Author's note

I edited the previous chapter (October 20th at 11am, GMT+1), to stress two things:

Mags has no intention of hooking up with a victor.

Avoxes are her new target: (below is an extract of the modified paragraph)

*c*

Invisible, infiltrating every level of the Capitol. Mags' mouth almost watered at the possibilities. She had to learn everything she could about avoxes and have Glynn find those who supervised them. If the rebellion could come from the avoxes, it would take the Capitol by surprise and limit the bloodshed.

This was it, this was the solution Mags had been waiting for. A rebellion without a full-scale war.

*c*

Obviously, canon has no rebellion coming before the 75th Games, but a woman has to try and try she will, with enough success not to lose her life. It also explains why Katniss makes no mention of a rebellion in her parent's time. Nothing reached District Twelve and the media keeps local uprisings quiet unless it's to show how they beat the rebels down and reestablish order.

Thanks for all the feedback!

Year 12, August. A week after the end of the 12th Hunger Games.

Mags was pacing on the terrace.

She couldn't seem to find a solution that was both safe and humane.

"How to spread the voice and allow people to come to train for the Games without making it too obvious that we're training Careers, Mama? Appearances have to be maintained."

And Achlys had to be convinced that Careers were a major goal of FLASH.

Angelites, who had patiently being listening to Mags' one-woman debate for the last half hour, stood up and gestured towards the town below.

"Talk to people and make it an open secret," she said. "Do not go through mayors or peacekeepers, have the teens spread the word themselves. Glynn left you a list of contacts for every town and village, Caspian will help us. You should go to Lycorias with your guard, have a change of air. Finding two people won't be difficult."

No, not when they were looking for acceptable sacrifices rather than victors. Making a victor, Mags shuddered just at the thought. To be sure, they'd need a remorseless killer, an intelligent, skilled and lucky, remorseless killer, and Mags would be no part of that.

"How do we choose?" She pressed, wringing her hands in distaste. "What do we do if there are six or ten of them? We must have more than two for they could change their minds. What if the ones who don't volunteer in the end are not good enough to remain at the Academy to learn a craft? What if I can't bring myself to let them volunteer when the day comes?"

The arena would kill them, but Mags was the one who'd have pushed them into it.

"Mags, with the right teachers, almost anyone can develop a talent. If we allow a kid in, they'll leave with a job."

Or they'll die in the Capitol.

"If you give them confidence, there will always be someone to volunteer," her mother said, her calm voice carrying the soothing power that had steadied Mags since she had been a child. "We could have a partnership with the training center in Galene. Many join to escape and would prefer FLASH had they a choice," she pointed out. "Those too loyal to the Capitol who don't volunteer could in the same way later enroll."

Mags nodded. Yes, it could be a place to start.

"I'll have Marquise fetch Caspian and come over," she decided. "We've got work to do."

Her mother grasped her hand. "You won't decide alone who volunteers in the end."

"I can't force their hand or hold back those who may speak out," Mags said, purposefully misinterpreting the question.

"Mags, we'll make those decisions together, or I will, alone," Angelites said. "Not everything is your responsibility. We choose lesser evils because we must, but in this, you deserve the luxury of not choosing at all."

Mags turned towards the window, her hands clenching before her. She didn't want her mother to see the storm of emotions those words unleashed in her.

Choices, death…She would have to mentor each and every one of those teenagers.

Year 13, July. One month before the 13th Hunger Games.

"You wanted to see me, Mags?"

Catalina's green eyes were bright and fearless, and only her slight stiffness betrayed her nervousness at being alone with Four's single victor.

Strong and hard-working, the bony young woman had been eager to push her limits and quick to learn when not to push too hard. More focused and alert than anyone could expect of an eighteen year old, Catalina was one of the most adaptable, driven people Mags had ever met.

Catalina had by far the greatest chance of winning.

Mags swallowed in the hope of dislodging the stone in her throat. "I have decided to select Belita as the prime volunteer."

