A/N: I have a poll now on my profile that'll let me know what you guys have liked so far concerning readership's favorite villainous characters in the series. Helps me orient things in planning the later stories; particularly, what I want to do with a few characters. Lemme know with your votes!

The Citadel

A maze of underground tunnels connected the Capitol's sewers, maintenance shafts, trucking roads, and shipping corridors, all displayed in bright blue dots of light upon the holoimager deep in the bowels of the Citadel's Hive. Red dots amidst the plethora of lights marked active Peacekeeper stations, kept up-to-date in real time via nanodrones equipped with collective camera imaging. In black, squads of Inquisitors patrolled in predetermined routes.

"We have about two weeks, give or take what happens over the course of these Games," Trajan stood over the imager, pointing out points of interest to a number of subordinates around the table. "Each of you needs to select a fire team-sized squad to engage the attack with. We can't go in force; too many and we'll be seen all over as an anomaly. We can't let any security know our intention until we start firing."

To Trajan's left, Nero Adronicus – Octavian's chief of staff and sympathizer to Rex – stood with arms crossed as he reviewed the plan. Trajan worried initially about his incorporation in the project, but Rex had courted the high-ranking adviser a year in advance. He would be no security threat - and Nero had a sound mind and formidable fighting prowess to boot.

"There's too many routes," Nero criticized harshly, his eyes flickering over the catacomb-like network of tunnels. "Too many chances for intercept by Inquisitors or Peacekeepers."

"Do you have a better suggestion?" Trajan asked blandly. "If any team is intercepted early, we'll simply have to engage. You and I are responsible for attacking the detention sprawl and proceeding down the clear corridors – it shouldn't be your concern."

"It is my concern," Nero snapped. "If the tunnels are not cleared out well enough in advance, two fire teams aren't going to be enough to get Rex to the Presidential Mansion. We'll be overwhelmed by numbers; not to mention the pods."

"No," Marius Nerva stood to Trajan's right, sticking his index finger into the holographic image. "The pods will not be a problem. I will be coordinating cyber-attacks on local networks from here and will de-activate any pods. Additionally, I'll work to hack any localized drones. It will give you the fire support you need to have a clear route to the Mansion. Any Peacekeepers I do not mop up will be yours to deal with at your discretion."

Trajan looked smug as he moved on, happily watching Nero devolve into silence. "Once we clear to the Mansion, we're going to have to move fast. Estimates say we'll have a five-minute window between breaching and when Octavian will escape the perimeter – but I'd halve that. 150 seconds – if we don't have Octavian by then, we're done."

He looked around before finishing. "And by 'done,' we're talking finality. There are no shades of gray – he dies and Rex takes the throne, or we're through. Six feet under. There is no middle ground."

Training Center

Sam scooped turkey liver and soybeans onto her plate at lunch, walking about the loaded trays of Capitol food and concerning herself more with what she needed in the arena rather than how it tasted. As good as some of the breads and soups looked, she needed food that would build her up now; without some muscle and meat on her bones, she'd be easy prey for the bigger hunters in the arena – not to mention whatever Diocletian Sulla decided to throw into the Games as far as mutts or natural disasters went.

"That…cannot taste good," Firth looked over her shoulder as she poured herself a drink of water, examining the purplish turkey liver with a questioning eye. "Are you trying to prepare for eating bugs, or something?"

"Euch, I don't want to think about that," Sam waved him away good-naturedly. "I had to eat a spider in my Games. It didn't taste good."

"Ah, I bet you didn't learn that at 'Edible Insects,'" Firth mocked the training station with slapstick flair. "Because that's not an insect."

"Oh, is that where you were?" Sam replied. "I was actually doing productive things in the morning."

"You were throwing spears into the floor. That's not really productive."

"Are you spying on me when I'm training?"

Firth laughed, tossing his eyes out at the field of tributes scattered about the gymnasium's cafeteria. "Nah, I was just making sure Thresh wasn't going to take you away to his love dungeon. You two sure do hit it off."

It was Sam's turn to laugh, wiping her eyes at Firth's ridiculous joke. "I don't think they really sponsor that kind of thing here, Firth. I'll have you know I was getting Thresh onto our alliance, and he's bringing the two from District 8 as well."

