President's Office

In the years past, the Capitol had taken extra precautions when it came to the arena.

They wanted to make sure that it was as escape proof as possible since there had been attempts of escape every so often. And as the years went on, the gamemakers had to find new ways of preventing such a thing, and it wasn't always easy as they always seemed to be one step behind. There was always a new flaw to be found, and if the gamemakers and arena technician didn't find it first, the tributes or the rebels would more than certainly find it and use it to their advantage.

They didn't need to just fear the tributes inside the arena finding a weakness in the arena's fortifications that they could exploit, but they also had to worry about the interference of rebel forces outside the arena. Outside the Capitol and withing the Capitol itself.

Acely had seen many news articles where victors, or people pretending to be them, would use their status to infiltrate their way into the homes of influential Capitol figures. Those figures thought that all they were going to have was a fun time in the sack. What they ended up getting was a brutal interrogation by the peacekeepers after the rebels were finished with them. Real peacekeepers. The ones that had been born and raised in District Two and were subjected to the rigorous peacekeeper training that they were required to pass in order to become a peacekeeper.

Sure there were some Capitol citizens that choose to become peacekeepers for various reasons, many of which were due to them becoming in dept to the Capitol because of reckless spending or some other money related issue, but they weren't true peacekeepers. Not in Acely's point of view. No. The Capitol figures that she had seen become peacekeepers had gone through a different kind of program. A softer training program that taught them basic discipline and minimum survival and gun play techniques, making them, in her opinion, nominal peacekeepers.

She had heard those types of peacekeepers being called hollow and polished clay statues by the true peacekeepers. When she asked one of the peacekeepers what it meant, he told her that the hollow statue part meant that those Capitol citizens completed an incomplete training program, yet, wanted to be place on a pedestal because of what they had to go through. The polished part meant that they still had to regarded as peacekeepers even through how little training and how unskilled they were, and clay was a District Two slang that meant weak. And even though al that, they still wanted to be treated better than those that were within the district. Like they were used to.

Acely felt as if she understood the peacekeepers more than she understood her fellow Capitol citizens due to her role in the Capitol. Because if they wanted to earn something they had to go all the way and not just half-ass it, yet be arrogant about it.

So as President Booker and Head Peacekeeper Of The Armed Forces, Mr. Beo, discussed about the precautions that would be taking place in case of an emergency, Acely listened closely. Because more than likely the tributes or the rebels would try and disrupt the games.

Since the escape attempt during the third quarter quell, it had became standard for the quarter quells to be considered a high risk year for rebellious acts or escape attempts. And for good reason.

During the fourth quarter quell, with the seventy fourth and seventy fifth annual Hunger Games still fresh in their minds, along with the second rebellion, all the tributes decided to rebel against the Capitol by refusing to fight. One by one they were torn apart by mutts until only one remained. The victor offed himself in one last rebellious act that steered people a little, but it wasn't enough for another rebellion to occur. They were still recovering from the scars of defeat and didn't even have to moral to rise up and rebel.

When the fifth quarter quell came around, the tributes that were reaped were between the ages of nineteen and twenty seven. It made the tributes within the arena smarter, stronger, and more mentally grounded than teenagers. But that proved to be a problem when twenty six year old Techa Blassmere from District Three found a way to remove her tracking device, even with the improved upgrades and fail safes that Capitol technicians installed within the devices.

The gamemakers were unable to track her, and it disrupted the games as they tried to stop her from escaping until she meet her end by the District One female.

For the sixth quarter quell, eight times as many tributes were reaped. It pushed the Capitol to the limit, but it promised more bloodshed and a longer game. The audience was pleased, but the gamemakers, escorts, and the president at that time were under constant pressure as they had to look out for one hundred and ninety two teenagers within the Capitol and the arena. And when the games finally came, it was a heavy chore to monitor close to two hundred tributes.

Then one eighteen year old, Sparrow Enrick, from District Ten, got the smart idea of finding every camera he could before bashing them to bits with his mace. Not only that, but he liked to move at night as well and would seemingly dematerialize during daylight hours, making it even more difficult to terminate him. Mutts couldn't stop him, the other tributes couldn't seem to find him, and he seemed immune to all the traps the gamemakers threw at him. He was the bane of the Capitol's existence until he was finally eliminated by a synthetic cyclone that also took out twenty other tributes.

And for the seventh quarter quell, the one where siblings were reaped. Fifteen year old twins, Chrome and Fender Stevens from District Six, made it to the end when the gamemakers told them that only one would be allowed to leave. The two of them, remembering the threat that Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark had done a century ago, they, without hesitation and without warning, stabbed each other in the neck.