The soft spoken words seemed to rob the trainee's face of all color. Even her short raven curls suddenly seemed lackluster.

Catalina, who after a mere eight months of training had astounded Marquise.

She's a natural, Mags.

"I don't understand," Catalina whispered, her words choked as if she'd been struck. "I thought I was doing things right."

"You've exceeded all expectations," Mags said with a warm smile. "You have done in one year of training what the syllabus will expect of the fourteen-year-olds who have started this year when they will be of volunteering age."

Her smile tightened when she saw the tears of hurt shimmering in Catalina's eyes.

Teaching physical skill wasn't too hard. The Games were no brawling match or sparring contests. Someone fit and quick with a blade, resistant to hunger, with minimal survival skills and fast enough to escape trouble could survive a long time.

It was the mindset that was a problem.

Resistance to fear, the ability to sense danger and anticipate the Gamemakers' traps. The ability to sleep under extreme stress and keep your head in a crisis or when pain threatened overwhelmed your senses.

Those were the things Mags and her team of instructors struggled to teach. She knew there were ways to see who among her thirty trainees –ranging from fourteen to seventeen years of age - were made of sterner stuff, but she also knew such 'exercises' would break those who weren't.

Mags had vowed, and vowed again every single day, never to sacrifice those who had a life to live to the profit of the volunteers. The volunteers would enter the Games as human beings, not as machines, even if it killed them.

It was the price they were resigned to pay.

Catalina's breath hitched. "Gillick and Morgan are the very best among the boys. I know each of their weaknesses and have learned to compliment them perfectly," she said, her voice cracking.

She didn't have to say how hard it had been to let the closed-up Morgan lower his guard enough to let her practice with him.

"Belita is sixteen, a year of training can only heighten her chances," Catalina begged. "I will win this year, Mags, for Four."

A sad smile split Mags' lips. Such strong loyalty to her District.

It was drummed into them to be honest, Mags couldn't allow any of them to leave without making sure they were devoted to their land or she'd be giving the Capitol weapons.

Taught by retired Sergeant-Mayor Douglas, a red-faced man with short limbs and a sagging stomach, born and bred in Four, and one of the very few people who'd fought the war without incurring the hate of either sides. He'd kept the supply lines open, and saved more lives than anyone else in Creneis.

Mags had been almost scared of how easily the man had instilled his ideas of district pride, of sacrifice and duty –of course reminding them the Capitol remained the higher instance – in those bright young minds.

"You have the best chance, and you deserve to win, Catalina," Mags said, meaning every word.

Catalina was a good person and truth was, Mags didn't want her to die.

The confusion and betrayal in those green-eyes made Mags wince.

Catalina stood up, her lips trembling in anger. "Belita has been behaving as if she was in the arena from day one," she exclaimed. "She is brawny and tough but she is a poor ally and would show off rather than get the job done. She gives a poor image of District Four."

Yes. Belita was arrogant and callous, throwing her weight around and always just at the limit of harassment.

Mags knew that Four wouldn't miss her and deep down that she wouldn't miss her. Mags would let Belita go.

Catalina sat back down as she struggled to make sense of the decision that put an end to all her dreams. "Have you decided Gillick deserves all your support and you do not wish to divide your resources? I understand that balancing two volunteers is difficult, but I believe –"

"Enough," Mags cut in. She took no pleasure in seeing the girl torture herself so.

Catalina stiffened and shut up. She would have made an outstanding peacekeeper. Mags would have her be even better.

This was why she had built the academy. She had been observing Catalina and such loyalty and talent was not to be squandered. Such loyalty deserved trust.

"Catalina, my sister accidentally revealed something to you a month ago, something that you could have used to make your life easier."

Esperanza had showed Catalina by 'accident' what the code to the weapons and records storage room was. They'd wanted to see if the girl would train in secret or watch the other trainees' private session videos in order to get ahead. She had done neither.

