Back to Capitol POVs. This is where things really start moving. I thought of a pretty cool concept for the Capitol arc, at least I think I did, and this is the true beginning of it. Everything else up to this point has just been setup/character introduction. So here it is.

Howard Malterk Head Peacekeeper: 45M

Tuesday Morning 11:00AM
Time Until Bloodbath: 5 Days 21hrs

The most powerful people in Panem all sat in this room. Howard was one of them, which still felt odd to him, even after ten years of service in his current position.

In the seat to his immediate left was Valora Brightfall, the Head Gamemaker, and one of Howard's closest allies in the room. They were aligned when it came to their proposed measures of handling threats to the Capitol. There was only one option, overwhelming force.

Though young and somewhat inexperienced, Valora more than made up for her shortcomings with her intelligence and ambition. She was one of the most intelligent people Howard had the pleasure of working with. The only other person whose mind rivalled Valora's was Cornell Viktor, much to Howard's distaste.

He could not possibly quantify his hatred for that man. Viktor was illegitimate, just a pretender. He had no true value as President, other than to stand in the way of seemingly every piece of legislation drafted by the senate. He simply vetoed every incoming bill, stating that a problem could not be solved by the creation of laws.

Frankly, it annoyed Howard that Viktor was so damn smart.

Sitting next to Valora was Lyla Stryka, a junior senator, only twenty-eight-years-old, but one already holding a tremendous amount of power in various important committees. Her beauty was beyond compare, and Howard counted himself lucky to have seen that beauty up close and in all it's glory. And all meant all.

Raj Mansoor sat across the table, long gray hair flowing down his shoulders like a gentle cascade over small pebbles. His face held a confident and seemingly irremovable smirk. He held the position of Senior Intelligence Officer, the head of Panem's SIS, Secret Intelligence Service. Howard didn't like that name. It obviously wasn't very secret, given that it had its own acronym, but the general population didn't know it existed, which was good.

Then, there was Devo, a giant of a man who acted as Mansoor's bodyguard. Light reflected off his bald head. From what Howard was aware, Devo was a high-ranking agent in the SIS. He held a bit of a reputation as a ruthless son of a bitch.

Finally, sitting at the head of the table, was the man who brought them together. He hadn't done so himself. It was Raj who assembled this meaning. The man at the head of the table was unknown to Howard, which was unusual. He knew almost everyone in the Captiol. Valora didn't know him either, and she knew everyone.

"I'm going to assume there's a purpose to this Raj, because frankly, I have better things to do than meet with IT guys," Howard said.

The man at the head of the table did indeed look like an IT guy. He was of slight stature with a birdlike face and small beady eyes hidden behind square plastic framed glasses. He was dressed like a college professor with a tweed suit and ugly green pants, and at his side was a briefcase.

"Well, I wish I could tell you exactly what was happening," Raj said. "But I don't even know what this was about."

"Then why the hell are we here?" Howard questioned aggressively. "I do have things to do Raj. I have a life you know."

"A life doing what?" Lyla asked. "Sleeping with hookers and club girls half your age?"

"I seem to recall that you were one of those girls not too long ago."

"I called Raj here, and asked that he invite his most trusted confidants, with the intention of making the world a better place," The IT guy said.

"Alright Raj, you're a good friend, but I'm done, this is too weird," Howard said.

"Relax Howard," Raj placated. "I think you might be interested in what he has to say."

Howard eyed Raj with a deadly stare. If this was something about a charitable organization, Howard was going to be pissed. He didn't trust the ability of private organizations to solve nationwide problems.

"Fine," Howard grumbled to himself, then he turned to the IT guy. "Who the hell are you?"

"I…well, it's rather complicated," he said. "But you can call me Mr. Finch."

Mr. Finch spoke in a slow meandering way, like he was intentionally steering the conversation away from topics he did not want to discuss.

"What's this all about?" Howard asked.

"Six years ago, I watched the attacks against the District 3 political district," Finch said. "Those attacks spread to other districts, then to the Capitol itself. I remember the train station bombing like it was yesterday. I was at work, and I didn't even know it happened until that night when I got home."

