Aw, I'm back, and so soon?

Well, well, well, we've reached a point where we're able to take a break from the Games.

It's time to pick up where we left off in the Capitol. Remember when Luca got berated by Finite because he's not answering their calls or giving them money? Well, let's get back to it before Finite feels any more butthurt ;-;

Thanks to Remus98, Alecxias and contemporarydancer2 who reviewed!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape or form. I only own the arena I have created.

"You miss 100% of the shots you don't take." ~Wayne Gretzky

Luke Coloss, Sixteen, District Twelve, Victor of the 80th Hunger Games

I rearrange my collar uncertainly.

"Are you sure I look okay?"

I'm rarely this nervous, but some reason I've been worried over a simple party at the President's mansion. Isaac lets out an exasperated sigh for the fifth time in the last hour, his blond hair slicked back, his pastel yellow dress shirt ironed to perfection, complete with a matching pocket square.

"Stop fretting, Luke," he says tunelessly. "You're fine."

Never did I think that yellow would actually suit someone (ha, I'm funny), but Isaac's pulling it off, his hand holding a sleek pastel yellow cane. I guess even when he does decide to dress up lavishly (well he is an escort) he can really play the part of just another interested Capitolite.

I'm completely different.

I can feel the sides of my shoes cut into my feet as the elevator hisses beneath me, but instead, I focus on straightening out my charcoal grey suit. My shirt sparkles slightly, like crystallised coal dust, catching the light in a gentle, yet curious way. Oh and don't forget the District Twelve cufflinks. Don't even ask. Regardless, since this is my first party in the Capitol since the Victory Tour, I'm here to impress, represent and of course, be interviewed relentlessly by Dallas Cornwall for the thirsty, thirsty, crowd of admirers. Now that I'm sixteen, eyes are beginning to follow me.

I hear the stories are true.

Once you turn eighteen, you become more than just a victor. If you haven't settled down with someone, then boom, you're a piece of meat on the buying flesh market. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine at thought of it, despite the puns that come to mind. Would I be steak? Bacon? Chicken? Ugh, gross. I'm not into this.

"Chin up," Isaac instructs me. "Back straight."

I feel the side of Isaac's cane press into my back and I straighten up with a sigh. It's hard to relax here in the Capitol and to be honest, I'm beyond confused as to how everyone else does it. It must take some getting used to. I know that even Isaac is out of his element here, but unlike me, he seems completely at ease, poised in elegance and grace that's completely foreign to me. Nonetheless, I take his advice; trying to stand straight and tall as my shoes grace marble steps leading up to one of the President's receptions.

I wonder why he doesn't want us at his mansion.

Rustic golden doors open up to greet Isaac and me, and as we enter the mouth of the room we are introduced to a world beyond my greatest imagination. I remember the train to the Capitol being incredibly stylish to the point of extravagance, and the same story could be said for the tribute's quarters. Even my home in the Victor's Village in Twelve was beautiful. But this…

Everywhere I look appears expensive.

The reception is a grand room, with a glass-domed ceiling and no walls. It takes me a second to process that we're actually on the roof of this place if the cool night air wasn't evidence enough. Domed crystal lights are interwoven with the glass like stars, an expanse of glittering fragility against a backdrop of the evening blue. Sculpted metal cages contain warm orange flames, which dance along to the pianist's melody in the background, a light yet somehow fervent tone accompanying the sound of glowing conversation. The area is decorated with tables and chairs, a glossy, classy brown, with wood deeply stained and varnished into submission. Several avoxes mill around in cream suits, serving drinks in flutes that are likely more valuable than my entire house, the glass hand-blown with flakes of gold and ridges manipulated distinctly to match the President's seal. Roses twist, meandering across the edges of the balcony, reaching upwards to the lips of the dome in a coalition of red, white and blue.

My eyes scan over the heads of the crowd, but there's no flash of white there; clearly, the President hasn't made himself known. I have though, and I can feel eyes on me as soon as I walk in, notably a pair of golden eyes belonging to the Head Gamemaker, Luca Fawkes. I remember him vaguely from my training session last year, but now that he's right in front of me, looking different to how I remember. The familiar golden hair and eyes are there, however, Luca's originally focused attitude is replaced by one that oozes confidence. He's in a dark shirt and with a golden tie, complete with an aurum blazer to match.

"Luke Coloss, our newest victor," he greets me, walking over with an arrogant smirk. "Congratulations, of course, albeit late. A word alone, please? Unless your escort can't keep his hands off you."

Isaac rolls his eyes and spins his cane.

"I'll be at the bar if you need me, Luke," he says coolly. "Don't stray too far."

