Hey everyone, Paradigm of Writing here with a brand new chapter for Bombs and Bullets, Chapter #27: War's Plague. This is a chapter following the Capitol character viewpoints in the next leg of the journey in terms of fighting in or against the Phoenix Rebellion. Last chapter brought the end our poor and precious Sophiana Delarosa from District 5, as well as bridging certain groups of tributes together. As I am sure the world knows, our entire society has been slowed down due to the corona virus, and my schooling is permanently online till the remainder of the semester, which means I should hopefully have a lot more time to type if I don't burn myself out lol. I hope you all enjoy Chapter #27: War's Plague.


~ And so sayeth the Lord, count your blessings every day, for you do not know when someone will steal them away from you and say you lost them for yourself.

Master of Ceremonies Pollux Aetos P.O.V


Vanya hisses, clenching down on Pollux's arm, beads of sweat slowly trickling down his pale face, having gone almost the color of Constantine's heart, an invisible sheen, as Cambric towers over the ballet dancer, a bundle of gauze held in his left hand as he slowly starts to wrap it around his arm. It had all happened so quickly, he still has no true understanding of what actually took place during that rally, and Pollux attests to himself that he has always been able to see fairly well and understand a room. Somehow he misses seeing the shifty character in the back during the kid's speech, and simply hears the gunshots, the splatter of scarlet, and all the screaming. Their Peacekeeper escort back to base, with Vanya whimpering in pain, as Pollux keeps the pressure down on the wound, trying not to puke in his mouth, has a grim face. He asks him, politely, in private, when Kevia, Cambric, and Rennie take the boy from Eleven as to the sadness coming from someone generally so stalwart.

Their escort knew the man he shot and killed, a close friend, and someone with different ideological beliefs.

Pollux cannot believe he even asks the follow-up question that he does end up blurting out. "Why would you be friends with someone who thinks radically different than you?" It is the glare that keeps him from asking another question, instead hightailing it back to the infirmary. It isn't much, with only twelve beds and a few machines along other sorts of equipment, but it is not going to be enough space to house any of the forces actually sitting in the bunker right now, or the army collecting outside on the outskirts of the city. Pollux isn't sure where the people inside the room actually even went, as his mind is focused on Vanya, Vanya, Vanya... the tribute is the most important thing in all of this, but he knows that shouldn't be what is the actual case, as their case is fighting a war against tyranny. Keeping the eighteen tributes - seventeen, actually, Pollux notes, when he sees that there's some face crossed off the list on the screens outlying the city, the girl from Five, which has Bloom and Sage swearing under their breath - alive is something they've wanted - actually, it would've been all of them, his mind snidely tells him - since the beginning, but Bonnie dying and going up in flames is the main goal.

Not the souls that followed and tagged along.

"But we let them..." Pollux whispers to himself, running a finger through a loop of thread that came off of the jacket he's dressed in during the scuffle and run away. Hale, over in the corner, looks over at him with a frown, but doesn't press any other statements. Vanya clenches onto his shoulder again, nails digging into his clavicle. Cambric finishes wrapping up the shoulder, and the intensity of the room seems to settle down some as everyone collectively takes a breath, stepping away from the situation and giving the teen some space. Pollux doesn't even think about what it is he's doing, by applying pressure onto the wound, until he removes his hand and sees the vermillion run-off, and realizes for the first time in his life he's had physical contact with blood. He's never been a reckless dare devil who slips and scrapes his knee, or decides to go jumping off of a high place and skin his elbow, let alone break a bone.

Valencia finds him when they return, all in a panic, and she's by his side immediately seeing the blood. "Pollux?" she takes a deep breath, blue eyes searching for the injury, her head shrouded in shadow. They share the same color, he notes, seeing her dark locks. "Pollux, you're- are you hurt?"

"It's not my blood," his voice is much more hoarse than he expects, as if he has been the one doing all the screaming for the last hour and a half. However, the moment he says he isn't the one hurt, Valencia throws a towel at him and then heads in the direction of the infirmary where everyone else had been heading, the victors hot on the tributes heels, for it seems to be the tributes who are the most concerned. That's the first question Sage asks.

"He died, right?"

"He better have," Bloom grumbles, crossing her arms.

"Yeah," Vanya exhales woozily, leaning on Cambric for support. "He got shot in the head."

"Good," Ciphra grits her teeth, and Pollux is surprised by the bloodthirstiness that seems to creep from the girl. "I hope it was painful." She is a far cry different from the spazzy and intelligent girl that sits on his stage just twelve hours ago, dressed in cashmere and silk and polyester, a decadent rainbow pouring down from the spotlights, and that delightful twinkle in her eyes is a cold one now, set in stone, gritty, and perilous. The tributes are all like that, and Pollux remembers how Cambric's interview went, with his spooky admission. To see him be so caring in front of him... he doesn't quite know what to think of it.

