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We enter the waiting area, where we allegedly must sit until our private sessions with the Gamemakers. I am pondering over what I should do, but honestly, I don't really have a talent besides inventing. The Gamemakers won't be interested in an inventor.

It suddenly occurs to me that maybe that's an advantage. If they aren't interested, they'll just pass over me, so I can become more of a surprise to the others…

Then I realize the prospect of this whole event.

The Hunger Games is not a Hunger Games—it's a Killing Games and a Fighting Games and a Revenge Games.

The tributes are going to KILL. All of us will be forced to do so at one point or another—probably, at least. Against all odds, I somehow dodged that standard in my first Games.

I didn't kill anyone at all back then. I don't wish to do so now.

I realize that I'd rather sacrifice myself to the rebellion than kill someone else to stay alive. I know that Plutarch's plan is supposed to work, but I'm uncertain.

In this Quarter Quell, I'll at least try to make myself useful. If the others actually understand that I'm trying to be useful.

They start calling the first private sessions—Cashmere of District 1, and Gloss, her brother, who will go after her.

"Wiress, what are you going to do for the Gamemakers?" Beetee asks.

I think about that for a minute, and absentmindedly curl a finger around a strand of my messy black hair.

"Well…if there's nothing I can do that will interest them, I guess I'll…"

"Provoke them, like Katniss." I'm in shock, both at myself and at Beetee. He could read that from my mind so easily—perhaps it was showing in my facial expression? My eyes? It must have been rather hard to read. Perhaps we really were siblings, at one point.

I'm in shock at myself, because I actually willed myself to do that. If I actually do what I'm planning to do…it would be very satisfying.

In the morning before training began, as we were heading out, I sleepily picked something off the ground. Off the ashes of my house.

It was the Capitol medallion.

I don't know exactly why I did so, but even evil things can have a purpose. This purpose will backfire in the face of the Capitol.

Beetee's POV

We sit there on the bench, waiting for our private sessions. There is nothing to do, but technically, many things could be done. Many options weighed.

For one thing, I could stand up on the bench and start screaming.

I could also pretend to faint or even attempt to purposely induce amnesia, in order to forget the horrors of my past Games that I would now have to relive. But that would also mean that I'd forget about Wiress.

That would be, simply put, a catastrophe.

I look over at Wiress. A few moments ago, she had told me what she would do for the Gamemakers. As we were leaving the house the morning before training, I observed her kneeling down toward the ashes of her former house. She had picked up something that glinted strongly, and made my eyes water and hurt simultaneously. It was the Capitol token she had pointed out the night before.

She said that the Gamemakers wouldn't be interested in an inventor. I suspect that she's right. They prefer combat-related demonstrations. I know this from experience.

Somewhere inside myself, I am wary of what Plutarch said. I trust his plan and all, but I suspect that it will backfire.

And that Wiress will be the object of it.

I had observed Wiress's Games years before. Her district partner died in the Bloodbath, so she had to find a way to manage on her own. Nobody wanted to ally with her. Her strategy was to avoid and evade. She was lucky, in that this strategy actually worked. She didn't kill a single soul; except for the occasional animal that she caught using one of the intricate traps she pulled from the back of her mind.

She's not a murderer, like I am.

I wish that the wires would've backfired in my Games, that those children, regardless of whether they were Careers or not, weren't simply killed, just like that. I wish that I could keep my own life without taking others.

Wiress sometimes asks me if she's really that lucky that she survived. Now, she has to endure more years of this blasted Hunger Games.

She deserves better.

They call Wiress out for her private session with the Gamemakers, but she still sits there, intently gazing at a square on the wall ahead. I stroke her hand and tell her that she has to go now. She gets up sadly, eyes drooping sadly, but suddenly, they burst, almost with flame. It's like her eyes are on fire with energy. She smiles defiantly, widely, and flounces off. Surprising. You never know quite what to expect with Wiress.

Wiress's POV

I enter the Training Center, in which the Gamemakers are sitting at their table, gorging themselves on all matters of food. The fake kind. To me, it looks disgusting.

They aren't yet half-asleep, as they are by the time District 12 comes by, but they don't seem to be anticipating much from me. Self-explanatory. My plain, frail appearance might work against me. But then again, I have the element of surprise on my side.