The bombing was a well-known incident. A few anarchists, mostly from District 10, had snuck their way into the Capitol and rigged explosives to go off in the Capitol's biggest train station. When the bombs went off, all but one of the anarchists were killed, along with almost three-thousand Capitol citizens.

The act obviously struck fear into the hearts of all who witnessed it. Resentment toward the districts rose to an all time high, and increasingly, the outer districts grew less and less trustworthy.

"What I saw made me wonder, how could we know if we were safe?" Finch questioned. "How could any of us know if we were safe, when at any given moment a bomb could explode, killing thousands? I watched peacekeepers scrambling to discover the roots of the attack, but the attack had already been committed. Even if they found the perpetrators and the men behind them, they couldn't reverse the deaths. So, I wondered if it would be possible to prevent another attack before it even occurred.

"I created a system that could track every piece of digital information. Every phone call, every text, every email, every online chat post, my machine tracks all of it."

"How does this help us?" Valora asked. "It's all very interesting, but how does your machine help prevent further tragedies?"

"It can determine which individuals are likely to commit violent acts, and you can stop those violent acts before they happen," Finch said.

"How do we know it works?" Howard questioned. "How long do we have to stop them."

"My machine is never wrong, and the function is rather simple. All you get is a number. That number points to a person likely to be involved in a violent act."

"What kind of number?" Raj asked.

"I'm sure you can work that out," Finch smirked lightly. "You do work in intelligence Mr. Mansoor."

Raj looked at Finch with slight suspicion, mirroring Howard's feelings. He didn't see the purpose in any of this.

"What's in it for you?" Lyla asked, apparently thinking the same thing Howard was.

"Need I have a personal motive?" Finch replied. "I am simply doing my civic duties."

Finch's gaze appeared totally innocent, guileless. If he was lying, Howard would be shocked. He hadn't even seen hardened criminals lie that well. It frustrated him. He couldn't discern the truth in Finch's statement.

"No personal motive? I wish I could believe that," Lyla said. "Unfortunately most people aren't like that. They always put self before service to their country."

"No need to worry Ms. Stryka," Finch said. "You can trust me."

"And how can we be sure of that?" Howard questioned aggressively. "I don't know anything about you. Why don't you tell us who you are? It would make me feel a hell of a lot better."

"I'd prefer that you didn't ask. I'm a very private person."

Howard threw his hands up in the air in frustration. He was about done dealing with this Mr. Finch. The information he provided was limited, and there was no one to corroborate his claims.

"Y-" Howard started, incensed, but was interrupted by Raj.

"What's the catch Mr. Finch?" Raj asked. "You told us you have no personal motive in turning this machine over to us. Am I to understand that your system comes completely free?"

"Yes, I am handing it over to you free of charge," Finch answered. "It's yours."

"How do we know it works?" Devo spoke for the first time.

Finch smiled enigmatically and removed a slip of paper from his suit pocket. It was neatly folded, befitting the man who placed it on the table. At the top of the paper was a ten digit number: 774902344. What it meant, Howard wasn't exactly sure.

"The machine supplied this number this morning," Finch said as he stood from his chair.

Without speaking, he turned from them and walked towards the door. He tottered from side to side, limping heavily.

"Mr. Finch?" Raj spoke up, holding the paper between his long fingers. "How does this help?"

"I gave you all the information you need," Finch said, stopping at the door. "I'm sure with you can figure it out, even without your vast resources."

Then, the door slammed shut, leaving them alone, and Finch disappeared back to wherever he had come from.

Cato Arsinius District 2 Mentor: 51M

Tuesday Night 10:30PM
Time Until Bloodbath: 5 Days 9hrs 30mins

"If we have to wait another minute, I'm going to piss my fucking pants," Anaiah complained.

"Relax," Cato replied calmly. "No need to panic yet."

"I'm not panicking," Anaiah shot back. "I have to pee. I didn't go before I left the apartments."

"And whose fault is that?"

Anaiah grumbled, her hand twitching, probably because she needed a fix.

"You're lucky I don't punch you in the face," Anaiah said.

She definitely needed a fix. Anaiah Logan was usually antsy, but not nearly to this degree.

"At least we're going somewhere fun," she grumbled.

"What about going to the club is fun?" Cato responded.

"You can get fucking wasted," Anaiah laughed. "Then it doesn't matter that your life's a living hell because of some elitist douchebags that wanted to watch you fight twenty-three other kids to the death."