I nod nervously at this, my palms beginning to heat up. Luca places a surprisingly gentle hand on my shoulder and steers me towards the edge of the balcony. As soon as we're out of earshot of most people, Luca's demeanour completely changes.

"My apologies," he sighs, his persona becoming more sublime. "We all have to keep up appearances."

"No…it's okay," I answer, fidgeting with my fingers. "It's not easy to pretend."

"Unfortunately, some of us have to," Luca chuckles. "A mere mask does many favours but hides no demons. But I digress. I wanted to apologise."

For what, killing twenty-three children? For killing Vella? Mariel? Franz?

Don't hate the players, hate the game.

"It's okay."

It's not really, but I can tell he means the apology. That has to account for something, right?

"I doubt that very much," Luca answers, adopting a solemn expression, his eyes dimming slightly. "I wouldn't be surprised if you hated me. I can understand that."

He takes a few steps away from me, looking out from the balcony.

"It's not an easy job, being in charge of killing children. I did what I had to do to survive, and that road brought me here."

"What did it cost you?" I question, curious. "Vella, Mariel, Franz, all of them? They're dead because of something you created."

I try to keep the bite out of my tone, but a part of me is still upset about it. He realises that I can tell he does, but that doesn't eliminate the fact that he actually did it. He was the one who watched all of us fight over each other. Despite my awkwardness with the man, my irritation grows more, a rare feeling, one I'm not accustomed to.

"I've lost more than you know," he says darkly. "Yes, I understand. What I've done – what I do – is horrible. But what it costs? If I don't do it then my family will be the price. Even so, we needed this. We were struggling before, we wer-"

"I don't need excuses," I reply hurriedly. "I don't want explanations. No reasoning over killing kids is going to change what you do. But what kind of person would kill them for people's enjoyment?"

"It doesn't define who I am."

"I know," I shrug. "I can see that you're a nice person. But this isn't a conversation to have with someone you tried to kill, it's something to think about yourself. Would you have said this to Vella if she was in my place?"

He doesn't answer, only bowing his head against the wind, his hands clasped together as if he's in chains.

He probably would have.

"I'm here because I'm here," I continue. "I'm here to play my part and then go back home to look after Thomas because he's what matters. Maybe you should focus on what matters too."

With my spiel finished, the uncomfortableness returns, but I offer an awkward pat to his shoulder and leave him at the balcony.

I have nothing more to say to the man who tried to kill me.

Yet, somehow, there's no anger left to feel.

Royce Fendi, Twenty, District One, Victor of the 79th Hunger Games

Never did I think I'd feel this awkward.

It's not my first victor party, and yet here I am, still feeling like the missing piece of the puzzle, the shape that doesn't quite fit into the circle with everyone else. That, and the fact I'm processing that Tiffany's killer in the room with me is almost too much for me to handle. It's been a year, yes, but I haven't fully let it all go. Seeing Luke wandering around across from me is a confirmation I haven't yet had accepted his victory, even though I should.

I have to go over and speak with him, reservations or not.

Maybe it's because of Tiff. Maybe it's because of my need to process it all, to fully move past everything by confronting the person who broke me.

My movements are slow and my mouth is dry. It's almost as if my body is on full alert, cautiously concerned over what might result from this conversation.

He killed Tiffany.

It's not his fault. He was forced to.

He still killed her.

I glance over to Luca Fawkes, leaning against the side of the balcony in his golden suit. That man was the mastermind behind all of this, the one who had so many parts to play, the puppet master pulling the strings. Luke just happened to be the one who fought for his life and won. As I move over to Panem's newest victor, I repeat this over and over in my head, so when I finally come up to him, I'm smiling, and there's not a shred of anger in my heart. Well, maybe just a little.

Luke Coloss is shorter than I am, and a lot skinnier as well. With dirty blond hair and wide brown eyes, he's got a sweet look about him, along with a haunted shadow in his eyes. There's an edge of awkwardness to him as well; he's clearly not comfortable here. That makes two of us.

"Luke Coloss," I greet him, holding out my hand. "I'm Royce Fendi, from One. I won the Games before yours. I thought it would be worth meeting my successor."

My words are all confident bullshit, mostly because what shred of dignity I have left is playing up the smirking Career act instead of working through the demons that like to whisper to me in the night. Luke's reaction seems to believe my façade, and he answers me stiffly, clearly somewhat reluctant to engage with me.

"Thank you," Luke nods tightly. "I'm sorry about…everything."

So he knows? Does he know how close I was to Tiff? Well, it's no surprise. I was so distraught after she died that all the mentors knew of how difficult I was finding everything. My sleepless nights, the echoing words she spoke, her scream of Roxanne's name…

"You did what you had to do," I shrug, but I can tell my expression betrays me, because Luke adopts an apologetic visage. "Isn't that what we all have to do? Fight or die?"