I walk slowly and cautiously toward the fire-building station, keeping track of each step and misstep. I can feel the Gamemakers' eyes widening with alarm. No Three has showed this station off before.

I gather some kindling, rocks, twigs, etcetera and carry them to the middle of the floor, in front of the Gamemakers' table. I begin constructing a simple fire; the simplest there is in existence, I am sure. I brush my hands off and turn away from them.

Out of my pants pocket, I pull the Capitol medallion. It flares out almost—no, more than the Capitolitans themselves, indignant, insatiably power-hungry. Like Snow. I have never before thought that a piece of metal could demonstrate feeling.

It appears flimsy, though, and upon further inspection, it appears to have only been coated with a liquid metal solution, and been initially made out of hard plastic. Perfect.

I put it back in my pocket for the time being. I head back to the station and grab a small match. I strike it against the box and run back to my little campfire, feeling like one of the people who ran with the torch in that game they used to have hundreds of years ago, called the Olympics. All sorts of people allegedly played sports in that game. Killing was not allowed. How I wish I lived in that golden age of time.

I remember how much I hate clocks, although now is not the right time to think that. But I do see a clock over in the corner of the Center, almost at the ceiling. I insult it in my head. Gosh, I'm strange.

What was I doing again? Oh, yes. The match. It's burned out. I run back to get another one and strike it, and almost fly back to my fire pit, sparks seeming to come out of my shoes again. The Gamemakers look bored.

Maybe I should've used my shoes to start the fire.

I set the match against the very base of my campfire-pit. It rises slowly, slowly, and then FLARES. It bolts upward and outward. I can hear it roar. I can also see the chink in the force field between the Gamemakers and me; it ripples ever so slightly more than before.

I pay a silent vow of gratitude to the flame for the realization it struck in me.

Ever so slowly, I pull the Capitol token out of my pocket. The Gamemakers notice it now, and squint at it, looking at the intricate detail of the inscription on it.

I drop it in the fire. All of them exchange looks of surprise, even Plutarch. What I have just done indicates a great deal of…well, things.

The flimsy plastic of the medallion squirms and melts in the glare of the flame. It dissolves to a dark black—not light black, not regular black, just dark black—liquid, and then it sits there for a minute, and solidifies. It becomes a strange, foreign shape—at least to the Gamemakers. It looks oddly similar to my giraffe, but I don't believe in coincidences.

What I have just shown is that the Capitol will melt away and surrender to us, the rebels, in our fire. I suppose I don't fear sparks anymore.

Snow thought that sparks are the one thing the Threes are afraid of. Not anymore.

His plan has backfired: I have fought fire with fire.

I don't expect to get a very high score, but that was awfully satisfying. I can't wait to tell…

"Tell who? Gloss?" Beetee tells me as I come out of the room. He has a weird, curious glint in his eye. I haven't said a word yet.

"No, actually, I wanted to tell you. And…how could you…"

"Tell what you were going to say? Well, your eye movement indicated that you were—"

"Inquiring of something, and…"

"Your faint smile showed defiance. I can guess what you did for the Gamemakers. You rebelled."

"Like the Spark Girl." I smile widely. I have fear no longer.

"You know, the word 'rebel'. It reminds me of something. If you…"

"Sound it out slowly," I finish, "you'll get 're' and 'bell'. We're ringing the bell in their faces—so they'll realize what they're doing wrong. And if they don't get it, we'll do it again. We'll rebel. We will NEVER…"

"Surrender to the Capitol, and that is a PROMISE." We both smile. This is true.

I see sunlight in Beetee's eyes.

"Beetee Connec!" Plutarch calls from the door. It's his turn.

Beetee grins somewhat, in an oddly quirky way, an indicator of the fact…the fact that he'll do what I did.

And he won't care what anyone else thinks.

Beetee's POV

I enter the Training Center for my private session, a wide grin on my face. I really don't care what the Gamemakers will think of me. My score does not matter to me. I know that Wiress thinks the same way.

The Gamemakers look at me somewhat lopsidedly—except for Plutarch, of course, who's on our side. He just gives me a wry smile. I notice that there is a rug on the floor that wasn't there before. I suspect that it's there to cover something up.

