreams make sense and some don't.

Katniss isn't at an angle in which she can see Peeta. And he absolutely cannot tell that she is there. She'll be mad, I know. More than mad, betrayed and confused. I don't understand the depth of her care for Peeta, but it definitely isn't as much as he cares for her. She won't hesitate to write him off as 'enemy' once she sees it with her own eyes. I know her.

Peeta however...hopefully he won't see her. Not yet.

I change to the main channel to see whether the commentary will be on yet or not. Claudius Templesmith's voice booms from the device. It's showing the District 8 girl convulsing on the ground, locked in death throes. "She's not dead yet! Surely, the Alliance must be having their suspicions. If they keep circling around her they might discover Katniss who has been hiding above them, for all of your who just tuned in."

Sure enough, the Careers are squabbling about the lack of a cannon sounding. It is just normal Careers squabbling, until Peeta raises his voice for the first time. "We're wasting time! I'll go finish her and let's move on!"

There's a sudden rustling from the tree. "It looks like Katniss Everdeen has just discovered Peeta's betrayal! We'll be waiting for her reaction folks, don't leave just yet."

The Careers, thankfully, are too preoccupied to notice. They let Peeta leave, and quietly begin discussing him behind his back. I'm half glad that Katniss can hear the conversation.

I can imagine her fury, and her thoughts. She will eagerly watch the night sky for signs of his death now, if she doesn't kill him herself. I almost wish that she knew the truth but it would be better for both of them if she didn't.

Listening to the track of their conversation, the Careers evidently don't find Peeta as much of a threat yet. But he's back soon enough, and the cannon fires. The Career pack moves off.
But Katniss does not drop out of the tree just yet. She lingers for a few moments, probably thinking and preparing for her close up on landing. So the camera follows the Careers pack for a while, then flits back to Katniss where she's bound to land sometime soon.

The willow branches rustle when she slides out of the tree. She pauses. The cameras lock. Then she cocks her head slightly to the side and gives a knowing smile. Claudius Templesmith goes crazy. "What on earth could this mean?! Katniss Everdeen is one step ahead of the game, as always."

Since when, 'always?' Well, I wasn't about to argue. She had done a convincing enough job I suppose.

Grimacing, I roll out of the bed. The fluffy blankets are mussed and a slightly dirtier color than the pristine white they were the day before, probably due to the fact that I slept fully clothed, even though the suit I was wearing wasn't precisely comfortable. At least I had the sense to take my shoes and tie off so I wouldn't accidentally choke to death.

The previous night had been idle, yet exhausting. The sponsor, Fabian Jesuit, had kept me on my feet (figuratively) all throughout the night, but I believe he was going to be a big sponsor now, at least. It should be worth it.

I shower and re-dress in a new, unwrinkled suit, something a bit classier than usual, a grayish black with subtle striping and a tie to match. It ought to live up to Capitol standards, as just another part of the show.

I glance down at the screen nestled in the palm of my hand. Katniss is taking a rabbit off a snare. Soon, she finds the District 8 girl's fire and cooks it. Good. It's slightly reassuring, but I've noticed that she still hasn't come across any water. It's not a good sign.

Reminding myself to check the map when I got to the Games Headquarters, I pop into the elevator and ride the twelve floors down. The mentors, escorts and stylists of each District are staying in a residential building five minutes drive away

I flag a taxi easily. Well of course; Capitol people wake up late. The driver is unnaturally bright and energetic, a can of highly caffeinated soda next to her. She's young, early twenties, maybe, wearing a shirt that shows too much skin. Her eyes are a shimmering, unnatural silver-blue sunk in deep shadows of contrasting black makeup. She greets me. "Good morning! Where to?"

"The Games Headquarters."

"A mentor, is it? You have a card? Just swipe it right here."

The small panel flashes my name when I do, and the driver goes, "Haymitch Abernathy? You're District 12, right?"

"Yeah," I reply, although I'm not quite sure why I'm even bothering to talk to her. She's not going to sponsor Katniss or Peeta and I hate Capitolists anyways.

"Oh my gosh, I love Peeta! The way he goes after Katniss is so sweet, and guh, he's just sexy as hell. I don't understand why he would join the Alliance, they're trying to hunt Katniss."