Fender died in the arena before Chrome was rescued in time to be named the victor. But Chrome killed himself before he even made the train ride back to District Six.

Acely was now wondering what could happen this quarter quell. She didn't know, but it looked like President Booker wasn't taking any chances as he and Mr. Beo were going over plan after plan. Seemingly endless scenario were being played out and discussed, and when there wasn't an absolute solution, they would make plans to minimize the devastation. And to her surprise, the two of them would occasionally ask her for her opinion, and they actually seemed to listen, saying that an outside perspective might give them a fresh outlook on the situation.

Acely was impressed and in awe. Those two men held so much power in their hands, and yet, they seemed to be the ones that were under the most stress with maintaining order. Just like how President Delta was before President Booker.

Looking at the president and the head peacekeeper, Acely noticed that, physically, neither of them seemed to have gotten much sleep. There were dark bags starting to form under their eyes and they seemed to have that sleep deprived look in them and they would occasionally yawn. But they both seemed to be just as mentally sharp as if they just had a full night's rest, disregarding an occasional off trail of words.

While the president and the head peacekeeper weren't able to cover up the physical facial fatigue features, Acely was at least able to cover her's up with minimal make-up.

President Booker's desk was filled with coffee mugs that were both empty and not with stacks of paper on it. All of them, however, were pushed to the side to make room for the spread sheets of paper that he and the head peacekeeper were looking over.

Acely almost felt guilty about getting a full four hours of rest every day, feeling the effects, while the president seemed to be lucky to get two, but he said that if he were to go down, someone in a more complete state of mind would need to handle things in his temporary absence. Acely didn't know if she'd be able to do what he was doing, but she knew that he had a point.

Acely briefly looked at the president's kids, who were playing pretend with their pink tea set, low table, and little chairs. They were quiet, out of the way, and most of all, respectful. Acely couldn't help but let out a little smile. She wondered if she could get her son to grow up like that.

"Mr. President!" A voice shouted an instant after the doors to the office loudly swung open and seemed to crash into the wall, startling Acely, but not Booker and Beo, who Acely noticed, merely looked up from their spreadsheets. No knock or anything. Acely thought with disgust as she wiped the startle off her facial features. As she looked up to see who it was. It turned out to be Servius, the head gamemaker. Figures. "We've got a problem." Acely heard the president sigh.

"What is it?" He asked like he hadn't rudely barged in without even a warning.

"The tributes have escaped the tribute tower!" Servius answered, to which Acely felt herself gasp. How could they have escaped? She wondered, hoping that her surprise didn't show too much on her face. President Booker, who had remained calm the entire time, simply rolled up some of the spread sheets as head peacekeeper Beo did the same. Booker handed Beo the ones he had rolled up before Beo placed them all under his left arm.

"Looks like we've got our work cut out for us this year." Peacekeeper Beo stated calmly.

"It appears it does." President Booker replied, equally as calm.

"If you need anything else, peacekeeper Thorn will be of assistance, sir." Peacekeeper Beo told Booker before he snapped to attention and gave him a crisp salute.

"Thank you for your time," Booker replied as he also gave a snappy salute. And though it wasn't required for Acely to do so, she saluted the Head Peacekeeper Of The Armed Forces out of respect, something that baffled the peacekeepers at first as no Capitol citizens besides former and current presidents along with Capitol peacekeepers did. The former out of respect, the latter because they were required to. "Best of luck, sir." All three of them placed their right hands down before Peacekeeper Beo turned on his heels and walked to the office doors. "How many tributes?" Booker asked, flopping into his chair and taking a sip of now lukewarm coffee, staying as calm as possible. Acely did the same, even though she wanted nothing more than to strangle Servius and the escorts.

"Seventeen." Servius answered.

"How did they escape?" I wonder if it has to do something with alcohol and escorts.

"They apparently disguised themselves and walked out the front door! Because when I questioned the avox security, they said that they thought that it was the escorts and a few of their friends!"

"Please reframe from shouting." Booker stoically told Servius as he took another sip of coffee, his enlarged teeth occasionally scraping the ceramic. "So how long ago was this? Have you alerted the public? Have you sent any peacekeepers to find them?"

"Actually Mr. President," Servius said with a smile on his face. "We got a call from a server girl from a nightclub called The Sinning Temptation, and she told us there were some customers there that looked and talked uncannily like district citizens. Not to mention that there are a few of them that looked underage as well. She sent us a pictures of the group, and it turns out, it's our tributes. I told her to keep them distracted until the peacekeepers arrived for them."