I gingerly lift up one corner of it, and look at what's underneath. I see a ring of ashes, with a small, melted piece of plastic in the middle. Strange. I'll ask Wiress about it. I have a feeling that it has something to do with her private session. The Gamemakers have their backs turned, eating from the buffet behind them. I go to various stations and pick up a variety of tools and supplies.

From the snare-building station, I take several coils of copper wire and construct a simple trap, the kind you'd use to snare a rabbit.

I take another length of wire, this time tinted gold, and bend it into the shape of the Capitol seal. I attach it to the top of the frame of my snare.

I then turn toward the fire-building station and gather some kindling. I place this inside the trap. I put a match in my pocket.

I stare intently at the Gamemakers for a short while, almost daringly. They match my gaze in a few seconds.

I pull the match out of my pocket.

I strike it swiftly against the kindling just once, and small sparks fly. Smoke comes out of the kindling, and then it sets on fire. It alarms me somewhat, but I've had experience in this area of training. It used to be my worst. Typical of Threes.

The bottom of the snare catches fire first. This isn't electrical wire, just a metallic wire that you'd use for other practical purposes. It softens easily. The flame tapers upward, toward the rest of the trap. My crude, but still recognizable, recreation of the Capitol seal catches the sparks last of all. It slowly dents in the bright, true fire. It melts brilliantly, glinting in the fire, seeming to say its last words. We didn't mean to do it, the Capitol will say. We only meant the best for you, but you rebelled. How could you reduce us so mercilessly? What have we done? The Capitol will surrender to us eventually. We WILL, and MUST live in harmony. We will stop this foolish Hunger Games once and for all. We have made sparks fly, and they will cause a fire.

The Capitol seal liquidizes finally, settling on top of the heap of metal. I stomp out the flame, and smoke rises. I see a handful of ashes, topped by a copper and gold mound. We are the common copper, the one everyone can afford. But we can do a lot of things.

If we burn, you burn with us, I can imagine Katniss saying. I hope that those dull Capitolitan Gamemakers will realize what I meant by this.

I have a feeling, just a slight feeling. Wiress did something very similar to what I did. I know that. Well, like tribute, like mentor, I suppose. Although I wasn't technically her mentor in her Games.

I grin again. The Gamemakers stare at me, mouths hanging open. Plutarch's eyes are wide, and he is grinning as well. That was oddly satisfying.

I sigh happily.

That was just what this little rebellion had up its sleeve, my dear Capitol. Enjoying the surprise?

Plutarch's POV

*stares ahead for several minutes*

Oh, I'm sorry. I'm just slightly…dazed by what I just witnessed.

I don't think I would have ever expected Wiress and Beetee to be so…confident. What they just did could kill them before the Quell even starts. But honestly, I'm proud of them.

Wiress and Beetee both played with the element of fire. Both used something to symbolize the Capitol, and then basically melted it in a self-constructed fire.

That's self-explanatory.

Anyhow, District 3 isn't quite known for its skills in building fires. In their district, they're actually warned against it. But they both did that so effortlessly…

They had total control of everything they were doing. They did a good job of shocking those Capitolitan mustache-bearers.

I give each of them a 9, to show the other districts that they're a force to be reckoned with. But I don't give them anything higher, because I don't want them to be targeted. Alas, I have a feeling that the other Gamemakers will do just that.

I'm still in shock at these crazy geniuses from 3.

After Beetee's Private Session (3rd person)

Beetee walks out of the Training Center, back into the brightly lit hallway. He sees Wiress staring at the wall, squinting at it. He knows that she's noticed something that no one else ever will. As usual.

Wiress feels a sudden rush of air, and sees Beetee. She smiles lopsidedly, showing her teeth. For the first time in her life.

They make conversation with their eyes, and know what the other has done for the private session.

Wiress looks back at her wall, and Beetee does too. He now notices the pattern that she's noticed ever since they came inside this place.

One red square down, two black ones to the right. But there's a mistake.

The Capitol is lovely and everything as well, but they've made a mistake, too.

They will see sparks fly.

Both Wiress and Beetee smile rebelliously.