"That doesn't mean I didn't do what I did." he winces.

"You can't change the past," I remark grimly. "She's gone now. I have to remember that."

An uncertain silence hovers between us, but the tension here is only tinged with regret and sadness rather than spite or anger. Somehow, a short and simple conversation has brought me closer to someone I viewed as an enemy mere seconds ago. Maybe I can move past this. Is that even possible?

"How do you deal with all of this?" he asks, looking around at the decorative space as if he's never seen such luxury before. In One, this type of thing is more common, but in Twelve? I couldn't imagine the poverty there.

"You get used to it?" I offer.

The silence between us descends into some kind of strange awkwardness. I'm not really sure what to say. Beyond Tiffany, my own demons and regrets, Luke is just another victor of the Hunger Games to add to the President's collection. I could tell how he felt when he lost people too, all of them fan favourites. That's the issue with allies; you get too attached and when the time comes for them to die, you struggle to take that step.

"Get your filthy hands off me!"

A commotion to our right is what saves the conversation. A woman dressed in a formal floor-length gown is pushing away a somewhat drunk patron. Her dress is flared out at the bottom with a slit up the side stopping just short of her knee. The slit is surrounded by golden chiffon and if she wasn't so furious, she could have looked like she was floating on a cloud. The drunk patron is clearly coming on to the woman and she's not impressed by it. I move to intercept the situation before I notice that Head Gamemaker Luca Fawkes has already made his way there.

Looking at the woman, there are remnants of a familiar face. I recognise her. She's a singer, famous in the Capitol for being a success story from the Districts. Her albums have sold for millions here in the city, but I can't say I've listened to any of them.

I drift closer to the conversation as the woman leans towards the Head Gamemaker, the drunk patron getting escorted out.

"Thanks for watching over me, but really I had things taken care of," the woman remarks confidently. "How strange of the arrogant Luca Fawkes to come to a woman's aid."

"They probably think I'm just here to sleep with you," Luca sighs, his tone holding traces of annoyance. "Either that or steal air time."

"While I'm flattered, tonight's activities are strictly professional!" the woman informs him sharply.

"You and me both," Luca responds breezily.

I don't pry any more than I need to. With that sorted, I turn back to look for Luke, but he's long gone. I guess he took the opportunity to avoid more awkward interactions.

Once again, I find myself alone in the crowd.

Luca Fawkes, Twenty-Five, Head Gamemaker

I'm no longer alone.

Lady Lexi Escala, a famed singer in the Capitol, has her arm looped around mine as we stroll around the party, a drink in hand. Her hair is curled into waves, her brown eyes framed by golden eyeliner just like mine. Her dress matches my suit – we really do look like quite the pair, although her stylist had gone slightly more outlandish with capitol fashions; the swirls on her gown having been painted across the dark skin of her arms, spinning its way up to the crest of her shoulders.

"So, what do I owe you?" she asks.

Lexi's relaxed now, especially having been almost jumped on by a Capitolite a mere ten minutes ago. She admitted that she was happy I stepped in even if she could handle herself. Causing a scene wouldn't really do at a party that the President has thrown. I spotted the old man on the balcony with some of the Capitolites, but I've made no effort to interact with him. Avoiding Coriolanus like the plague is a welcomed change, but I keep up my arrogant act whenever I see a camera steer too close. I don't want my mask to slip so much that it becomes noticeable.

"You owe me something?" I chuckle, raising an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For that," Lexi explains. "You stepped in. What do you want, a new car? A few million dollars? A personality? Oh wait, I can't buy you that darling, you might be on your own for that one."

I frown at her statement, my hand digging deep into my trouser pocket, closing around Shea's glass button. I've been keeping it on my person, along with my dagger. There's some sense of guilt there that I can't seem to shake. If Shea hadn't followed the President and I, would she still be alive today? I've felt compelled by my emotions to carry this with me ever since, and now it's a strange sort of comfort to quell my rising discomfort, an anchor to keep me sane.

I acknowledge the fact that Lexi just insulted me, but that's nothing new. I've long been forewarned about her razor-sharp wit, so I'm not completely fazed by her words.

"Why should you be paying me back?" I answer politely. "Don't waste your money on me."

"Well, I suppose a Head Gamemaker's salary is decent," Lexi responds. "Maybe you can give me something instead?"

She smiles at me somewhat shyly, but her words betray her. She sounds suspicious, too much for my liking.

"What do you want?" I ask.