"Hey, keep it down," Cato whispered harshly. "You don't want the peacekeepers to show up and arrest you."

"Why would I be worried? I've got the most badass man on the planet watching my back."

She punched him in the arm and the line moved up slightly, bringing them ever closer to the entrance of the club.

Eventually, after bumping into multiple rowdy customers who had pregamed way too hard, they finally gained entry to the nightclub.

Inside it was loud and bright, Cato squinted to shield his eyes from the epilepsy inducing strobe lights. Anaiah made a beeline for the bar and promptly necked a double shot of vodka.

"Anaiah!" Cato called. "Come on. We need to go to the back. Don't get drunk before the big meeting."

"Fucking whatever," Anaiah replied as Cato strode up next to her. "Another one for the road," she ordered the bartender.

The bartender with sharp black eyeliner poured out another double shot of vodka for Anaiah. His fingers handled the bottle with the utmost dexterity. Cato figured he'd had the job for quite a while.

"And one for my friend too," Anaiah added, almost as an afterthought.

The bartender turned his lazy brown eyes towards Cato who shook his head slightly in the negative. The bartender poured out the second shot anyway.

Anaiah lifted the shot glass off the bar and thrust it out in Cato's direction.

"Have a little fun why don't you?" Anaiah urged. "I don't want your face to freeze up in a permanent scowl."

"It already is," Cato said, still eyeing the shot glass dubiously.

"Oh come on. It's not like you're at a funeral," Anaiah said, taking his hand and forcing his fingers around the shot glass.

She stuck her own glass out expectantly.

"What should we toast to?"

"To you not fucking this meeting up too badly," Cato said, clinking his glass against hers.

"I'll drink to that," Anaiah said eagerly throwing her head back and gulping the vodka down.

Cato neglected to mention that she would probably drink to anything.

He placed his own shot glass back on the bar and grabbed the partially inebriated Anaiah by the wrist, pulling her towards the back room.

"Hey, you didn't drink," she said indignantly.

"I know," Cato replied easily, not slowing his stride.

The back room he was looking for was blocked by a set of thick double doors and two large men in dark suits. Both carried pistols openly on their hips.

"We're here to meet Mockingjay," Cato announced, holding tightly to Anaiah's wrist to ensure she wouldn't make a mad dash back to the bar.

"You're Cato?" One of the guy's asked while the other spoke into an earpiece.

"I am."

"Who's she? A newbie?"

"More or less," Cato said.

"Alright, you're clear," the second guy said as he stepped up to check Cato for any weapons.

Cato extended his arms while the guy patted him down quickly and efficiently. When he seemed satisfied that Cato was unarmed, he moved to Anaiah. The dark-haired woman's head lolled to the side with an easy smile while the guard frisked her.

Over the course of the next few minutes, the guard removed multiple knives from Anaiah's clothes. He seemed rather annoyed.

Cato shot Anaiah a questioning look while his companion merely shrugged carelessly.

"A girl's got to stay armed."

"Got anymore weapons I should know about lady?" The guard questioned.

"One more knife in each boot," Anaiah answered tiredly.

Cato sighed and shook his head.

Finally, they were allowed entrance to the private lounge in the back. Already waiting were many faces Cato recognized. There were the mentors from District 4, Alexandros Minades and Mikaela Latour, there was Ivan Barnett from District 7, Wayne Erikson from ten, Echo Tiller from eleven, and Yew LaBrie from twelve. There was also one face he hadn't seen here before, Ophelia Charleston, last year's victor from eleven. Echo must have brought her along.

Then, there were their two Capitolite sponsors who were deeply unaccepting of the role that the state had taken. Anthony and Freja von Brandt made their money in the banking industry, but also spent large portions of money on charitable donations to help the needy. As all donations were controlled by the Capitol government, it was incredibly dangerous to run a private charity, punishable by life in prison if not death. Yet, the von Brandts soldiered on anyway, striving to help the less fortunate as well as they could.

With them, they brough their personal assistant slash ass kicker, Eduard. He was an avox who had somehow found his way into service for the von Brandts who provided him with a salary and an excellent education. Though, he could not speak, Cato could attest to Eduard's intelligence.