"I do not believe I am more qualified than you to assess what must be done to have us prepared." A flash of indignation crossed the raven-haired girl's face. "If I need such methods to remain at the top of the class, then I do not deserve my place and someone else should represent us in the Hunger Games."

Mags cracked a small smile. She suddenly wondered if Dario would get along well with the girl. Their single-minded focus on duty and honor was mind-boggling.

"Catalina, I will not have you volunteer because none of the two who do are expected to win. The Capitol expects sacrifices. With Flash, we give them sacrifices, willing ones, who do have a slight chance, but there is no way to reliably prepare someone for the Hunger Games."

Catalina surprised her by nodding sharply. "This slight chance is why I joined. My life will have meaning or I will die."

No. Mags' eyes flashed. "Your life will have meaning and you will live," she vowed. "You can serve Four in other ways," Mags gripped the young woman's hand, aware she was at the verge of revealing one of her greatest secrets. "Like almost all those who were trained here and who will never volunteer were selected for in the first place."

Catalina's eyes had grown wide. "I…" Her world was crumbling. This was the opposite of what she'd been told for a year. But she was a smart girl, and Mags could see the cogs in her brain whirring.

"I know why you joined," she said softly, all too aware few of the trainees had happy histories. Catalina's was a grim well of misery. "I research all the applicants. I cannot cure misery and erase abuse, but individuals I can help. Belita will volunteer, because now I will help you."

The Games weren't the only alternative for people like Catalina. The young woman would make a great instructor.

Catalina brought both her hands to her mop of curly hair. "I don't have to play?" She said in hoarse disbelief. "I don't have to?"

It seemed Mags had shattered a mask, for Catalina began to weep.

Year 13, August, Reaping Day.

Gillick should have been on that stage. He was from Creneis, attention-hungry and delusional, unable to believe someone who as athletic as him could fail. The mere mention of the power a victor wielded had him in a trance. Mags had never tried too hard to change his mind but then his brother had come, and begged Mags not to let him volunteer.

Mags realized then that she couldn't do it. Reason had failed her the moment Gillick's desperate brother had sunk to his knees.

She staged an incident with Legend and Marquise's help and let Gillick be kicked out of FLASH. Mags then made a great show of interceding for him to let him leave with a shipwright-apprentice's diploma. She now hoped he'd get over his foolish dreams and make use of his considerable potential.

She had wept in pathetic delight when the brother had sent her flowers.

Now Mags stomach lurched when she thought of shy but willful Morgan who hated people as fiercely as he craved to win. Independence. Whatever had happened to the young man with the rare blue eyes, it had led him to prefer to starve rather than ask for a piece of fish.

It was the darker side of FLASH. As they searched for potential volunteers, they found broken people and broken people found them. Not all could be fixed and every year some would be sacrificed.

"Life would have sacrificed them all," her mother had said.

Statistically, yes, but it all came back to the curse of responsibility. Mags didn't feel guilty when a stranger died without her knowing in the streets of Lycorias.

Morgan, a handsome elfin-faced lad who preferred to hide behind messy hair and concealing clothes, who threw tridents as big as him with perfect accuracy, who had mastered the physics behind a ship engine without breaking a sweat, and yet barely said a word except to ask questions, then he never shut up, his steel-blue eyes riveted on the ground. Morgan, she knew enough to care.

"I volunteer!"

Mags started. This was not Morgan Vega.

Her eyes widened when she saw a triumphant Deniz step on the platform, aware the crowd-hating sixteen-year-old Morgan could never react in time.

Mags couldn't comprehend such a thirst for specialness that burned away all common sense.

Deniz. An eighteen-year-old cheerful orphan who'd flirted with every girl he'd come across. Brash, careless, fun loving and rather popular, he'd keep his head for nothing fazed him. He'd lose his life, because he laughed in danger's face.

Morgan was standing in the middle of the path. He had crouched, looking lost and broken as he realized his chance had gone.

Mags' eyes lingered on his tear-stricken face, feeling the oddest kind of empathy.

How could she be sorry that someone hadn't had the chance to volunteer?

