Disclaimer: I am not Suzanne Collins.

Celestius Uniov, 23, Capital Citizen, 3 weeks before the Reapings

"Dear Minister Uniov,

It is your duty as Minister of District Cooperation to send me an annual letter containing a summary of the rebellious activity of every district prior to the start of this year's Hunger Games. I expect this letter by the end of the week.

Imperius Nero"

Celestius has read the curt letter hundreds of times over. Each time it is no easier to understand. It should be clear, the meaning, he thinks to himself. He just wants for… for me to give him a summary of the rebellious activity of every district prior to the start of this year's Hunger Games. Celestius has memorized the letter, but not yet deciphered it.

This should be easy, he thinks. The message is clear. Yet, Celestius can't fully wrap his head around it, and he knows that this is his fatal flaw. He overthinks things.

He really shouldn't have this job. Celestius is by far not an extreme loyalist to the Capital. In fact, the level of his trust in it has significantly fallen since he obtained this position. He was just a mere personal assistant to his former boss, and when he disappeared, Celestius was the only other person remotely qualified who already knew of the district uprising after the flop of last year, and for the sake of secrecy, he earned the job.

No, he thinks. Earned isn't the right word. Was forced into.

"Minister Uniov…" The voice behind him is timid and feminine.

Celestius turns around is his wheeley-chair, away from the floor-to-ceiling window view of the sparkling Capital in the sunset, to the blonde and hook-nosed woman standing behind him. It's his new assistant, God he can never remember her name.

"Yes?" Celestius's voice comes out like a croak. He hasn't spoken in… how long?

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, of course I am, why would I not be?"

"Um…"

Celestius knows what she is trying to say. He must look frazzled, his blue hair sticking out from running his hands through it, a nervous tick. And his eyes must have crescents under them showing his lack of sleep in the past months. This morning, he spilled coffee on his paisley blue suit. The title of Minister of District Cooperation has taken years off of him.

Celestius mercifully cuts off the woman by saying, "You needn't answer," and stands up to walk past the rows and rows of now empty desks to the visual monitors showing live feed from all over the nation at the forefront of the room.

The assistant stands up and starts to follow him.

"By the way," he asks her, "what is your name?"

"Doriana," she responds.

Doriana. Celestius tries to ingrain it into his head.

"Doriana, what time is it?"

"Eight twenty-seven."

Eight twenty-seven?Was he really sitting at that desk for almost the entire afternoon?

He asks Doria (Was that her name?) the same question.

"Yes, Minister Uniov." She says it with a tremble in her voice, as if worried that any wrong move could get her fired, and an anxious look on her face. She should know better, she holds top secret information, the Capital cannot let her roam free. She is darting her eyes to and from her impending destination and the corners in the ceiling were the cameras must reside. What could be going on with her, Celestius ponders. Probably nothing important.

The two arrive at the central camera screens. Right now, there is just random footage from all over Panem. Shops closing up in District Two, grimy citizens of all ages walking home from work in the factories in District Three, starving people lying in the streets of Twelve, and a gang fight forming in District Six.

Typical activities for all of these districts, but as Celestius looks away, a white glint on the screen televising District Six's fight catches his eye. A Peacekeeper uniform. More of them pile into the shot, wielding rifles and gunning down men and women.

"A riot! A riot!" Celestius doesn't know what to do! This must not be televised, but the President has to know about it.

"We must notify President Nero," he yells frantically.

"He must already know," says Doriana.

Yes, he must, Celestius thinks. But that doesn't make things any better. Because if this gets out of hand, he might… he might go away. Celestius isn't stupid. He's noticed the pattern. He doesn't know where they all go, but it probably isn't good.

However, as Celestius looks up, he sees the district people falling down in lines, blood staining the street, and relief floods into him. It won't go as far as he fears.

The assistant's voice pipes up (Doria? Doriana?) "Sir, may I please read the letter. I might be able to help."

Celestius quickly extends his hand towards her, holding the letter, and as she takes and reads it, he regains his composure.

"Sir," says the assistant, "would you mind if I help you with this.

"Not at all, not at all."

"I feel the best thing to do would be to go through all of the districts and look into the number of rebellious outbreaks in the past year, as well as use those compulsory surveys we sent out last year to get a rough estimate."

Dor-whatever sits down in one of the head seats and begins to type in the code.

"I can do that." Celestius looks down at his assistant imposingly. She moves as the panels flicker to District One. She wants to get ahead. And she isn't afraid to shove me away in the process.

Looking back up at the monitors, Celestius begins to take note of the statistics. There has been some rebellious activity in the Academies, where people are distraught that they lost their prize prospects, but nothing more, and over ninety-five percent of citizens are loyalists. The same is true with Two, though with less riots. It would make sense the careers and most outlier districts were mad. There was an extremely strong crop of tributes last year. All six careers plus the District Seven Male scored tens, plus two nines and three eights. What a disaster.

District Three is where the real rebellions start. There have been hundreds of riots across the districts, and the Peacekeeper fortress has even been bombed. The surveys show a loyal majority, though Celestius knows these figures to false.

District Four is like its fellow career districts, mad but still loyal. However, in the poorer sectors, the Inlands and Backwaters, there have been many riots.

District Five is much the same as District Three, but with more honest answers in the mandatory surveys, more outright rioting, and less tactful schemes.

District Six is by far the worst so far, even those who aren't with the rebel cause joining in to fight and cause chaos, taking advantage. No more needs to be said. As Celestius clicks on to District Seven, he fails to notice the hopeful and triumphant glint in Doriana's eye.

In the seventh district, eighth district, ninth district, tenth district, and eleventh district, there are varying degrees of rebellion, District Eight only second to District Six, District Ten the most peaceful, a silent war being waged between the merchants and the ranchers and factory workers.

District Twelve holds no rebellion, only poor wandering through the streets hoping to trade for a bargain.

"Well, that's it, thank you kindly for your assistance," Celestius says to Doriana before striding back off towards his desk.

He has no idea where she is intending to go tonight, and no idea she is secretly from a family of wanted rebels from District One who changed their appearances to work as spies, taking on the roles of a prominent Capital family. She has no idea she will never make it back there.

He has no idea how cruel and sociopathic he was and is being, and how evil, corrupt, and psychopathic the Capital he loves that taught him these morals is.

Lastly, he has no idea the real depth of the hatred the rebels have for the Capital, even after his almost a year as Minister of District Cooperation. He has no idea the danger he is in if he fails, and how much danger both the Capital and the districts are in if the other side wins.

Three days later

The note is given to Celestius by a Peacekeeper. It says:

"Dear Minister Uniov,

I find your response sufficient. I appreciate your usage of Panem's comparison to a body, and how each district serves its own function. I especially agree with your likening of the Capital to the head. You must know that the Capital must always be the ruler of Panem, and that the districts do not stand a chance of winning this war. Like you said, the head wears the crown.

Imperius Nero"

Hey readers, did you like this chapter? Please give me feedback, positive or negative, I could use the constructive criticism or the good reviews. I'm sorry for making this chapter a bit shorter, I had a bit of writer's block, but I'll still be reviewing and submitting. I have some good news: The next chapter I'm starting tribute introductions! However, I plan on starting them once I have all 24 of my tributes, so I may take a little bit longer.

Here are the questions of the day:

If the Capital is the head in the body of Panem, what do you think some of the other districts would be?

What does Celestius think is the right term for how he got his current job?

Thank you for reading this chapter, and hopefully reviewing and submitting!

-Mills