Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. They belong to Suzanne Collins.

Note: Here we are, the story continues with the tale of the Seventeenth Victor. Nice bit of world building going on with this one, at least in my personal viewpoint anyway. Not really got much to say except that I hope you guys find this guy to be another hit. It's really only a matter of time, after all, until a universally detested Victor comes along, eh? Here we go!

"I'm honestly surprised that it took this long for a second boy from District Two to emerge as the Victor," Katniss said, slowly shaking her head. "They seemed so lethal in all the Games I remember seeing."

"And yet, they still lost quite a few times," Peeta said, gazing down at Rook's imprinted face. "What do you think made Rook different from the first sixteen boys from Two, aside from Baron?"

"He was stronger? Or maybe seventeen was a lucky number," Katniss said, shrugging. "I've got no idea. All I know is he won and, by the looks of his stats, won in the way expected of a Career."

"I guess if we decide we'd like to know more Enobaria may fill us in." Peeta said, mostly to himself.

17th Annual Hunger Games

Name: Rook Valiant

Gender: Male

District: 2

Age: 18

Kills: 8

Sometimes District Two has 'Problem Victors'.

Olga has no patience for Problem Victors.

As the Seventeenth Hunger Games loom near it's easy to see that District Two is where the best quality of life in Panem can be found, outside of the Capitol itself. With jobs simple to find, very easy access to food and water, plenty of wealth overall and a thriving Academy for Careers taking away any fear of the Hunger Games it's become a solid, if perhaps warmongering, place to grow up.

She sits on the stage at the reaping, listening attentively as the Treaty of Treason is read out for the crowd and the Victors that Two has thus far named for all to hear. She's quite proud that her name garners the most cheers of all.

Life has become quite routine for Olga overall, not that she minds this fact. Routine and a rigid schedule suits the women in her mid-twenties just fine. She knows exactly how the next few weeks will go, down to the letter.

Two new tributes will Volunteer. She'll mentor one and this year Runa will mentor the other. That leaves gathering Sponsors in Baron's hands for the year. It's a simple task division but one that ensure District Two always has their tributes go far and almost, almost, win.

This will be the year, she vows. This time District Two will gain their fourth Victor and be rewarded for their patriotism to the glorious Capitol. What happened to poor, promising Valour last year sickens her even now. It obviously happened too fast for the Capitol to stop it from occurring. They couldn't set off a trap while the maniac from Eight did those things, not without leaving no Victor at all.

It was just a nasty fluke and is why this year Olga plans to tell tributes Rook and Midnalia to kill off District Eight's pair first, even before District Six this time around. Last year's incident cannot be allowed to repeat.

She knows the tributes this year, of course, them having been selected as the Volunteers a whole month ago at this point. Mr Overwhill had given over the tribute's personal files and, as the poster girl and future Headmistress of the academy, Olga had first pick of who to Mentor.

She went for Rook. Strong, handsome and a beast with swords. A District Two classic.

As promising as the boy seems, she can't shake the feeling of foreboding she has within her. She can't claim to understand why. Rook was described to her as confident, obedient, merciless, powerful, loyal and more than ready, and willing, to enter the arena. His home life suggested no problems at all. A middle class boy with loud parents and louder siblings. Eight in fact and himself as the middle child amongst them all. Aside a stated dislike of large crowds there was no issues.

Maybe she's just being paranoid and longing for another Victor, she tells herself. A glance at Baron and Runa has her shaking her head. They've forgotten what it means to be a Victor from Two, more content to be all sweet, cuddly and affectionate with each other. They've even started sharing Baron's house now, living in domestic bliss. Bleh.

Olga wants more company and, seeing tough Rook and deadly Midnalia mounting the stage, she knows that after the Games end she might just have a new neighbour she could admit to enjoying spending the odd afternoon hanging out with, perhaps attending a bar alongside.

Yes, she thinks as Rook and Midnalia shake hands with their muscles bulging, this will be District Two's year.