"Excellent." Booker said as he continued to drink his coffee. "I don't see why you needed to come in here though, I was in the middle of a very important discussion with Mr. Beo before you interrupted us." One that means the security of the arena. Acely thought. And one that would have made your job a lot easier.

"Yes, well," Servius said nervously as he cleared his throat. "They... Well... Sort of... Escaped... Again."

Acely felt like face palming, but continued to stand on the side of the president's desk in an almost stony manner.

"Well you better find them soon," Booker said in a way that sounded like a father gently warning his child of future consequences. "The game start at ten in the morning. My suggestion, send out some peacekeepers and have them sweep the area, put out public broadcasts asking the public for assistance, find the direction they headed then track them from there."

"Yes sir. Um... One more thing before I leave?"

"Go ahead." Booker said with a low wave of his hand, gesturing him to continue.

"My fellow gamemakers and the arena techs are wondering why you're so sympathetic towards the tributes."

"What makes you think I'm sympathetic to them?" Booker asked.

"Well for one, you kept us all from drinking alcohol during the training days, and during the private session, and the interviews. In fact, you're keeping everyone that's working on the games from drinking and doing drugs. Not only that, but you're making us study the tributes and making us submit reports to you on why we want to give the tributes our desired scores? What the hell is that about?"

"Ahh, I see." President Booker said in understanding before he stood from his desk, replacing his empty coffee mug with a half filled one. "Why do I not allow you to drink and do drugs on the job? Why do I ask you to submit reports on the tributes and make you research their home life? The answer is really quite simple." Acely wanted to know why he was doing that as well, and listened carefully. "The reason is that I don't want all of you drunk, or high, or both, while you're studying the tributes during the first few days is because as I've seen and heard in recent past, and from the words of President Delta herself, you all focus more on the drinks, foods, and drugs, than on the tributes. You miss out critical information on them that could tell you if they're a fighter or not. If they'll kill themselves after they become a victor or not. While observing the tributes you're too wasted to see their potential. And when the private sessions come, you're too drunk off your butts to even see what the tributes are doing sometimes. Especially those from districts ten and above. I remember hearing about a boy from Twelve that scored a three when he really deserved a seven, or a boy from eleven that got an eight when he deserved a four. There have also been sponsors that have been getting mad at us for not seeing the potential in some tributes and over estimating some of the others."

Booker took a sip of coffee before he continued. "Also, in the arena, you need to be on the look out for what the tributes are doing. You can't concentrate on working on hundreds of cameras when you can't even focus on your hands shaking. Weren't there times where you missed a critical conversation from a team? Or missed a death of a tribute because you were drunk or high on something? Not only that, but this is a quarter quell, so the arena and the tributes need your up most, undivided attention. Rebels and troublesome tributes always find their way to disrupt the games in the most annoying and damaging way during a quarter quell. And if someone like Techa Blassmere or Sparrow Enrick were to appear again, you'd need to be clear headed and prepared."

President Booker then gulped down the rest of his coffee. "If I had my way, I'd ban drugs and alcohol before, during, and after working hours because I don't want my arena surveillance teams hungover when they have to rotate into their shifts. But I knew that you'd all act too childish if I did that."

"Drugs and alcohol are part of our work!" Servius screamed out, seeming to ignore the president's request to keep it quiet, and ignoring the message he was trying to pass up. "We have to stay up for hours watching tributes wander around aimlessly, or talk about pointless shit, or whatever it is that kids do. We have to endure their whiny attitudes and their teenage drama. And we're expected to put on a good show for the public, so we're constantly under pressure. So what if we want some wine or something else to help us get through the day?"

"First off, volume." Booker said in a still stoic voice. "Second, language. Third, Mrs. Vadess is working just as hard, if not harder, than you on a near daily basis and she hasn't done any kinds of narcotics or drank any alcohol during the time since the reapings came, nor has she complained about the lack of those substances once. You on the other hand, your hardest part of the job is to make sure the games go well and the tributes fulfill their roles for less than a month. Outside of that, you occasionally inspect the progress of the building arena and the mutts while ordering those that do the actual building and genetic modification around. Beyond that, you and your gamemakers think up ideas for a new arena and mutts, and you have an entire year to, to simple terms, dream up ideas."

"But-"

"We can always find a new head gamemaker if you don't like following my regulations." Booker said firmly, but not in a threatening kind of way.