Pollux runs a hand through his hair, it still damp with sweat from their run. He swears he feels like there's a legion of Peacekeepers behind them, but there's nothing but Vanya's ragged breaths and their boots hitting the floor as they run. However, all the interviewer can focus on is the possible blood trail they're leaving in their wake as they run, and what is going to mean for someone who thinks to go their way. He breaks away from his thoughts, as Pollux realizes he started picturing the trail in his head, shining copper in all of those dampening golden lights stuck to the ceiling, and his gaze falls on Rennie, who is hanging in the back corner of the room, arms crossed over his chest, and his head bowed so his chin is close to his sternum. Their leader arrived in the infirmary almost immediately as Vanya is placed onto a hospital bed by Sage, but he doesn't move from his position, nor has he opened his eyes. He holds his tablet close to his chest, and Pollux isn't in the mood to translate currently.

Cambric sets the medical kit aside, as Sage and Bloom immediately cross over to him, Ciphra hanging back closer by the group of victors. None of them know what to do, as Pollux can see that on their faces; these kids aren't theirs and the condition of only caring about whoever you're mentoring has sunk deep into their veins. Valencia's expression is the closest one Pollux can see, as just a year ago... she had caused wounds just like the one in Vanya's shoulder, and definitely those that end worse.

"How are you feeling?" Cambric asks Vanya, and Pollux switches spots with the medic, who has seemed to take up most of the space in the little crevice granted to them.

"Like my body just got shot," Vanya replies, rather lamely.

"Because you just did," Sage snorts, and she rolls her eyes, auburn hair pulled back into a tight bun.

"You weren't followed, right?" Hector breaks through and into the front of the group, but his question is directly sent to Pollux. He had never gotten to interview him, he thinks to himself, ignoring the question. His victory had been before his time, just by a couple of years.

"No, we weren't."

"Are you sure?" Lance urges on the concern, bringing his eyebrows together.

"If I say we weren't followed, we weren't followed, okay?" Pollux says, with a sharp edge to his voice.

However, his confidence in that statement isn't even his own, but in the guy who's name he doesn't catch, someone who disappears into the armory level of the base, and hasn't come out since. He can hear the thudding of something beneath his very feet, perhaps a punching bag. He reminds himself to go and ask the man what his name is, for he really did save his life, and it hasn't occurred to the interviewer on quite that level yet. He's been shot at, sure, and now, thanks to their fearless leader, has gotten to see detonations before his very eyes, but that moment there, in the abandoned building... it's an assassination attempt.

Is it weird for him to feel that he is honored in such actions?

"No one's saying we don't believe you," Hale ventures, ever the peacemaker - "Yeah, okay," Pollux's mind laughs at him, "She's the woman who nearly killed Kevia in broad daylight over blackmail." - as she steps forward some. "But, obviously, we're not in any position where being tailed is a good thing."

Rennie steps away from the corner of the room, turning on his tablet, and he begins going at the keys, everyone's attention turned onto him. Pollux has his gaze constantly flit back and forth between Vanya's shoulder and the gauze surrounding it, which has started to turn crimson relatively quick, and the spastic firing away as Rennie's fingers scatter across the keyboard. He pauses for a second, raising an eyebrow, which is blonde as well, to match his hair color, but Pollux thinks he's going to go back to the auburn color again, as there's no need to hide any longer, before nodding in assertion with something. Rennie turns the tablet around to face the group, Pollux reading it immediately.

"They made a move, by pulling the kill switch. I detonate the bombs. They blow up the training center. I bring an army to their feet. They shoot Vanya in the shoulder and have Seth try and kill Valencia..." A lump forms in Pollux's throat, but it seems someone else beats him to the punch.

"A game of chess," Kevia whispers, bringing a hand to her neck, curling it into a light fist. "They react, we react, and they react back harder," and she lifts her head up. "That means we're the ones to push back," and that has her raise an eyebrow, lips curling into a smile. "What do you have planned?"

Something flares up in Pollux's chest, an irritation almost, which has him go to scratch it away, All of these plans made on the fly, where Rennie seems to be improvising based on how the wind seems to hit his extended pinkie finger. He's supposed to be the Avox's second in command, yet he is finding out all of this information the moment everyone else is too. Where's his insight? Where's his needed opinion on warfare and battle strategies and the best way to get rid of the tyrant in power. It's not as if he's made an effort to have his voice heard. Just sticking by the wall seems to do it for you, my dear Aetos, you tapeworm plastic idiot.

Rennie's smile matches the same level as Kevia, while his fingers go away at it. "We bring the fight to them. We gather those forces and join up with them, and we battle."

"Battle?" Hale echoes the word, a look of mystery crossing over her face, but Pollux can't read it. "Where?"

"Gamemakers Square."

"Gamemakers Square?" That has Valencia furrow her eyebrows together as well. "Why there?"

"Every battle needs a stage, wouldn't you agree?" Rennie is the one who signs that, but it seems to be just for the victors, who nod their approval, while the five collected tributes have frowns on their faces, unable to read the sign language. Pollux makes a note to grab a copy for each of them, in case they'll need it. This is the one thing Pollux does know about, however, when thinking of insight, something the two of them spoke about earlier in the morning, around the four A.M time when the kids went to bed, after bringing them to safety, or as safe as they could get.