"Skills," Olga prompts her tribute on the train ride to the Capitol.

"Swords, spears, throwing knives, running, parkour, climbing," Rook lists, confidence filling his tone.

"Weaknesses?" she continues, firm.

"Crowds, small and agile targets, going without food," Rook says, sounding reluctant to admit to all this.

"Take out the small, fast targets at the very start of the Games," Olga says promptly. "The crowd will be smaller, they will be dead and thus no longer an issue and, by doing all that, the sponsors will give you any food you need that the Cornucopia cannot."

"Understood," Rook says as he soon helps himself to some fried chicken on the table. "I want to be the pack's leader. That alright?"

"If they say yes," Olga replies. "You may have competition for that role. Be warned, they will expect you to guide them and to keep them going, especially in the early days when things are still being sorted out."

"So, if I screw up as a leader I'm dead and the other Careers may be as well?" Rook asks, as if wanting to be perfectly sure.

"Yes, so if you become the leader you need to be sure you can handle it, for yourself and the pack," Olga says, firmly.

For a moment Olga's feeling of foreboding returns when she sees a glimmer of trouble in Rook's eyes, gone as quick as it arrives. He soon assures her that he's got it all under control and he'll lead the pack, before leading himself back home for the fourth District Two victory.

Things seem pretty simple after that. Midnalia falls in line to follow Rook pretty quickly, her being a fairly dependent sort of fighter. Rook assures her that under his leadership all will be fine. For once dinner on the train is a peaceful affair, not a single issue to be seen.

The only problem, a minor one at that, comes when the Escort decides to get a little background information on the tributes. Midnalia answers all questions directed towards her just fine, but Rook is particularly unwilling to discuss his home life or family at all.

"I don't want to talk about it," he says, shutting the topic down right away. "I don't see it mattering. Not like anybody is going to see them."

"Well, this year we in the Capitol are thinking of interviewing the families of tributes who reach the final eight," the Escort replies. "I think that-."

"-You'll see them regardless when I get that far," Rook says, shrugging as he plates up some more fried chicken. "Pass the salt?"

At the time of the dinner Olga thought little of this, soon seeing it as her tribute merely being focused entirely on the arena ahead of him and rightly so.

In retrospect, she knew she should have recognised the red flag from the moment it was raised. Alas, Baron and Runa had began pouring out some vodka at the same time and like hell she was going to let them have the first sip!

The parade went fine, perhaps the best it ever had since Olga's own Games. By the time training began she found herself in relatively high spirits for the Games ahead. Rook was loyal, strong and seemed to be everything that a tribute from District Two should be. He'd be a fine addition to the Victor Village, especially if his goal of becoming the leader of the Career Pack were to be accomplished.

Olga cannot follow Rook, or Midnalia, down to the training centre but she can at least track down sponsors and get updates from a Gamemaker here and there. The rewards for her loyalty and proud patriotism are a real boon sometimes.

It's around halfway through the day, right after she secures a sponsorship from the ever reliable Capitol Vodka Emporium that she gets an update from one of the upper ranked Gamemakers.

"Good news or bad?" Olga asks automatically.

"We're fairly certain it's good," the Gamemaker replies.

He goes on to tell Olga of how Rook has easily charmed Golder and Star from One, securing himself as the pack's leader without question. Olga only feels all the more pleased when she is told of his impressive, tireless efforts in training and how a ten is looking to be extremely likely. An eleven or twelve is of course preferred, but Olga is fine to settle for double digits in general.

The only oddity bought up is that Rook was insistent to his allies that the huge boy from Seven not join their pack. He wouldn't hear of the idea of recruiting those from other Districts, claiming they'd just be bigger problems to deal with later on anyway. Olga knows Rook lacks any particular loathing for Outliers and merely thinks he is the sort who prefers a smaller, efficient unit to work with. It all adds up with how he doesn't like crowds.

The day passes peacefully, but both Olga and the Gamemakers miss the rather amused, practically devious look in Rook's eyes as he further vetoes the suggestion of letting Herman from Four join their alliance.