"I don't like these new regulations." Servius grumbled.

"You can submit a complaint into the suggestion box attached to Mr. Booker's door," Acely told the head gamemaker in a relaxed tone, not wanting to listen to some self-important, high ranking Capitol figure, complaining anymore. Especially when there were more important things to get done and a better use of time rather than this. She knew that if it were allowed, it might continue on for hours. She knew from experience that it happened more times than she cared for when she was under President Delta. "It will then be read and submitted for review." Along with the rest of the complaints from the other gamemakers and those inside the surveillance room.

Acely then saw Servius glare at her.

"I think you're getting a little too big for those shoes there, Ace Badass." Acely hated that nickname, and she was pressing her teeth down hard to hold back a comeback.

"That's Mrs. Vadess," President Booker reminded him. "You and your gamemakers may have a different kind of work environment, but you will retain a degree of professionalism while you are around us or others."

"Yes, Mr. President, sir." Servius said with the maximum amount of bitterness he could get away with along with a mock salute. "Mrs. Vadess." Neither of them saluted back. Servius then turned and walked out of the office. But before he got out of the door, President Booker spoke again.

"I expect the tributes to be back before they need to be transported."

Servius gave a wave, telling him that he acknowledged the message before he left the office and closed the door behind him. Acely was thankful that he was finally gone, but thought that President Booker was letting him off too easily. That, and she didn't appreciate the sass he had just given. "Mrs. Vadess," Booker said as he gathered all the coffee mugs and placed it on a plastic trey. "Will you please take my children to the mansion? And take the rest of the night off. We're going to have a big day tomorrow."

"What about you Mr. President?" Acely asked.

"I'm just going to take another look at the arena blueprints and the plans of engagement if the tributes or the rebels try to disrupt the game." Booker answered. "If I find anything I'll contact peacekeeper Thorn. So spend some quality time with your boyfriend and your son, I have a feeling that this quarter quell is going to be as hectic as the previous ones, and I know how much family matters."

"Of course, sir. If I may ask, won't the kids want to visit their mother?"

"Visiting hours are closed until the games are finished." Booker answered.

"Visiting? Hours?" Acely asked, wondering what he meant by that.

"Yeah." Booker sighed. "She's staying in a psychiatric care facility."

"Can I ask for what?" Acely asked, curiosity getting the best of her.

"Dementia." Booker answered somberly.

"I'm sorry, sir." Acely sincerely told him.

"It was the risk I took when I married someone eighteen years my senior." Booker answered with a light chuckle. "Anyway, Mrs. Vadess, enjoy the calm before the storm."

"You as well Mr. President. Come on little ones." Acely said to the kids before they did as they were instructed by their father, and followed her to their nightly retreat.

"Behave yourself for Mrs. Vadess, will you." The president told his kids.

"We will!" The kids said a little too loudly, but neither of the adults minded, as it wasn't in a hostile tone.

Acely took the kids out of the office and closed the door behind her before she let out a sigh. The nickname, Ace Badass, a name she had gotten when she was still a teenager, still irritated her to this day. If you didn't know why she was called that, it would have sounded like a cool nickname, but Acely knew that it was more of an insult than anything else.

To her peers, because she didn't want to sex, drugs, and alcohol, and instead, focused on her future, they called her a uptight and boring. And because she was getting good marks in her school, usually flooring everyone else, they called her Ace. And because they thought that she thought that she was being a badass against them for not following the typical crowd, that earned her the name Badass. It also didn't help that it was close to her real name.

She knew that it was stupid, but it continued to get to her, not stopping when she got out of school and continuing into her twenties and within the work place. And her position of being the secretary of two presidents in a row didn't help any.

And her dedication to her work, it's what drove her son's father away from her. Because she wasn't as spontaneous or, in his own words, fun, enough, for him. Turned out he was seeing someone else on the side, someone that was more his type than Acely was.

She had been devastated at first, but now she didn't even care where he was or what he was doing. She had moved on and found someone else as well. She hoped that her new man would be more faithful. He didn't seem to mind her strenuous work schedules and didn't seem to mind that quiet and homey life that Acely offered when she was off work.

Acely knew that she was going to have to spend some quality time with her boyfriend and her son tonight, because come tomorrow, she wouldn't be seeing them for a long while, because even with the games wrapped up, there was still much to do in the office. And when she would finally get back home, she knew that her bed was going to temporarily be her best friend.

A/N: This chapter was surprisingly easy to write.

Which quarter quell rebel was your favorite?