"Woah," Anaiah mumbled to herself. "This is some secret society type shit."

"Yeah," Cato responded. "Which is why you can't say anything about it, or we'll all be royally fucked. Understand?"

Anaiah, even while tipsy, seemed to gather the gravity of the situation she had just entered. She nodded slowly.

"Good," Cato clapped a hand on her shoulder. "Now sit down before you fall down."

Anaiah complied and clumsily flopped onto the red leather couch just as a side door opened to reveal a thin dark-skinned man.

Cato recognized him too, and he wasn't happy about it. The man was known only by one name, Revere, and that wasn't even his real name, only a fake name to keep his identity a secret. He was a proxy for Mockingjay, who Cato had never met.

They were all promised that Mockingjay would arrive tonight to discuss with them the next stage of the plan, but no. Instead, they would only speak with a proxy.

"Is that him?" Anaiah whispered to Cato.

"No," Cato grumbled, eyeing Revere with slight anger.

"Where's Mockingjay?" Echo Tiller demanded loudly.

"Change of plans," Revere answered undramatically. "Mockingjay couldn't be here tonight for reasons of personal security."

"Personal security?" Yew LaBrie asked. "Is his identity compromised?"

"No. Not yet."

"Then what's the big problem?" Wayne Erikson asked. "If he ain't compromised, surely he can come meet with us."

Revere remained silent for a moment, eyeing each of the faces in the room for a long moment. His gaze lingered on Cato for a moment longer than the rest. There seemed to be a special dislike in his emotionless eyes. Cato returned the stare in kind.

"There's been an increase in security at the Capitol building," Revere explained. "And we don't know why. Hundreds of peacekeepers are surrounding are surrounding the Senate building as we speak. Every senator has been evacuated."

"Why?" Cato asked.

"Nobody knows," Revere said. "I've gotten in touch with my contacts, but none of them know anything. It's as secret as it gets, whatever is happening."

"What does this have to do with Mockingjay?" Ivan asked pointedly. "Unless he was directly affected by this event, then we would be meeting him right now."

Cato's eyebrows shot up. Leave it to Ivan Barnett to ask the tough questions. He was by far the smartest person in the room, and everyone knew it. That mind of his made connections faster than anyone else could ever hope to.

"Doesn't matter," Revere replied, ignoring Ivan's questions. "All that you need to know is that Mockingjay will meet you before the Hunger Games are over."

"He said he'd meet us tonight too," Echo grumbled.

Cato had to agree with the sentiment of his fellow victor.

"Can you relay Mockingjay's basic information?" Freja von Brandt asked.

"There isn't much, only that Mockingjay might have found a way to gather the masses for a revolt."

"That's actually a lot," Yew commented.

"Point is," Revere continued, glaring at Yew. "He found a network that could be used to start organizing. He wants you all to create accounts and look around. See what you think."

"That's it?" Wayne asked. "All this hubbub and all Mockinjay wants us to do is check out some network?"

"No," Revere said. "But I'm not at liberty to share the rest. The address is . Enter the security key Better to die on one's feet than to live on one's knees. That is all I have time for. Now if you will excuse me. I have business to attend to."

With that, Revere exited the room, not even glancing back at the revolutionaries he left behind.

There you go. The capitol plot thickens, many things going down at once. Feel free to leave all your thoughts and predictions in your reviews. If you get the references in this chapter, you're the best.

Also, I thought I'd mention this now, but with some of the tributes who I know are supposed to be more focused on how they feel in the current moment, the here and now tributes if you will, I do feel as though I am misrepresenting them slightly. I promise I am trying my best, but I find it incredibly difficult to write about feelings, especially spur of the moment ones.

So, if your tribute acts too much like an android, then I do apologize, and know I will do my best to rectify that problem. For example, Jason is one tribute I find quite easy to write. He is all about thinking and rationality, while Edison, Brooke, or Butch I find much more difficult. Hopefully, those tributes that I have trouble with can become easier for me to write, but as of now I find it quite difficult because I don't really relate to them.

Anyway, apologies for the rant, but I have been thinking about that. Please let me know if you think I could do a better job with your tribute. It would really help.

Thanks for reading guys! Training Day 1 is next chapter!

-DrRedneck