Having attended the academy for years Rook is well versed with all the nuances of the Hunger Games and the etiquette training for the interview is no issue at all. Not even a minute into his interview and the crowd already adore him. He presents himself as powerful, but fun. A good mixture between work and play, an angle the crowd seem to lap up like milk.

"I'm honestly just ready to get out of the tribute building, stretch my legs and get going," he says with a relaxed smile. "My allies are really counting on me to lead them through the battle ahead, so how about we just get on with it?"

With a handshake to Mortimer and a wave to the crowd Rook left the stage to a grand applause, greater than his allies before him. The pack seemed united, all ready and willing to follow Rook's leadership to the very end, however the Games went. They couldn't help but snicker at the girl from Three, a wisp of a women who openly stated her willingness to jump off the pedestal and get it all over with. She felt ready to die after a life of torment from poverty and depression.

The other Careers kept up the snickering at their pitiful foe, but the gears in Rook's mind appeared to be rapidly turning.

Once again, the devious look in his eyes went unseen by all.

"Where were you?" Olga scolds Rook as he enters the District Two floor in the dead hours of the night. "You need rest. You will die if you are sleepy at the bloodbath."

"I was on the roof," he says, polite per the norm. "Woke up an hour ago and needed to just walk around a bit to tire myself out again."

Olga raises an eyebrow but doesn't push it. She can't claim to have a perfect sleep schedule herself. With a reminder of the importance of sleep she sends Rook off to bed and orders him to remain in his room until sunrise.

He doesn't disobey, but it doesn't matter any longer.

He's ready.

Olga has to admit, the arena this year looks to be quite an impressive one. It's a massive castle surrounded by a moor. Muddy ground, a vast lake, over three hundred rooms within the castle.

Pure brilliance.

The Cornucopia is well supplied and stands in the centre of the vast castle courtyard. Olga notes all the props nearby such as cannons, a guillotine and even a catapult. Props she can instantly tell are very much the real thing. She doesn't doubt that at least one tribute will end up dead from them by the day's end.

When the gong rings the tributes charge in as they do every year. As Rook and Midnalia charge for the Eights while the Ones take over 'Six duty' for the year, she notices that the girl from Three didn't kill herself after all. She alone flees out into the moor without looking back.

Rook spots her fleeing as he finishes off the girl from Eight, but pays her no further mind. Olga is certain that he'll track her down once the main battle is over and done with.

By the time the dust finally settles and the screams at the Cornucopia are mostly quiet, eleven tributes have fallen into the realm of death. Their corpses are bloodied, mangled and broken. A far cry from the living children they'd been not even ten minutes ago.

The bloodbath officially ends with a twelve death when the laughing, jeering pair from One tie up the boy from Twelve and load him into the catapult. He's sent flying miles into the air and slams into the forcefield, fried in an instant. The Ones love it, Midnalia doesn't say anything as she sorts the supplies and Rook... he seems to disapprove as he looks on into the sky where the Twelve boy had vanished.

"Bit overkill, don't you think?" he asks Star.

"He was gonna die anyway," she says, shrugging. "If we didn't somebody else would have."

"It was a fucking catapult," Rook says flatly. "Whatever, dead is dead. That's half the field gone then?"

"Twelve left, yeah," Golden says as he tries to choose between two particularly sharp and deadly swords.

Before long the alliance of four begin to sort the supplies and rest from the bloodbath. Typical stuff that doesn't hold much of Olga's attention, unlike the brief alternation between Zye from Nine and Leather from Ten within the castle's dungeons that leave the Nine girl fleeing with a broken hand.

But her attention is quickly back on her tribute when he gears up with a large backpack of supplies, a sword and several knives before striding towards the moor.

"Hey, where are you going?" Golden asks.

"I'm gonna explore," Rook says. "Get a good look at the layout of the arena and see if I can find anything interesting. Besides, I saw the Three girl run off this way. I'll be back when it gets dark, maybe sooner."