Pollux makes his way to the center of the room, clearing his throat. "As I'm sure you all were going to ask," as he can see out of the corner of his eye, Sage opening her mouth to rebuttal with something. "Yes, we've assigned roles for you guys if we were to leave and battle. Sage," he addresses her first, and she locks eyes with him. "We knew you'd be a fighter, as Head Gamemaker Fallorne told me how strong you were, and that you threw the axe at her... you'll be fighting. Cambric," he jumps to the medic, "We need medics, and you know what you're signing up for. Vanya would've gone with us, but due to his injury, he'll stay behind to help Ciphra with whatever she needs..." he does not know the specifics, but Pollux sees Criston speaking with the girl from Three over breakfast about some sort of complicated electronics system, an idea that totally flies over his head. "And Bloom... you'll be staying behind too."

"What?" the girl from Twelve cries out, she getting to her feet, and Sage about to back her up. "You're going to keep me from the fight?"

"Not that we don't think you can't fight," Valencia overrides the hasty impatience as quickly as she can, holding a hand out to soothe the tensions in the room, "But Rennie had been scouting you out for a reason. You spent every day for a year straight trying to get people in Twelve to join hands against the Capitol, but you said it never worked," a solemn nod comes from Bloom's side of the room, she locking her jaw, and Pollux swears he sees tears in her eyes. "You were never punished because District 12 has had the fight beaten out of them, and they've always been lax in the Peacekeeper department..." and the victor from the last Quarter Quell lifts her head up triumphantly. "But we've heard your voice. Just because people in the districts joined us here doesn't mean there still isn't a fight out there for them. And they're going to need a voice."

Bloom takes a step back for a moment, completely at a loss for words, as Vanya squeezes her on the shoulder comfortingly.

Rennie sighs, rubbing at his brow. "I want to catch Bonnie off guard, if that's even possible. We'll mobilize later tonight... so for now, I suggest catching up on your sleep as much as you can. Pollux and Criston will be staying behind, while the others will be fighting too... and I'll be heading the charge," That is news to Pollux. Rennie, leading a group to war, a man who cannot even speak, taking up the heralding call for the voices of many. If he dies, what would they do? A voiceless martyr? Do those even exist?

"Wait, you're forgetting someone," Ciphra buts in, but then as everyone looks at her for her to continue, for she rather blurts out her statement, a faint blush settles on her cheeks. She composes herself, smoothing out the edges of her training uniform, having ditched the blood soaked one in the laundry. "What about Seth?"

How could he forget about Seth? The boy from Five... and the one who tried to stab Valencia in the heart for... something, though that reason has been undisclosed.

She puts up a good point, however. If everyone marches off to war, there's still an alleged murderer and criminal locked up in a cell just a few floors down from them, sitting away, and preferably, Pollux doesn't mind having him rot away, but by how Rennie brings a hand to his chin, frowning, and then his eyes flit back and forth between the interviewer and then all the way over at Bloom, whose neck has started to tinge scarlet at the base, Pollux's heart begins to beat faster in his chest.

It looks like there'll be some unfinished business he must attend to.


Hale Cornerstone: Victor of the 87th Hunger Games P.O.V


She's sitting on the edge of her bed, comforter and sheets rolled up into a bundle pressed against her back, and she's shaking her leg against the floor, chomping away at the cuticles of the fingers on her left hand. Hale presses her right hand against her neck, feeling the thrum of her pulse against her palm, closing her eyes, sighing. She would lie up against Arizona and do this, all night as a matter of fact, while he'd push curls out of her eyes, or kiss her on the nose. The little things like that, the things she can remember about him, when eventually even those memories will fade, brush strokes dissipating on a veneer of superficiality. What would the Capitol take after her husband, and her children? Hale isn't saying she doesn't value her life, but it is beneath the other parts of her that matter. What do you destroy when there's nothing left?

Hale reaches behind her pillow, holding tight onto the blade that she placed there. There aren't any sheaths or coverings in the armory for her to place the blade into, so she's going to have to do without; she shouldn't even have the weapon in the first place, but what people don't know won't hurt them, right? Rennie and Pollux gave her the exact cover she needed, and the perfect reasoning to explain how the other party will react. Arianne and Elias need her, Hale holding back a choked sob. What had been the last words she ever spoke to her children? Their real last words? Calling out for them in the train station with Bonnie's goons holding them back is not the same thing as physically speaking to her flesh and blood, suntanned and dark haired, bright eyed and wide smiled... what was it?

"I love you," she tells Arianne, her daughter, older than Elias, a near spitting image of her. "Without the bloodthirstiness," Hale says aloud, removing herself from the memory. Her daughter is a beam of sunshine, with a cute smile, pigtails, and a love for daises and daffodils. Elias is Arizona's twin, practically, a headstrong attitude, a bucktoothed grin, and the perchance to go on wild adventures with a dosage of reckless behavior. Hale wouldn't trade them for the world; she'd do anything for them, as any mother would for their children, or otherwise they're lying and saying that they're parents when they're really not.

The victor runs a hand down her left arm, getting to her feet, her mind going back to the blade. She thought about taking a pistol from the armory too, but she's never fired one before, and the last thing she needs to do is draw more unwanted attention to herself. Her name will be on plenty of billboards, and plenty of mugshots, and plenty of other signs to look for a dejected victor from a bygone era. She hates to call herself that, a bygone and forgotten member of society, but even as a victor, once the spotlights dim on your name in about six to seven years, people cease to think you exist. Hale is okay with the idea of people believing she no longer exists, for it makes what she wants to go and do a lot easier. The victor grabs the blade by the hilt, pulling it free from behind the cover.