"You could always give me a few million," she comments, beginning to laugh. "Not like most Capitolites really need it."

Alarm bells ring in my head. What she's saying sounds all too familiar, almost sinister in a way. Finite wanted eighty-one million dollars. They said they'd send me a message at this party, but who's to say that Finite wouldn't deliver it themselves? Could Lexi be Finite, sending me a message in her own warped way?

"How about eighty-one million?" I question, putting my theory to the test.

Lexi's eyebrows shoot up. There's a glint in her eye, an interest there, a question. Is she wondering how I could even offer her such a sum? Or is she analysing me, preparing what to say next?

"I'm listening."

I take the chance. I might as well know.

"Finite?" I whisper. "Don't mess with me."

Lexi recoils slightly in confusion, her face adopting a genuinely unimpressed expression.

"At first I thought you were flirting with me, then you're offering me money, now you're sprouting some garbage," she notes. "You okay in here, Luca Fawkes? Hello? Anybody home?"

"Are you Finite?" I repeat, watching her, deadly serious.

"Finite what?" Lexi questions, moving away and looking at me as if I've lost my mind. "I don't know what kind of crap you're talking about, but just so you know I'm not into drugs, capiche? I know I'm from Six, but you don't treat a girl like that."

"Wait!" I splutter, trying to right wrongs at my random accusation. "Let me explain!"

"I don't need to listen to another thing that comes out of your mouth," she retorts. "You're just another busted bitch who wants some of this filet, darling. I'm not having it!"

She hurries away from me, but I don't get the chance to stop her before my phone rings again. Looking down at the screen, the unknown number is back. Well, Lexi's definitely off the list of potential suspects. I take a peek up at President Snow. He's not holding a phone either.

"Damn it…" I mutter, before taking the call. Trust my favourite murderous blackmailer to give me a call at this very moment, shrouded in mystery or hidden by the crowd. Finite's voice soon fills my ear once again, as distorted as ever.

"So, where's the money, Luca?"

"I don't have it," I say through gritted teeth. "Look, this is ridiculous. Why can't you just leave me alone? Why can't you just bother someone else?"

"It's fun, messing with you," Finite answers playfully. "That, and you're my perfect scapegoat."

"What are you blaming me for?"

Finite seems to have some kind of elaborate plan or something, but I don't see anything that could incriminate me for whatever crime Finite's bound to commit on an evening like this.

"Oh, you'll see shortly," Finite chuckles. "For now, I just like this. Chatting with you. Letting the chips fall where they may."

"What are you going to do, Finite?" I press. "I'm already trying to get the money. Eighty-one million is a lot. I just need more time."

It's a bluff. Anything I can do to stall, the better.

"Well, you've run out of it," Finite sighs. "However, I've decided that you can pay it back in instalments. Name a person you'd like me to kill and how much their life is worth will be deducted from how much you owe me. There are a few exceptions, President Snow included. I can't take that risk without you there to take the fall for it."

"There's no way I'm doing that," I say. "You're not going to force my hand into killing people."

"Well, in that case, you either give me the money or people start dying, whether you request it or not."

"I don't have the money, but I don't want anyone to die either," I tell Finite firmly. "There's got to be another way."

"You disappoint me, Luca," Finite yawns, or do they chuckle? The distortion is too much for me to make out. "You're out of time. Your first payment is due…now."

The line hangs up, and my heart is in my throat. What the fuck is about to happen?

I don't need to wait.

A projectile whizzes past me and sinks into the forehead of a male patron, blood spurting forth from the centre of his forehead as his body tenses up in shock. He falls slowly, at first rocking in an eerie fashion on the balls of his feet before falling face-first on to the floor. Several people gather around him, horrified at the scene and equally afraid of where the bullet came from. I'm quick to put the pieces together.

A sniper.

Finite's a fucking sniper.

I look out in the direction where the shooting is coming from, and a small flash catches my eye. Of course, Finite may have an accomplice if they're the shooter themselves, but I doubt that's likely if they're asking for money they don't have. Thanks to them, one life has already been lost. Instantly, my eyes move over to Lexi, who hasn't noticed the commotion, walking towards the balcony and right into an open line of fire. Whether or not Lexi is Finite's next target, I'm taking no chances.

"Lexi!" I call, ripping Shea's small glass button out from my pocket, and rolling it along the floor to her.

I pray that the bead makes its way underneath her shoe, but it's intercepted by another woman's heel, the lady toppling over and falling right on top of Lexi, just as a second bullet flies into an older woman nearby. Okay, not how I intended, but with Lexi now shielded by the wall of the balcony and beneath an older woman, my concern lessens.

It really shouldn't.