The pack let him go, still sorting through the bounty of the Cornucopia. They won't need their leader until it's time for the first real hunt.

Rook confidently explores the moor for a while, pausing every so often to check the ground. Olga checks his file again, seeing no evidence of tracking skills, but Rook isn't looking for tracks. He instead finds little circles drawn in the dirt every so often and follows them through the moor bit by bit, eventually coming to where the girl from Three had wandered.

Olga smirks as Rook finally spots her kneeling beside a ditch, sniffling. An easy kill, but one sure to give him extra sponsor attention. Besides, it's always good to eliminate another District nice and early in the Games.

Rook approaches her, not bothering with being subtle. Of course, Olga thinks, in this case there's clearly no benefit to stealth anyway.

In moments he is beside her and moves to kneel before her. For a moment all is silent. Olga awaits the first stab intently.

"Hey," Rook says, polite and courteous. "I got the stuff. They suspect nothing. Any wounds at all?"

"I'm fine. I got out fast," says the Three girl, Socket. "Think your Mentor is gonna be mad?"

"Probably, but it's not like she is allowed to withhold sponsors from me. If somebody really wants me to get something, she has to send it," Rook says with a small laugh. "Anyway, we have about four hours until they'll get suspicious. Two after that until they realise what I've done. Let's do this."

And so, they do. As the powerful boy from Two and the suicidal girl from Three share out Rook's supplies and start to traverse the moor Olga finds herself slack jawed and stunned by what she is seeing play out on the screen.

Rook has ditched the Career Pack.

In fact, he's deliberately left them crippled.

It takes a whole bottle of vodka to stop her fit full of screaming and shouting.

Rook has never liked crowds, not for a moment of his life. With his family being an ever bigger, louder and hard hitting crowd it is little wonder as to why. Being the middle of nine children gained him none of the trust of the elders nor special attention towards the youngest, only having to babysit the youths and take hits from those older than him.

No, he certainly doesn't like crowds of any sort. This dislike extends itself to the Career Pack and that didn't change at any point before the Games began and certainly not after.

It had been a simple enough plan to put into action. Step up as the ideal leader of the pack, have his allies rely completely upon him, cut off access to any Outliers who may have given the pack additional numbers... and then ditch the Pack after surviving the Bloodbath and making off with a good chunk of supplies. By then, Rook knew they'd be facing serious issues without their leader.

But the plan soon had another step added into it. Upon hearing of Socket's suicidal state Rook had offered her a deal the night before the Games began. Help him on his way to the Victor's crown and he'd ensure her death would be painless and also slip some solid cash to her family on his Victory Tour, a thing he had full intent to keep his word on. Caring nothing for herself and yet immensely for her family Socket had agreed, thus diverting her planned fate of jumping to the landmines.

This was why Rook walked miles away from the oblivious pack and instead alongside the lanky girl from Three. It was certainly among the strangest alliance seen as yet in the Hunger Games.

"So what's the plan?" Socket asks, barely above a whisper.

"Well the one thing I told the pack that wasn't complete crap was that I wanted to scout the arena. That's the plan, getting a lay of the land," Rook replies. "If we find somebody I'll take care of them, you just try to stand back and not get killed."

"I'll do my best," Socket tells him, her head hung low. "...Aren't you worried? I mean, after what happened to the boy from your District last year..."

"We do not talk about Valour's fate," Rook says, quick to end the conversation before it starts. "The pair from Eight are dead. It won't happen."

Socket drops it.

By the time the rest of the pack start to realise that Rook has played them for fools a cannon has already boomed, caused by the deserter from Two. Taking down the large boy from Seven serves to better his own chances, true enough, but being on the move all day with a new alliance whilst his allies stood around doing nothing has all but secured the attention of the sponsors that did not pledge ultimate loyalty to a District, unlike the gem stores that favour One and One alone.