It has been a long time since she's held a blade in a manner of self defense. It has been a long time since she's seen the copper spill from pale flesh via her own machinations. What does she say to Kevia, a year ago, in the Viewing Center? "Stay away or I'll kill you," Hale recalls herself hissing at the older woman, someone she thought she could've counted on as a friend. Thinking about it now, Hale bursts into laughter. It is the first statement that comes to mind back then, a threat with no teeth, as she knows that she doesn't have it in her to kill anyone anymore. She's seen enough death to last an entire extra lifetime, as her district partner in the arena busts a kid's head open with the blunt end of an ice pick, rather than the sharp point, or how her arch-nemesis, the girl from Four, spears her district partner through the back of the head.

She grimaces away from the mental images, shuddering, and physically pushing herself away from the bedframe. Hale hears a voice, a male one, down the other end of the hall, she fretting back and forth between sitting down or staying still, as the blade is in her hands. The victor leaps forward to place the blade just at the edge of the bedspread when Hector rounds the corner, coming just into view. Her heartbeat slows down some as she takes in full view her brother-in-law. He's gotten himself cleaned up with a shower, wiping the blood away and out of his hair, charcoal black underneath the grime of the bunker walls, eyes a bit brighter than the morose syrupy color she's seen the last few days. There are parts that will never heal, however, as she sees the bruises that line up his arms, or the faint cuts she sees that line the insides of his hands, or across the jaw and around the eyes.

"There you are!" he exclaims, perhaps a bit more happy than what is necessary, but she smiles, crossing the room and hugging him. He's the closest thing to family she's got, with her kids so close, yet being so far away. She hopes he doesn't look over at the bed; he'll know immediately, and he won't forgive her. None of them will forgive her, let alone understand, for what Hale is preparing herself to do. "I was just going to get lunch and then try those spears again. Do you want to join me or..." Hector's voice trails off, as he then looks past his fellow victor, eyes narrowing in on the knife sitting out.

"Yeah, sure, let's go!" she pipes right back at him, with the same matching intensity, going to move past him. Hale breaks through the doorway, one hand circling around the outer edge, before pausing to a standstill. He is not following her, Hector stepping further into the room. The victors have been granted single rooms for any that can be found, though Kevia has decided to bunk with Lance and give Valencia her room. Hale doesn't expect any of them to be staying there for long as is, but Rennie and Pollux have their projections for how long the rebellion could take charting all over the place. Four days, six weeks, three months... Hale hopes it errs somewhere on the smaller side of the scale, for there are only so many apples and cans of beans to be had. "Hector?" she asks, venturing back into the room.

Hector takes another step towards the bed, reaching out to touch the knife, but he pauses, his hand hovering just above it. He looks back at her, and a pang runs through her, and she'll never be able to get the heartbroken look out of her head. "You're gonna leave, aren't you?" She doesn't respond, looking over to the side. This is something the Merviere brothers have always shared with one another, an undying need to question, question, question, and never let anyone just be. "Hale, answer me. You're going to leave, right?"

There are no doors to close for the rooms, Hale peeking out into the hallway to see if there's anyone there to eavesdrop on the conversation. She walks right up to him, gritting her teeth together. "That witch has my children somewhere, Hector," she's trying to keep her voice down, to hide the venomous edge that is threatening to appear. "Fighting against her and ending the Hunger Games is amazing and all, but I am not going to have my kids become sacrifices for this war," tears threaten to spill again, as she feels a lump rise in her throat. "I've already lost my husband, Hector. I can't lose them," and then, as she realizes it while speaking, "I can't lose you either."

"You aren't going to lose them," he tells her, but he leaves one hand resting on the railing for the bedframe, Hector placing a finger under her chin. "And you aren't going to lose me either. I promise you."

She knocks his hand away, going back to sit on the bed, holding the blade by the hilt. "Don't promise me anything here, Hector," Hale locks gazes with him, and he breaks it first, looking down at the floor. "Not in this hell. Promises don't come true here. They never did."

Hector runs a hand through his hair, but Hale can see that he's shaking, shaking badly by how hard his fingers tremble when tussling through the dark strands, a black seaweed forest, before his hand falls limply back to his side. "You're really gonna go, huh?"

"Hector, I have to," Hale argues, getting to her feet. "And Rennie has provided the best opportunity. Gamemakers Square?" she knows how pretty that locale in the center of the city is, with a towering statue built to be like a globe, golden rings locked in combat with other, and a shimmering sphere of silver held in place by gravity in the center. Hale can picture the streets all torn up, smoke billowing from the center of the stature, and all the bodies, bodies of her oppressors. "With everyone focused on the battle, Lazarus in the battle, and with Bonnie and Constantine focused solely on it..." she grips him by the wrist. "It's the perfect opportunity."

"You don't even know where they're being held-"

"I am sure I can find out for myself somehow," she says pointedly. Hale gets one last look around her room, nothing more than a fifteen by ten size cube. Stark gray walls fading and chipping away, revealing an puke olive green underneath it. She's been living in cramped spaces for the last two weeks, a prison cell and a bunker; the locations are alike. It might be the last time she even gets to sleep in a bed, now that she thinks about it, a chill running across her arms. She grabs the blade, holding onto it tight.