A third bullet flies true and strikes Nate Scourlion, District Five's sole mentor, deep into his chest. Leila Caréton from Three is close by his side, but her smile turns into a scream as he shudders and falls, choking as the blood begins to dribble from his lips.

Three down already, and one's a mentor. This isn't good. Just how many bullets does Finite have?

I waste no time as I skid underneath a table, taking cover as another shot fires, this one missing Mona Derale's arm by mere inches. She speedily ducks behind one of the pillars holding up the glass roof. My eyes return to Lexi as the party turns into panic.

People are running everywhere; towards the fire exits, ducking behind objects or under chairs and tables, or in Lexi's case, pushing the older woman off of her as she nurses her ankle, clearly twisted or sprained. I crawl swiftly over to her as another three patrons fall, fatally, I do not know. She eyes me with a furious glare as I approach, but her gaze softens. She doesn't thank me though, instead holding up Shea's glass bead.

"Is this yours?" she asks, handing it to me.

"Well observed," I grin, but it's quick to fade.

I slip the bead into the pocket of my blazer.

Another shot fires through the glass roof, sending broken glass on to some of the partygoers, but beyond some scratches, they seem fine, scrambling out of the door to escape, screaming all the way. A ninth shot, however, hits the District Four mentor, Grace Ninis right through one of her eyes and she screeches before toppling face down across one of the tables.

This is not my day.

I don't have time to register my thoughts before Lexi is pulling me, crawling gingerly around the perimeter of the balcony to try and get closer to the door. We make it quite a way closer, and my eyes map out a possible route. The balcony is close to a large island of flowers; we'll crawl across there and then hide behind one of the pillars closest to the door. A few steps after that, and we'll be out of here.

"Can you stand?" I ask her, breathless, my heart beating hard in my ears as a tenth shot lands into one of the tables, sending wood splintering to one side.

"I-I don't know," Lexi hisses, gritting her teeth. "But we have to try."

"It's too dangerous," I shake my head.

"No, it's the perfect time," Lexi answers. "It's likely to be a common sniper rifle. Ten rounds. The shooter's reloading."

She doesn't give me time to respond to this, as she's already dragging herself over by the flowers, moving as quickly as she can. It's mere seconds before she reaches the pillar when I clock on to exactly what she's just said to me.

"Wait, since when did you know about guns?" I question, suddenly alarmed, crawling after Lexi and helping her with her gown.

"District Six, long story."

Finally, we get to the pillar, and I haul Lexi up with all my might, just as a bullet graces the edge of the pillar we're standing behind, embedding itself into the wall.

I grimace. Finite's playing with us, but I can't waste time. Shielding Lexi's body with mine, I half haul, half drag her through the door and halfway down the steps. I feel my heart hammering at the leap of faith, but I persevere, barging my way past some of the people escaping before we're out of danger.

As the door swings shut behind us and the bullets stop firing, both Lexi and I find ourselves sprawled on the steps, breathing hard. Bringing out Shea's button, I gaze tiredly at the thin fractures across the glass surface, trying to focus on something, to process what's just happened.

I let loose a sigh.

Despite the casualties, we survived.

Nate Scourlion, Twenty-two, District Five, Victor of the 76th Hunger Games. Executed by Finite.

Grace Ninis, Thirty-one, District Four, Victor of the 66th Hunger Games. Executed by Finite.

Uhhh so I realise that the 2nd POV might be slightly confusing, and the 3rd POV is pretty long, considering that Luke (victor of the 80th) and Luca (the Head Gamemaker) are in this chapter together a lot. You have my apologies! I know the names can be confusing, but I hope I can help to resolve that in due course. Anyway, this party is done and a lot happened. Resolutions for Luke, realisations for Royce and repayments for Luca.

Oh, so Ben, you're killing off your own victors now? Oops? I also went for the Chekhov's gun route as mentioned in Chapter 2/3! Yikes, we've come a long way since then...

As promised, previous chapters have been edited accordingly! Let me know if we run into any other problems~

How did you feel about Luke talking to Luca, the Head Gamemaker? Do you think things are resolved, or is there more for them to work out?
Royce pining over Tiffany is pretty sad, but at least Luke's given him some perspective. Do you think his talk with Luke can help him to move on, finally?
Luca meets a new character for the Fawkes Verse – Lexi, or Lady Lexi Escala. Wow, coming in with the L names, but how did you find their conversation and what happened afterwards? Do you think she's shadier than she's letting on?

We had some big subplot changes this chapter; how do you think things will be developing from here? Finite really means business and we definitely haven't seen or heard the last of them yet! Now, we're en route back to the Games to witness – you guessed it – more death.

Over and out!
~Mental