I snort as the engine starts rumbling. "Is that what you think it is?" I drawl, leaning back in the cushioned seat. They were all in pristine condition, unsurprisingly.

As the taxi stops at a red light she turns around in her seat and looks at me. "Well what else could it be?"

These people could be so shallow. Did they all see things at such a surface value? "He's doing it for her. I know him better than anyone."

Her eyes widen, looking mystified, but a car honks her, so she hurriedly turns back to the front. "Really?"

I shrug. "What, you think all that at the interviews was an act?"

"No, I know true love when I see it," she says smugly. "He's in love with her. So what's his plan?"

"Classified," I say, looking out the window. The shiny white, gray, and red buildings flash by. There's barely any traffic at all, so we're zooming by at 100 miles per hour. It reminds me of the exhilaration the first time I'd been in a car.

"What?" she wails. "Come on. I love gossip."

A thought occurs to me. If it got around that Peeta was joining the Careers just for Katniss, then sponsors would be more sympathetic. Not to mention how much more effective it would be coming from a direct source. Such as me. "Well I can tell you one thing. Peeta isn't leading them towards Katniss. He's trying to lead them away from her."

"Tell me more," she encourages.

"But that's not it. He knows that if she's to win then he has to die."

She sucks in a dramatic breath but doesn't say anything.

"And don't tell too many people about this part," I warn, knowing that if I say that, she'll probably spread it everywhere. "But Peeta's plan is even more elaborate. He's pretending to be on the enemy side so that when he dies, which he will if Katniss is to go back and live her life, she won't be consumed by guilt and she'll live happily ever after."

The only sounds that greet me are soft sniffles. "That's..." she murmurs at last. "That's true love."

I nod somberly. For some reason this innocent, stupid little Capitol girl who doesn't know any better feeling emotion isn't making any sense to me. Why should she care? It's just a show to all of them anyways. It's not like they actually care about Peeta or Katniss.

The soft tear sounds fall silent as the taxi draws to a stop. "$15.50," she mutters. "And thank you."

I hand over the money and make as if to leave, but I can't resist asking one more question. "What's your name?"

Flat discs of shimmering silver-blue look up at me. I resist the urge to shudder at their alienness. "Cassandra Graypearl. But call me Cassie." She smiles, friendly.

I nod, then walk away. The cab door is closed and she drives away. She's probably a college student making a few extra bucks taxi driving, maybe with a rich parent if she got the privilege of catering to mentors. Still, I'd always thought of Capitol people as not quite human anymore with such alterations.
But for some reason, Cassie had seemed just human for a moment, sitting there, alien blue-gray eyes filled with tears.

They still reminded me of another pair of blue eyes, a shade lighter and not quite so silver. But the tears are the same nonetheless.

People are still buzzing from the excitement of the first day of the Games. Gamemakers are relaxed, mentors are on their toes, and sponsors are teetering on fences. But I knew today wasn't the day they'd fall. A few bets are always placed in the days before the Games begin, on the very likely looking tributes, but most are placed once the Games are in full flow, after the weakest are killed off.

The first day is crucial to get sponsors, of course, but the second day isn't as much. Sponsors have already seen the first deaths of the weakest in fighting; now natural causes are starting to kick in. Dehydration, illness, starvation. Some tributes will be starting to feel those effects, and sponsors will be watching closely.

It doesn't take a lot of close watching to realize that Katniss is one of those tributes.

Barely past noontime and she's already exhausted, licking her lips and panting. She's travelling down a valley away from the lake. That's good, the Careers and Peeta will be around the lake. But where can she go...

I turn to the holographic map projected on the table in the middle of the District 12 meeting room. There are three water sources: the lake and two streams. I sigh, relieved. One was in the valley she was heading for. But would she find it in time? I knew from experience that she could probably wander around it all day without really finding, especially in her dehydrated state.

I consider the possibility of having to send her water. For some reason, I feel as if I can't deny her. I frown. I know how Peeta would be like if I'd even consider not giving her water. But I'm not Peeta.
I sit there for a while, pondering, leaning back in my chair, scrolling through sections of the map until late afternoon. Effie strolls in for a bit so we talk, about Peeta and Katniss and sponsors. We evidently have more than enough for a pint of water, but I'm still worried that it will be a show of weakness if Katniss can't even get water. Best for her to find the stream. I'm confident in her abilities. Or so I tell myself.