She tries pushing past Hector, as saying goodbye would be too painful for her, as she's going to get her children back come hell or high water, when he grabs her by the wrist, stopping her from leaving again.

"You aren't going alone," he says, after she looks at him with a smirk on his face. Hector has always been good at smirks. Hale rips her arm free, frowning at him. Threatening him away with a knife s not going to be the smartest decision she can make, but she considers it briefly, just for a second, what Hector would look like with a blade sticking out of him. It is the virtue of a victor, after all, the thought of seeing murder out of every situation once comes across. "You go in there by yourself, you're surely dead."

"You're not going-" she starts to argue, but that's a losing battle before it is even waged.

"Not going?" Hector scoffs, and then extends his arms wide. "Look at me, Hale. You think I'm prepped for battle? That I can survive a warzone?" he shakes his head in dissent, and Hale tends to agree. She knows him, her brother-in-law did kill people in the Games at eighteen, sure, but it still scars him, as he can picture the barbed wire bleeding the last remaining tribute out, tainting the wire and grim and dark copper. Hale pictures it in her head too, as she's seen a rerun of his Games before, laying in bed waiting for another arena day to start. That had been her, shortly after her victory, laying in bed and watching other victors games. It had been a morbid routine for her, one she's happy she's stopped. "I lost the fight in me a long time ago; I'm not fit for something like it. And... you'll need backup."

Hale knows that if she left without him, he'd try to stop her. If he tries to stop her and fails, she doesn't want to think about the burnt bridge she's created from that moment of stupidity. If she leaves, escapes, and survives, Hector is telling the first person who'll care to listen, and that's a bigger mess than anything she'll need in her life. She closes her eyes, leaning up against the wall, swinging the knife back and forth. "Fine," Hale agrees, through clenched teeth, after a moment's peace. "I won't stop you."

"Good," he tells her, crossing his arms. "That still doesn't do anything about us not knowing where to go."

"Luckily for you," a voice interrupts Hale, as she opens her mouth to say that it doesn't matter, for she'd follow a mother's intuition, but the familiar feminine voice cuts her off first. "I know where they're being held," and someone steps out of the shadows and into the light of the doorframe. "And luckily for you, I'm coming along."

Hale takes in the sight of Kevia Janelle, fellow victor in arms, her blonde hair laid against her camo jacket and battle uniform, several blades attached in hilts and sheaths at her sides, and in her left hand, a pistol, the grime black paint of it blending it with the shadow backsplash of the hallway. Kevia has her arms crossed, leaning in the doorway, smirking, as Hector gasps.

"No," Hale immediately cuts in. She's not sure if it is because it's Kevia of all people volunteering, or because she doesn't want anyone else to die on her watch, with her in the lead. "Kevia, I can't have-"

"Save it for someone who cares," Kevia holds a hand up, silencing her fellow victor. "I'm gonna go with you and that's final," a shadow of doubt flashes over her face. "I'm not so sure if it's all my fault that this started, that all this came to pass, but I know I did play a part in your kids falling into Bonnie's hands," Somehow, though Hale is surprised she is capable of doing it, Kevia finds her eyes, and the gaze is steely, held together, no signs of tears forming. "Bonnie made me cover their eyes when she threw Arizona in front of that train," Hale flinches at the sound in her head, the screeching of breaks, and how Arizona never even gets out that last scream. What were his last words? What were the last things he said to Elias and Arianne? "So, yeah, I'm going, and that's final."

"Kevia!" Hale groans out loud.

"I said save it," Kevia insists, stepping further into the room, holding out one of her blades, handing it to Hector. "Do you have a game plan?"

"I know a safehouse," the victor from Two points out, picturing it in her head clearly. That is, if it's still standing at the end of it. "Rennie wants the battle to happen tomorrow, right? I'd say we head there now, and then tomorrow during the fight, we head to where they're being taken..." she pauses, frowning, looking at Kevia. For the first time, her body doesn't want to itch from being so close to her. "Where are they being held?"

"An annex wing in the back of the mansion. It's fully furnished and they're being well taken care of," Kevia answers, but she blinks, realizing her mistake. "But with Bonnie I imagine that doesn't mean much," Hale nods in approval, thinking of the annex wing in the mansion. She's seen it before, when Bonnie is pregnant, and they're turning it into a nursery. Her kids are in a nursery? That isn't too far. Kevia furrows her eyebrows together, at the earlier part of Hale's statement. "Safehouse? Hale," the victor from One tenses. "Please tell me it's not the place I'm thinking of."

"It- it's the same one," Hale winces, as Kevia rolls her eyes, but poor Hector standing in the corner, trying to figure out how to hold the knife, looks at the two of them in confusion.

"You just had to, huh?"

"I did," she responds back enthusiastically.

Hale does everything in her life because she has to.

Saving her children is one of them.

Slitting Bonnie's throat open from end to end in a ruby red smile follows it.


