Chapter 73: Ajax Slayte

The young pup, as Brutus and Polonius and even Gunner liked to call him, stepped nervously onto the roof of the Training Center. Every last one of the three mentors just mentioned would kill him if they knew what the gathering up here was really about. But when Finnick Odair, of all people – practically a Career himself – had put out a very veiled feeler to him during the Star-Crossed Lovers' Victory Tour, Ajax had finally decided to lean into all the contradictory feelings that had been bubbling up inside him since his earliest days at the Institute.

It felt at once exhilarating and terrifying, breaking the rules and for the first time now acting like a patriot. A patriot, a loyal Two who got wind of this would have gone straight to the President immediately.

Except Ajax didn't want to be anywhere near the President now. He had put on a convincing face when he and Gunner (who had mentored him in one last ring around the horn, Brutus as his second) met with Snow during Ajax's own Victory Tour not quite eighteen months ago.

Emerging onto the roof of the Training Center, Ajax could clearly see that he was one of the last to arrive. Legends congregated here – a precious few of them still living celebrities for sixty years or more. Others were the twice-condemned, Reaped for this farce of a Quell. In the little mental Venn diagram Ajax had just created in his head, both Mags Flanagan and Woof Rayon fell into the little sliver in the middle. Ajax's heart ached for them both, but especially Mags. She had been kind to him, on his swing through Four, even when others like Ron and Ariel and Marina refused to display the same kind of sportsmanship. Ajax didn't blame them, of course. Being branded the loser coming out of a Top Two was always a tough feeling; he had seen how it felt somewhat shadowing his mentors last year, with Cato. A heartbreaker, it was called, and Marina's pupil had been a worthy opponent. But they still had Annie Cresta as a recent female Four Victor, though Ajax knew it probably didn't dull the pain.

Eyes narrowing into slits as she took him in, Johanna Mason distrustingly folded her arms. "What's the newbie doing here?"

"It's all right, Jo, we can trust him," Finnick called to his dear friend, his sea-green eyes silently asking the question of Ajax once again, just to make sure that was still the case. The young man – 18 years old, old enough to still be Reaping-eligible – nodded firmly back.

"Well, I don't trust him," Johanna stewed.

Finnick softly gripped her arm. "Do you at least trust me?" His voice was soft, holding Johanna's eyes as she gazed up into his. At last, the last living female Victor from 7 tightly nodded and even balanced on her tiptoes to platonically kiss Finnick's cheek.

"You know I do."

"I…. I should be there, going back in with the Twelves. Not Brutus." Ajax's eyes filled with tears as he remembered how his name had initially been called to return to the arena, and how Brutus had shoved him aside and volunteered. How he, Ajax, stunned, had tried to protest the change, not let it stand, only for his one mentor to wrestle him down low with only a look and told him to shut up if he knew what was good for him. Now in the truly awkward position of having to help mentor a man twenty-seven years his senior, a man who had helped him, so that he, Ajax, might learn the trade, the young man felt he couldn't just stand by and do nothing. Brutus might be OK with it, even excited to go back (he had told the media as much at the train station), but Ajax wasn't OK with it. He never would be.

Poseidon Waverunner, Victor of the Sixteenth, was now standing at the head of the group, clearly anxious to begin. "Is he it, then? Shall we begin?" Poseidon remembered being there in that conference room over four decades ago, when the Victors had assembled under Maximus's leadership to prepare for the possibility of civil war as the presidency changed hands. The oldest male Victor from Four didn't feel worthy of the responsibility placed on his shoulders. Unlike Maximus, who had come before them all, he wasn't the earliest-winning Victor still living, nor even the oldest. But Mags's strokes had left her unable to talk, Woof couldn't hear anything without the assistance of a hearing aid, they couldn't trust either Amber or Gunner (who wouldn't stand for this if they knew about it), and Xander… Poseidon blinked back tears. Suffice it to say, it was therefore up to him to lead, and he would just have to suck it up and do it.

There was a low undercurrent of chatter still from his brethren.

"Can we start already? Is Volts even awake?" Johanna – always ready to dish out the snark.