As Bugsy from Seven falls down dead a parachute drops containing two bottles of fine energy soda, two beef rolls and a rather acidic letter from Olga yelling at Rook to get back to his real alliance. He merely tears up the note and passes half the sponsor haul to Socket.

"Why?" she asks, as glum as ever.

"I don't see the logic in treating my one ally like shit," Rook says, shrugging. "I said you'd die painlessly but... eh, why not make your last few days alive painless as well?"

Socket doesn't argue it, simply nodding and biting into the offered food. Nightfall arrives fast and the anthem displays the faces of the thirteen dead. While Rook and Socket hide out in a dark cave near a ditch deep in the moor the angry, overshadowed Career pack of Three light torches and head out into the darkness.

A tiny boy from Eleven is slain during the night, the Careers taking their anger and bitterness on him due to Rook being out of sight and sword range.

While the Careers spend time hunting around the moor for tributes and Olga tries to keep her temper in check from the mentoring seat, Rook leads Socket back to the large castle. It doesn't take a Gamemaker with thousands of cameras to know that plenty of tributes are hiding out in the massive building somewhere.

As the castle is six storey's tall, maybe even seven, it's clear that a wide search is going to take quote a long time and every door opened will only give the hidden tributes a warning that danger is near. Stealth won't be viable.

Rook doesn't see it as a problem, having worked out a plan rather quickly.

It's pretty basic, all in all. Socket simply kneels over and cries loudly, so depressed that she doesn't have to fake or exaggerate a thing, while Rook hides out of sight from the doors to deal with any tributes who come to investigate.

The so called 'crying trap' ends up luring two tributes to their untimely deaths within forty minutes. The plan is only foiled when the girl from Twelve witnesses Rook killing the boy from Four and flees for her life. Knowing that knowledge of the trap is likely to get spread around Rook soon has himself and Socket on the move once again.

"What do we do now?" Socket asks, glum.

"We get ourselves ready for battle," Rook tells her. "I have an idea. That pack won't know what hit it."

"Because they'll be dead?" Socket guesses.

Rook's confident smirk is all the answer that Socket needs.

After the crying trap is sprung and exposed every Outlier within the castle walls knows that the time for hiding is up. By the time Rook and Socket exit the castle after a decent night of sleep all the Outliers who still live have fled into the Moor, incorrectly assuming that if one Career is nearby then the rest must be as well.

If Rook feels annoyed that the kills he intended to make have escaped and, as one cannon at midday proves, being stolen then he doesn't show it.

He spends his time getting the cannons within the arena positioned in the direction of the one entrance into the castle grounds. He spends some time after that loading them up.

"Need a hand?" Socket mumbles, laying on her back as she stares aimlessly at the clouds in the sky.

"I'll be fine," Rook says, loading up one of the last cannons. "Can you even lift these things? They're heavy, you know."

Socket just shrugs, going back to staring. Time passes silently until, his word done, Rook allows himself a bread to down some water.

"So, what do you plan to do if you win?" Socket asks, randomly.

"Have my own house for one thing. I can't stand company," Rook mutters, shaking his head. "I've had enough of it over the years. Besides that, probably get into playing hover ball professionally. Always wanted to do that."

"Sounds nice," Socket says, bland.

"...You have a dream?" Rook asks, tossing aside an empty water bottle. "I mean, besides of dying. That doesn't count."

"Does it matter? I'm dying in a dew days," Socket says, still staring upwards.

"Doesn't mean you don't have one. C'mon, may as well give the audience something to listen to while we wait for my ex-alliance to show up," Rook says, tearing into a meat pastry.

Socket doesn't speak for a while, the depression consuming her like the thickest of smog clouds. Rook says nothing, figuring that the topic is dropped and continues to eat.

"I'd like to fly, just like a bird," Socket says after a while. "Just once."

"If by some fluke I die and you win by default, I think the Capitol could make that happen," Rook says, managing to smile. "Not all dreams are impossible, just hard... like me getting away from crowds for once. But hey, I got what I wanted. See? No crowd here."