Lazarus Pietro: Head Peacekeeper P.O.V


This has turned into quite the day, quite the development. Lazarus has focused himself on his breathing exercises to keep his head on straight. There's a lot happening in front of him, as he watches their commander-in-chief slowly start to crumble bit by bit. He holds his tongue, however, for he knows that if he says anything she'll hit him again. He is supposed to not to touch her back, to touch any dignitary figure if they're to strike him, as it is written in his contract when he signs up to be a Peacekeeper. Lazarus had spent his time going back and forth to being a Peacekeeper in the Capitol, and the Head Peacekeeper of District 2, although home for him would only be a few months out of the year, sharing the spot with a woman whose name he's forgotten, as she died of an accidental case of malaria just a few years back. Lazarus remembers Calhoun promoting him just shortly before the end of the Quarter Quell, and all Lazarus can think about his the sturdy hand gripping onto his shoulder.

He's forever in debt to the Rodney's, and no matter how vile he might find Bonnie to be on certain matters, she's his boss, and what she says goes.

Such as the fact of him pointing a gun at the two people standing in front of him, quivering and latching onto each other. He tries to suppress the grin he has on his face, but it is one of the moments where he gets to take his helmet and look at people straight in the face. It is part of Bonnie's orders in fact, for their victims to see exactly who is holding their life by a precipice, to directly stare into the gaze of those who could end their pathetic, worthless lives. Lazarus may or may not have added that bit at the very end, for their lives are worthless if it is has all built up to someone betraying the place that provides them said life. He doesn't understand the concept of rebellions, at their very core. Lazarus understands fighting back and standing up for oneself, easy enough, and maybe bending the rules when one can... but this is different.

He has objected to having this be out in the open, though, since any of those in the Phoenix Company can come free any second and destroy whatever is in their line of sight. Lazarus is surprised that the tall order Bonnie wants already exists, that it just needs to be moved into place, and it is by the time they arrive, the hostage with them crying out in anguish and pain, that girl from District 6, Amaris, having to pinch a nerve ending in his neck to keep him from falling over himself. Rodric Oxford, their prisoner, as Bonnie changes the rules the moment the armada appears in the sky. It blindsides him too, as it does her, that the mute who screws his sister has the ability to rouse up the crowds. He is on the phone all morning, assembling and sending out the Peacekeeper squads in the districts to keep the peace, but everything has collapsed into hell in a handbasket.

The live feeds of the districts, all across Panem, is pandemonium. All production has come to a crippling halt, for in every district, and yes, even Two - "Those traitors!" Lazarus screams at the screen. - where there are citizens fighting the Peacekeepers in the streets. He can only give out so many orders and send so many squadrons to put down quells in the districts, for he needs every hand on deck for the fight happening here. Which is where Bonnie's next instance of the plan comes into play... to snag the members of those who can physically affect the groups collected in the Capitol. Enter, Exhibit A, Rodric Oxford. Lazarus sees him shaking from atop the gallows on stage, a noose that has not been tightened yet hanging limply around his neck.

Lazarus is unable to see if he's crying or not, but it'd only make him want to tell Aris Lindel, the ever ready to be useful District 2 lad - "Of course he's from Two," Lazarus smiles to himself, as those from Two are always ready to lick the boots of the Capitol, to lick them clean - to pull the switch that would drop the floor out from underneath Rodric. He would be able to hear the neck snap from where he's standing, and he'd drink in the violence into his veins, or the screams from the couple standing in front of him. Getting them there had been easy enough, Bonnie sending a messenger with a surrender flag down to the other end of the city, to bring back the father and mother pair to the mansion to witness the spectacle of the year before their very eyes.

The gallows are perched high on the stage, a wooden staircase leading up to the top of them, the only occupants being Rodric and Aris. Bonnie is standing down directly in front of it, dressed in a gorgeous vermillion dress, perhaps a bit too flashy for a public hanging, but he thinks she looks good in it, for as good as it can be. The city is quiet, Bonnie instilling a lockdown on all residents for the time being, and he can hear the groans from their disgruntled citizens, as everyone would be filling the streets to watch the Games take place, but everything has been brought down to a standstill. Lazarus is standing on the sidewalk, off of the self constructed stage, gun leveled in his hand, another squadron of Peacekeepers standing locked arm in arm behind the pair in front of them, batons out and ready.

All on her orders, should she give them.

"Mom! Dad!" Rodric cries out, but his pleas towards his parents fall on deaf ears, as Lazarus locks eyes with the Oxford's, ranch owners from Ten, and two people who've admitted to leading a sizeable force in their stead, five hundred strong at least. The father looks over at his son for a brief moment, fear wide and apparent in his stare, but the wife grips his hand tighter, keeping his gaze steady on Bonnie. That's correct, Lazarus admires in his head, to keep your eyes on the prize, on the one who is able to kick the cradle over if she chooses to.

Bonnie doesn't have a microphone on, nor would she need one, as she decides to sit down directly in front of the Oxford parents, her legs swinging back and forth, a cherry sweet smile painted on her face. "Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Oxford. How are we doing today?"

"Go to hell," the man hisses at her.

Lazarus tightens his grip on the pistol. He should shoot his brains out just for speaking at her like that. Bonnie purses her lips, frowning at him. He's seen that look before, a salty tang hiding behind the president's icy glare, partially hidden behind a layer of grief. The woman clenches onto her husband's arm tighter, digging her nails in. Bonnie makes a cooing noise in her throat, priming like a snake ready to strike. All Lazarus needs is an okay to do so, and he'll squeeze the trigger and watch with glee as their bodies flop lifelessly to the ground. He punishes himself in the dark hallways on the way to the presidential bunker after the bombs go off in the mansion, trying to not gasp as he dives the blade deeper and deeper into the sole of his foot, scraping away flesh like butter spread over too much bread. He should've taken the shot at Rennie when the window of opportunity is open to him, but now he'll never know.