"Where's my other trident?"

"It's not yours, Ariel, it's mine – give it back!" Finnick groused.

"What, so you can just return it to the Training Center before they realize you stole it?"

Viscera, the old lady from Ten and one of the mentors this year, was smirking. "You know, this would be the moment where Guernsey would say something like, 'It's mine, give it back, give it back, OK, OK, sweets!'"

"Really not in the Snowdamn mood for jokes, Holstein…"

"If we're done bickering, are we ready?" Poseidon called for order.

"We're ready, Sea God! Let's do it!" Poseidon winced at Finnick's given nickname for him, but still gamely turned to the wizard ace from Three.

"All right, Beetee: …. Turn it on."

Beetee turned on a little device which, to Poseidon, looked shaped like an egg, and was about the same size as one. The white-noise amplifier (that was what Beetee had called it) beeped green.

"We're a go," Beetee murmured grimly. "There are no cameras placed on the roof and now with no chance of audio recording, we should be fine…"

"Poseidon, get on with it!" Johanna huffed.

Poseidon booted up the mobile projector stand he had smuggled up from his quarters on the fourth floor. He had placed in an order for one to be waiting in his rooms while they were still on the train, and the request had been granted without question. Mentors were allowed whatever tools they needed, within reason, to help prepare their tributes. It also helped that Plutarch was really good at pulling strings and getting shit done.

He began his presentation by beaming up a picture of the very first Victor himself. As the pressing of the clicker heralded a new face each time, Poseidon read the names off in memoriam:

"Maximus Decimus Meridius. Acacia Ivy-Fonio. Dell Fonio. Vulcan Bronzedrop." He noted how no one dared to boo the Cowardly Career's name anymore, as had sometimes occurred up until fairly recently. "Guernsey Hyde…" A keening sob came out of Lamb Chop's mouth before she clapped a hand over it, leaning against her wife. Everyone else shuffled and looked at their feet. "Shrimp Pescal. Wolfmark Redpath. Savera Inchcape. Lucy Gray Baird." Ajax's eyes gleamed with interest. He had never seen even so much as a photograph of Twelve's first Victor, even just to prove that she had been, in fact, real. Considering who was largely responsible for why they were here in the first place (even if the blame was misappropriated), he wished he knew more about the mysterious Victor from the Tenth.

Poseidon continued. "Xander Chip. Peppa Cornac. Indigo Weaver. Leif Sequoia. Androcles Lupton. Sapphire Villeneuve." The images ended. "These sixteen died servants of the Capitol. I can say with confidence that nearly all, if not all, would be furious by what the President is making us all do. And all of them would want us to fight back. So, to honor their memories, that is what we have to do – fight back. Because we're Victors, and we know how to fight." He turned back to Volts. "Dr. Latier, if you would please go over the plan for everyone present."

Beetee did so, and as Ajax listened to it, it's crazy, it's bonkers, but it is also just insane enough that it just might work. People being deployed to go back in with Everdeen and Mellark were given out their assignments, some of them volunteering for the more risky jobs. Finnick tipped everyone off about how he was let in on a plot, a threat to Everdeen, coming from Angus Rathbone and Lumen Helio, who are both bound again for the arena, resent it, and have thus gone rogue and targeted the Girl on Fire. As for Ajax himself, his job is to try, through sponsor gifts, to keep Brutus plied with life-saving supplies in the hopes that might steer him away from the Twelves. Ajax's gut churned with how it felt like a betrayal, but for the sake of what could possibly happen should they succeed, he would do it. The worst fear he had is if Brutus is still alive and rescued during the break-out. What might happen once he learned how his tribute turned against him.

But Ajax figured he'll just have to learn to live with it, and face that issue when and if it ever does arise.

"Is everyone clear on what they're supposed to be doing?"

And the boy who will turn out to be the last victorious Career ever of the Hunger Games is clear. He has his marching orders. And a Two, a patriot (which means something different, something better now) follows orders. Ajax now saw Snow's conniving face dance in his head.

"Yeah…. Let's go get this son-of-a-bitch."