"Our alliance, huh?" Firth replied. "So you think I just want to pair up with you like that? Forcing my hand Sam; I'm gonna have to really think that one over…alright, fine, you win. So, how is our illustrious Thresh?"

"Why don't you go talk to him?" Sam nodded towards where Thresh sat with Cecelia and the smallish boy from District 8. "You were the only one of the allies I wanted he actually seemed happy about, so I don't think he'll bite your head off."

"No, I figure most of us will wait until we're in the arena to do that," Firth shrugged. "Funny, I was going to have lunch with Vespasian, you know? I'm really interested in that metal jaw style he has going on; you think Capitol fashion will take off with that? I bet he could win a number of beauty contests. Also, really friendly guy. He seems nice."

"Would you leave me alone?" Sam playfully rebuked him. "We're supposed to be serious. It's the Hunger Games."

"Alright," Firth said. "I guess Thresh will be happier to see me. Try not to eat River along with whatever that is on your plate."

Sam watched him walk away, holding her tray askew as she fought over her feelings. Why did he make her feel good? He was the kind of boy she'd stayed away from – the ones who knew what they wanted, who were brash and confident to the point of near-recklessness, who shot first and asked questions later. Even Clay hadn't walked around with that kind of attitude back before he'd pushed her away.

The old Sam would have never given Firth a minute of her time, she thought. What's happening to you?

That wasn't true, however. Storm had wielded many of the same tendencies – the leadership, the confidence, the bold decisiveness and occasional jab of humor. Perhaps she was still working out just who she was – after all, Cal brought up some of the same feelings in her, and he couldn't have been any more different from Firth. Cal was the reliable type; the one who the old Sam would have flocked to in a minute. He was stability where Firth was adventure.

What was a girl to do?

"What'd he want?" Cal asked with the slightest undertone of hostility as Sam joined his table, where River and Lily already sat. "Isn't he a Career?"

"I don't think 'Careers' is really accurate," Sam replied. "This isn't really a normal year."

Cal eyed Firth warily as he took a seat near Thresh. "Last year he sure was."

"He's nice," River added carefully.

"You're from his district. Of course you'll say that."

"Give him a chance, Cal," Sam pleaded. "I want him in our alliance."

"Is this all our alliance?" he raised an eyebrow, looking over at River and Lily, who both sat quietly watching the proceedings. "Not trying to be pessimistic…but I don't think we really have the firepower against that guy from District 2."

Sam glanced over at Vespasian as she filled her mouth with soybeans, catching him returning her gaze. His yellow eyes staring out from above the prosthesis sent a chill down her spine, prompting her to quickly return her attention to Cal. "I don't think any of the rest of us can go up alone against him anyway. It doesn't matter. Besides…Thresh and I want to join together, and he's with the two from District 8, as well. Cecelia's a victor. That gives…eight of us? That's enough to get past him and those others from Districts 1 and 2."

"They let people have eight-tribute alliances?" Cal looked skeptical, responding with a low chuckle. "I'll defer to you on that one. If you think it works, alright."

"Well, I kinda wanted your opinion."

"This is just my first time through all this stuff, Sam," Cal shrugged. "You know more than I."

"How are we supposed to all meet up?" River took up the role of critic. "That's a lot of people. There are always people dying at the Cornucopia, too."

Sam inhaled deeply at the question. It was a good question – she hadn't thought about that at all. She'd only met up with Storm and Gannet through extraordinary circumstances that had nearly killed her both times – both of which had occurred after desperately running from the Cornucopia at the start of the Games. Trying to hold on to some coherent plan seemed like a wishful fantasy with the chaos that surrounded the bloodbath.

"We'll…uh," Sam thought it over.

"Why don't we all just go in the direction of the Cornucopia's tip?" River answered her own question. "They have to have a Cornucopia."

I should listen to you more often, Sam thought of her small ally. River had a sharp head, no matter what she thought. "You're kinda quiet, Lily. What do you think?"

The small girl from District 12 jumped at her name being called. She ran a hand through one of her blond braids, looking about each of the other three as if they'd judge her response. After a few moments, she simply shrugged, adding an "I dunno."