He won't hesitate to fire again if it comes to that, to destroy whatever he needs to. To destroy whoever she tells him to, without question. "You'd shoot yourself if she asked you?" the voice inside his head asks, similar to that of his father, but also blended with that of the president - the old president, he reminds himself - as Calhoun's cadence is warm, always. "Absolutely..." Lazarus whispers to no one but himself. Loyalty to those who breath life into your lungs is the loyalty that'll save you from burning in hell everlasting, to join the sunlit skies and the ivory walkways and the air that smells delectable. He is to be rewarded when kingdom come hails onto Panem from above.

Bonnie runs a finger over the edge of the stage, biting on the inside of her cheek with a minor frown. "That's no way to speak to a lady, Mr. Oxford. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Right," the wife interrupts, before Rodric's father can do anything or cause any more trouble.

"Just listen to what she wants!" Rodric yells out from his perch on stage, straining in his bonds, hands tied behind his back, but Lazarus knows Aris would jump at the opportunity to educate his little hostage. "Please!"

"I'd listen to him," Lazarus speaks, probably interrupting over the president, who looks at him a bit sharper than he expects. Amaris bristles over in her corner, being one of the occupants in the Peacekeeper section, but she's preferred to be unarmed for this encounter.

Bonnie hums her approval, continuing to run her finger along the edge of the stage. When she brings her fingers up, close to her face, her left pointer finger is stained a charcoal black, having picked up some of the runoff that made the rubber edge that she touches. The president frowns, rubbing her fingers together, and a pillar of the material sifts between her touch, and Lazarus watches it fall. She looks over at the Oxford's. "Your son is being smart, and I suggest you do so too, sir," and the father swallows heavily. "I invited you here for a reason, Mr. and Mrs. Oxford. Your son up there is a pleasant guy, I'm sure, and charming on all accounts, but I have no problem disposing of him as needed, nor do I have a problem with disposing you as needed..." she gets to her feet, kicking away from the stage. Lazarus feels goosebumps erupt on his arms; goodness, he loves when she speaks like this. Authoritative, and how the leader of Panem should speak. "I just rubbed ashes off of my fingers, and ashes is all that will remain if the war you've been enlisted in to fight ever gets off the ground," she is up and in their personal space, not budging an inch. "I am asking you to stand down, you and your forces from District Ten," Bonnie tightens her smile. "If you do that, I promise you, on my word, that I will spare Rodric and send him back to your care. The forces you brought with you will be free to leave, or they can assimilate here into the Capitol as best as they can... and if you do this, I am sure the other districts I am planning to ask will follow suit to your example."

It is the best deal he can think of. With Constantine disappearing - "She didn't disappear," Bonnie tells him, picking dirt out from under her fingernails with a toothpick - to her underground cave to play with mutts, mutts that Bonnie will need, he's her next line of defense, the next line when it comes to stratagem and plots and such. Bonnie wants, initially, to execute everyone and not leave room for mercy, but Lazarus has seen firsthand that this lack of mercy creates the rebellious flames stoking before them, and the flames that threaten to infest the platinum streets of the Capitol. Amnesty can be offered to a majority of the district citizens that have flown in to fight for Rennie's pathetic cause. Perhaps not pathetic enough, Lazarus mulls, but not in his head, that is has people flying from all over to combat some sort of regime... but no mercy will be offered to the Capitol constituents that participate, for they've squandered the ability for peace.

"You can't just-" the father begins to pipe up again, but Rodric's mother latches onto his shoulder this time, as hard as she can, almost tugging him down to her level.

"Dad! Just do what she says!" Rodric screams again, and Lazarus looks at him. He thought he had been an impressive looking tribute, stepping off the District Ten train with that equally as intimidating district partner of his, only to prove to be a disappointment every step of the road. Fear is in his eyes, fear and uncertainty. A pathetic mix. He's no real man, to be standing up there, as he isn't fighting for his life. He's pleading for his life.

"What's it going to be? Your son's life? Or your people's?" Bonnie raises an eyebrow. "If you refuse my offer, I'll kill him. I'll kill you. I will slaughter every single District Ten citizen I can lay my hands off if I must to bring an end to this rebellion, and so no more ashes spread," the president lifts a hand and flings a few of the flecks of black dust at the parents. "What will it be?"

It is not a moment of hesitation, as the mother almost leaps for Bonnie's own arms. "We'll stand down! We'll surrender! Just give us Rodric! Give him to us, please!"

Lazarus presses a finger into his earpiece that has been nestled in said space for as long as he can remember. He taps it twice, sending a signal back to base; a technician there will relay the message to the second in command for the District Ten forces, a direct wired link between the two.

The woman didn't even give up a fight. Lazarus almost snorts at her desperation; how can someone fight in a rebellion or a war and not stand by the principles they want? Over their son's life? One life out of how many?

Bonnie nods her head, keeping the slick smile on her face, Lazarus tightening his grip around the butt end of the pistol. He'll finally get to use it.