There's a knock at the door.

"Who could that be?" asks Effie, mystified. I shrug. "Come in!" she trills.

None other than Finnick Odair walks in. I raise an eyebrow. "I've been seeing a lot of you lately."

"Really?" asks Effie. "I haven't seen you around anywhere at all!" She gives a little giggle. "Nice to see you, ."

He gives her a generous smile, and she practically swoons. It's nice to see that even grown women are affected by the Finnick effect. "You too, ," he says, smiling.

"So what do you want?" I ask gruffly.

"Want?" he says innocently. "Oh, I could ask nothing from you," he says, although he seems to be directing the answer more at Effie. "I just wanted to ask if you were up for a meeting later at the extra office."

Effie blinks confusedly. "Really? But...Markos is already dead."

"Yeah, I just wanted to piss off the rest of the mentors of the Alliance for their tributes betraying Markos so early in the Games by not allowing them to use that room. That's all. But you need two mentors signatures for that, at least."

Apparently grown women also think that acting childish is quite dashing says Effie's tinkling laughs. "Oh, I can do that for you. My signature passes as well."

Finnick smiles. "Well I've already filled out the rest of today and most of tomorrow so if you could pop over there and sign it...?"

"Of course!" she says, and runs out of the room to go do that right away.

I watch her leave. "Why do you always act like that?" I ask when she's gone.

"What?"

"Charming. Seductive. Playing to what people like. You hate acting like that."

He shifts back into being moody. "I guess I'm used to it. I've gotten so good at acting it out I can't tell the difference anymore when I'm around people." He props his chin on his hand after he sits.

There's a moment when everything just falls away, and he's not protected by a barrier of personalities and he's just...Finnick.

"So what are you here for?" I ask eventually.

His eyes light up again, on business. "Oh, well Hawkins sent me around as courier, because I haven't got as much to do as anyone else. Well, except Johanna but she's not going to be anyone's courier."
Both their tributes were dead. But so was Cecilia's and Woof's. "What about District 8?"

He shrugs, the simple motion executed as a graceful lifting of his shoulders. "They've been getting busy back at their own District. Hawkins sent them on some kind of 'mission.'" His exaggerated bunny ears around the word mission are almost comical. "I don't really know what it is, but he's planning a meeting soon so I suppose we'll find out then."

"Are all the mentors going to be there this time?"

"I doubt it," he replies idly. "It doesn't really happen. Most, maybe."

As if with an effort the gleam is back in his eye and he's moistening his lips. He clears his throat and looks at me sidelong. "You know, I've always thought about what we could do as victors. It's not much really, when you think about it."

I stare at him. "What?"

"Well I was talking to Angie the other day, and she was wondering the same thing. It's like Hawkins expects us to have some sort of power by being a slave of the Capitol."

I scrutinize Finnick but his expression is now studiously blank. "We are symbols," I say slowly.

"Yeah, for the Capitol," he replies, "'As a symbol of our generosity, the lone victor will be bequeathed with gifts,'" he says, quoting the videos they play every year at the Reaping about Panem. "Is that what we are? Symbols of the Capitol's generosity?" he spits.

I have to appreciate Finnick's courage to say such a thing in a Capitol building, but I can't admire his stupidity. "Be quiet," I hiss, and lean closer to him, speaking even softer. "Look, if you want to know the answer, I'll tell you when we're not here."

His eyes narrow and he jerks away. "You know what Hawkins told me?" he asks. "He asked me if I knew what we needed."

"What?" I ask brusquely.

"A victor. We need a victor. But not just any victor, we need..."

Suddenly his words remind of something I'd heard before. Cinna. Hadn't he said something about being special? He said it about Katniss; about me. To be more than just a victor. "A rebel," I breathe.

There's a brief silence from the other end. "Yes, one of those." The smirk is back on his face and I know the conversation is done. "I'll see you later then, Haymitch."

I nod. "See you."

He leaves with a patter of quick steps. If not a tribute, if not a victor...a rebel. I turn my attention back to the screen, back at Katniss travelling through the lush forest. I couldn't picture her on a television screen, swirled with dust and smoke as she rallied troops. That I couldn't. Perhaps not yet.

But I could feel a glimmer of hope stir the air.