Girl's still frightened out of her mind, Sam thought. Thresh could have been on to something with her – without help, Lily likely wouldn't survive more than a few hours in the arena if she made it out of the Cornucopia bloodbath. Sam resolved to talking to her more; figuring out what she was like – anything to gain her trust and make her feel welcome. River had done a good job at the spear station, but Sam knew anyone she had lingering doubts about would end up causing problems in the arena.

There you go again, a small voice in the back of her head spoke up. "Problems." "Liabilities." They're people. Tributes. Kids. You were the same way when you first met Gannet two years ago, and now you're damning others for being scared in a game of death? Wake up, Sammy. You'll end up being the second coming of Royal if you keep this going.

The rest of lunch went by quietly. Lily didn't speak another word, and River remained her usual soft-spoken self – leaving Cal and Sam to dominate the entirety of the conversation with idle talk. Sam got up as lunch ended, leaving her tray on the table and figuring out what she would accomplish next. She had to figure out some sort of new weapon proficiency over the next two days – simply being moderately capable with a sword would do her no good if she couldn't get her hands on one. There was no telling what sort of weapon arrangement Diocletian would lay out in his first year. Furthermore, Sam didn't even know if she'd get the chance to grab a weapon with some of the competition.

She didn't get the opportunity to continue her train of thought, either. As she made her way past a pair of tributes from District 7, she felt a strong hand grab her shoulder. Sam turned sharply, expecting Cal or Firth – or even Thresh – but instead meeting a pair of hardened yellow eyes capped by a pair of striped tattoos running up a barren scalp.

"I had to find out for myself," Vespasian growled in his metallic tenor, his face unsettlingly still without a jaw to articulate each word. "What strange bedfellows you make in these Games, Samantha. You think you will achieve victory by leading a band of misfits against me? A crippling notion."

Sam shrugged his hand away, feeling flustered as heat shot up from her stomach. "A bunch of misfits helped me win my Games. Even killed your special little tribute."

"Ha!" Vespasian laughed with malice. "Hadrian was reckless. A fool. He did not deserve to win. Look around you, Samantha – you see the allies you make? Two tiny girls with no chance to survive. Your district partner, a coward and weak. Thresh? Just the forgotten shell of a man lost in a society that does not accept him. And you think the two from District 8 will save you? You think wrong. Open your eyes, Samantha. Trying to save those who deserve neither life nor victory will not save yourself. There is only one victor in the Games."

"I guess you missed the part where a whole district can win," Sam replied nastily. "I don't care what you think of the others. You're a monster."

"Only in your dogmatically-narrow point of view, dear girl," Vespasian's voice slithered across her soul. "But I can see inside you. I see that kernel of anger and frustration that craves an opportunity to arise. You feel weighed down by those you feel obligated to protect, burdened by a perverse sense of justice arising from championing the helpless. Throw off your shackles. Forget those who would only get you killed. Take your place beside me – and you may even bring Odair's son with you. He is the only one who gives you credit. Leave those others to rot as they may – and we will weed out the chaff as only a real alliance can."

Sam gaped in shock. "You want me as an ally?"

"Look around you," Vespasian repeated with venomous intent. "I am accompanied now but by a trio of well-trained lemmings. But I see you…and what you may so lack in their physical prowess, you sport in a capable mind. The Hunger Games are not a contest of strength or vigor; they are a battle of wills. Don't lie to yourself any longer. Embrace the side of you that craves the power of taking a life, Samantha. Join me."

Sam stumbled over her thoughts, anger flooding her system. "I…I don't want to be allied with you! I don't want anything to do with you! Stay away from me, you monster!"

Vespasian laughed cruelly. "As you wish, Samantha. You'll come to realize the truth in the words I speak. You'll want what I offer."

He turned around, locking eyes with her for just a moment too long before strolling off towards the gymnasium as Sam's stomach flopped over. She hated his incessant glare, his artificial, inhuman voice, his sadism that came out with every word. Yet something more about him – about what he had said, about the points of her he pointed out – scared her far more.

She did want an opportunity to prove herself again – and something about Vespasian riled her up just enough to hunger for action.