She turns her back on the collected group in front of her, to continue her walk back to the base, back to the mansion. "Thank you for your cooperation," and then, with a slight pause hanging on the air, "Go ahead, Aris! Drop the lever!"

On the gallows, Rodric screams bloody murder, trying to break free from his bonds, trying to rip the noose off of his head in a lasso motion. Both of his parents process the information just delivered to them, their eyes widening, and both looking directly at their son; Lazarus keeps his own directly on them. Aris flips the switch, and the panel underneath Rodric's feet falls free. The tribute from Ten slips into the slot allocated for his body, his breath going out in one quick swipe, Lazarus hearing the clean neck crack from here. His body kicks out in futile measures, but the deed's been done.

The mother screams in terror, and the father makes a leap for Bonnie, but he's an idiot; he'll never get there.

Lazarus paints the cobblestones with the Oxford's blood and brain matter, all while keeping an eye on Rodric's body locked in the throes of death, a pulsating cerulean ring appearing around his neck, eyes wide, bulging out of his head. Aris is looking directly at his fellow tribute, a wide grin on his face, but as Lazarus looks at Amaris, her gaze is focused on the street.

It doesn't matter, as Lazarus towers over the dying bodies of the Oxford paternity, firing another two shots for good measure into both of their heads.

War's plague doesn't discriminate.

It comes for all that taste its foul and begotten seed.

And Lazarus will take up the call no matter the occasion.

Long live the Queen, right?


17th: Rodric Oxford, 17, District 10 Male. Killed in the rebellion via hanging. Created by Alexcias. Ah, Rodric, Rodric, Rodric... you lovable man, you were only ever a piece for Vivian to combat, and a pawn in someone else's game; they're playing chess while you're playing checkers. I truly liked writing you, but your time would be limited in the hands of someone as vicious and vile as Bonnie, where promises are a dime a dozen, and keeping those promises rarer than a blue moon. I think you were a good combatant to Vivian's brashness and fiery temper, but like all things, it consumed you too. The second true casualty in this war, sadly, and there'll be plenty more on the horizon. Rest well, Rodric; I'll miss you.


Tribute List (Boy - Girl)

District 1: Cyril Barther [Submitted by thorne98] / Satin Spinel [Submitted by Mistycharming]

District 2: Aris Lindel [Submitted by Grimbutnotalways] / Maren Johnson [Submitted by Crashed Ice24]

District 3: Ciphra Longsdale [Submitted by Flammifera]

District 4: Anahita Cascade [Submitted by Reader Castellan]

District 5: Seth Cables [Submitted by Nemris]

District 6: Ponty Carr [Submitted by Queenofinsanity] / Amaris O'Hara [Submitted by LiveFreeOrDie]

District 7: Sage Dagoba [Submitted by AlexFalTon]

District 8: Cambric Vogel [Submitted by dyloccupy]

District 9: Jason Lacey [Submitted by ilvidis]

District 10: Vivian Whiplash [Submitted by SetFiresJust2WatchThemBurn]

District 11: Vanya Vasiliev [Submitted by TheMayflyProject]

District 12: Mirek Bosco [Submitted by curiousclove] / Bloom Estrada [Submitted by LordShiro]

...

Capitol Cast of Characters

President of Panem: Bonnie Rodney

Leader of the Phoenix Rebellion: Rennie Davis

Master of Ceremonies: Pollux Aetos

Victor of the 100th Hunger Games: Valencia Shale

Victor of the 79th Hunger Games: Lance Viel

Victor of the 92nd Hunger Games: Criston Pellock

Victor of the 87th Hunger Games: Hale Cornerstone

Victor of the 77th Hunger Games: Hector Merviere

Victor of the 84th Hunger Games: Kevia Janelle

Head Gamemaker: Constantine Fallorne

Head Peacekeeper: Lazarus Pietro


Alrighty folks, that was Chapter #27: War's Plague, a continuation of our rebellion from the Capitol character perspective. This chapter as a whole suits to be that tributes can and may die during Capitol chapters, not just during chapters from their own perspectives. I am very satisfied with this word count, haha, and I don't feel like I overdid it. I needed to get through this one, as, even though I say this all the time, 28 is where we're really gonna be picking up speed.

Vanya is injured, Rennie has assigned roles for everyone but there's an anomaly in that of Mr. Seth Cables from Five. Hale has her own plans and agenda, and it looks like Kevia and Hector are going to be tagging along for the ride... and Bonnie has crippled some of Rennie's team, though who knows how much damage she might have actually done, with the murder of Rodric despite people breaking into her terms. She will do whatever she can, and get rid of whoever she can, in order to win this. Fair Bonnie Rodney has left the building, but I'm not so sure she even existed in the first place.

Next chapter, #28: Stepping Up to the Plate, I want ready by the end of the month, the 31st, which is a Tuesday... so nine days from now, which I feel is entirely feasible. It'll be from the tribute perspective again, another group of faces to get their first POVs in the war-time setting, which will be fun. We're getting close to that big blowout I mentioned (looks around suspiciously) but we've got some more hurdles to jump through. Please review; it'll mean the absolute world to me. I am very excited for what is to come. I hope you all have an amazing day! I love you all so much! Bye!

~ Paradigm