"You still have company," Socket says, returning to watching the sky.

"Two is company, not a crowd. That's three," Rook says with a laugh.

It's a pleasant, slow day for the odd alliance. The same can't be said for the others as a rainstorm begins, thundering down throughout the night upon the moor. The outer parts of the moor are consumed by the water, forcing the remaining tributes closer together. The flooding ends up sweeping away two tributes to a watery demise, including Midnalia.

As much as Rook sees the Hunger Games as 'just business' and set up his fake alliance to fail, he can't help feeling a little bad for Midnalia. The feeling soon passes though as he continues to feast on the meat pastries, fairly content and sheltered from the weather.

A desperate attack from the girl from Ten, driven mad from hunger and moderate blood loss, takes Rook off of his guard at the sunrise of the final day. It's hard to predict what the insane may do, and jumping off the top of the outer wall and onto him with a knife in hand is among the hardest of things to see coming.

He struggles, but the girl struggles even moreso and manages to stab him twice in his left shoulder. Knife nearly meets bone, but a moment later knife meets spine. Rook wheezes, relieved as the girl drops dead upon the courtyard ground. Socket drops her bloodied knife and resumes her constant, depressive cloud watching.

"Be more careful," she tells him, wiping away a few tears absentmindedly.

With his left shoulder aflame in some highly serious pain, Rook promises through gritted teeth that he will.

By sundown Golden and Star hunt down the last Outlier aside from Socket and make their way back to the massive castle. They know very well that it's where they will find Rook and probably the girl from Three.

They have no idea, of course, that Rook and Socket are allies.

As they approach the castle they see Socket sitting around up ahead, weeping to herself. Training takes over and they charge with their blades held firmly. Socket only has a head start in her favour, nothing more.

But that's all she needs in the end.

Rook's the one with the cannons and the matches to light them with. He does exactly that once Socket has moved safely past the cannons.

"Cover your ears," he warns her.

Cannon fire, one much more crude and vicious than the typical type heard every year, echoes across the damp moor. Golden and Star stand no chance against the cannonballs, their bodies bloody and horrifically broken in mere seconds. They lay sprawled out, dead and lacking any of the beauty they were known for in life.

Rook cheered, his victory all but certain at this point. The cannons that fired were music to his ears.

But, seeing Socket still stood breathing, he knew the Games had not been played out yet.

"Thanks for being a decent ally. You're a credit to Three. A fine second placer," Rook said, stretching out. "We gonna duel, or...?"

"I'm ready to die," Socket said, shrugging.

"...You said you wanted to fly, right?" Rook asked, an idea entering his head.

Socket nodded, confused. Her confusion only grew as, with serious effort, Rook dragged over the catapult and wound it down into firing position.

"Consider your dream fulfilled," Rook said, gesturing to the bucket of the catapult. "If you're dying regardless, why not die flying?"

For the first time in her life Socket managed to smile, even if just for a brief moment.

It was a moment Rook wasn't going to forget.

"Enjoy being a Victor," Socket said as she got into the catapult. "I don't think your Mentor is going to be happy that you totally went against all the plans your District tends to follow."

"It worked, didn't it?" Rook said, snickering a bit. "Farewell, Capitol bless."

One goodbye to her family for the cameras to see later and Socket was launched through the air, silent and serene. Rook watched her soar away, up to when she struck the forcefield for a quick and clean death.

He gave a salute to his fallen ally, before cheering in triumph as the trumpets sounded to announced his victory. As the hovercraft descended to pick him up he could only find it in himself to yell one thing.

"Finally! My own house! No more fucking crowds!"

The after party is a mixed affair for Olga. Her tribute won and District Two was victorious once again. With four Victors now it seems like their lead is only going to get bigger and bigger, never to be caught.

But she doesn't feel best pleased either.

She's angry. Angry that Rook turned his back on everything that a tribute from Two should be, angry that he lied to her from the start and refused to return to his alliance.

Angry that he joined forces with an Outlier.

Rook doesn't seem to notice, or care, about any of this or the glares she sends his way. He just hangs out at the edge of the party, enjoying the good food on offer. People come and go towards him, but he's not being flocked. It seems the Capitolites caught onto his dislike of crowds and don't wish to overwhelm their shiny new Victor.

Olga doubts it'll last long.

"You seem unhappy," Baron says as he walks up alongside Runa. "I'd have thought you'd be pleased we saved one this year."

"He did it the wrong way. There was no honour or patriotism to that shameless display," Olga spits, disgusted. "Worse yet, he's going to be a Mentor now. He'll be poisoning the minds of the future generations of tributes."

"I think the main point is coming back alive. Does it really matter how when the important thing is staying alive?" Runa asks. "Seems he pulled that part off pretty well."

"He did it wrong," Olga hisses.

"He did it like Runa here," Baron says, an arm around his girlfriend. "If you recall, Runa didn't join the pack. Sword tried to kill her."

"Considering what he did to Glamour I'm glad I bolted when I did," Runa says, shuddering. "A Victor is a Victor. He's the one who made no fatal mistakes, so he deserves to be alive."

"Seems like my father taught him well," Baron says, a bit of disgust in his voice. He's never for a second agreed with the way his District trains for and enjoys the Hunger Games.

The knowledge that he started this whole thing keeps him up frequently.

Olga soon leaves the couple behind, annoyed at how little they get it. All it takes is one Victor breaking the rules and then District Two won't be quite so privileged anymore. Her Grandpa knew it, her father knew it and she sure as hell knows it.

One look at Rook laughing at a joke some random Capitolite told him only makes her scowl all the uglier. She'll have to keep a much closer eye on her tributes in future years, keep her hold firm to ensure they do not go off the grid and 'pull a Rook'.

Sometimes District Two has 'Problem Victors'.

Olga has no patience for Problem Victors.

"Four Victors already. I guess this is when District Two pulled ahead and never had their Victor count overtaken?" Katniss said, her arms crossed.

"When you consider their training academy, wealth and privileges... it makes sense," Peeta replied. "Makes you wonder how many Victors they would've had if the Games kept going."

"I don't want to even start thinking about that," Katniss says with a shake of her head.

The couple kept walking and it wasn't long before they reached the eighteenth face on the sidewalk. A firm looking young woman with short hair and an expression of discipline and focus looked back up at them.

"Isobel Sparks," Peeta read. "Seems like a tough woman, I'll give her that."

"Wasn't she the one who excelled at unarmed combat? I vaguely recall somebody saying that once?" Katniss remarked, uncertain.

There we are, another Victor for District Two! While some such as Olga follow the rules to a letter and see them as a sort of Gospel Truth, others like Rook prefer to just do it their own way. I mean, if it works who can blame him? Olga sure can! I've always liked the idea of a Career splitting off to go it alone, but I felt that'd be just a touch cliché if it were the only detail, so I figured why not throw in a very unlikely alliance where Rook does much of the work and him setting up the pack to fail for good measure? Hope you guys liked Rook. If not, no worries, as there is still plenty more to come!

Stats

District 1: Peridot Gaudy (8th Games), Crystal McCree (14th Games)

District 2: Baron Overwhill (4th Games), Runa Peace (7th Games), Olga Machete (10th Games), Rook Valiant (17th Games)

District 3: Honorius Perthshire (5th Games)

District 4: Museida Selkirk (3rd Games), Mags Flanagan (11th Games)

District 5: Shunt Gaspar (12th Games)

District 6: N/A

District 7: Pliny Aransio (2nd Games), Fir Buzz (9th Games)

District 8: Woof Casino (16th Games)

District 9: Mizar Aldjoy (1st Games), Gwenith Rosebud (13th Games)

District 10: N/A

District 11: Bear Redfoot (15th Game)

District 12: Duke Saint-Rose (6th Games)