"Dario, please make sure Morgan eats and doesn't do anything stupid until my return," she said.

She would have to take care of him.

13th Hunger Games.

"Why didn't you tell me, Mags?" Deniz spluttered on every mentor's screen, blood choking him with every word.

She'd expected them to die.

She'd hoped they'd never realize the extent of her betrayal.

She hadn't failed her district, but she had failed them.

"Why did you let me think I could do this?" the agonizing young man cried at the merciless artificial sun as he crawled behind the boulder where he would die alone.

It hurt more than Mags had thought possible.

Rowan cleared his throat. "Who wants to play baseball until the night's money rolls in?" He said, sounding almost embarrassed by his proposal. "Hitting hard stuff that comes at us, it's a tradition in Seven. The training rooms are still open."

"I'm up," Mordred said, immediately followed by the blonde Gunner, his mentee and youngest victor.

"Is there a rotation plan for who has to come up with a bonding idea each year?" Comet inquired with a fake bright smile.

"I'll take next year's," Vicuña said, putting an arm around Mags' shoulder. "And what's with the radical change in opinion, old timer?"

"Mags has a great smile," Rowan said, his own smile apologetic. He knew there was little that could be done to soothe the pain of Deniz's passing right now.

Mags was so touched by the effort that she almost burst into tears. "And I look even better naked," she cracked.

Rowan grinned. "I said, no expectations and I promised I wouldn't get you drunk again."

Mags found a small smile cracking her lips at the sound of glass smashing.

"And you didn't tell me!" Bianca squawked drunkenly, seemingly snapping out of the daze that had taken over her since her tributes' death. "You rotten person, I thought we were friends, Mags," she said, her hands firmly on her hips.

Mags failed not to blush at the stares now directed at her. Still, she was relieved that was out in the open. Secrets were poisonous, especially stupid ones that made you feel awkward.

"How much do you have to drink to…?" Mattock joked, "Cause Zalij here could use a – Ow!"

Zalij from Eight was blushing so hard he'd elbowed Mattock right into the ground. The size difference was such that Zalij's aim turned quite unfortunate.

Everyone winced when Mattock crashed.

"Bull-pizzle! My wife wanted a second baby," the man wheezed, cradling his crotch.

"It's Mags' fault, she's the one who slept around," Comet said with an unabashed evil smirk.

Mags glowered slightly. The woman from Three always found the appropriate, kind, thing to say.

"Around, around… You make me sound so average," Rowan complained in distaste.

"You've got a gift for making things' lively," Vicuña whispered, more delighted than Mags could bring herself to feel right now.

Still, somehow, the dying teenager that had occupied the screen, screaming at her, seconds before, seemed suddenly less real.

"Thanks," she whispered, grateful not to be alone.

Baseball turned into a wild, rule-less game of tag that then devolved into a ruthless of us vs them when the escorts turned up wondering where the victors had all gone. Luckily, the victors remained wise enough not to throw the cushy balls too hard at the Capitolites. The latter were hopelessly outmatched.

Mags was confident the ball which had knocked out Euryale had been thrown by Lucian.

For the first time ever, she heard Larix laugh.

Rowan's grin was bright enough to light a room.

Blessedly, Mags was too exhausted to dream that night.

Year 13, end of August.

Hunched on his bed, the young man didn't turn when she came in. He looked more like a pile of overlarge clothes than a teenager. "When will I have to leave?" He whispered. "I failed."

In the year he'd trained, Mags wasn't sure he'd once met her eyes. Odd that he'd think she'd forbid him to volunteer for the 14th Games. He had two more reapings to attend after all.

But it wasn't important. 'Morgan's' whole identity had turned out to be fake.

There was no sixteen year old Morgan Vega from Lycorias. There had been one, and his story had matched the one the trainee had given, but the real Morgan was dead. They'd just looked enough alike, and the news of Morgan's death had reached the people late enough, that the cover story had held under loose scrutiny.

Legend had kept saying that he'd known the boy, that he'd seen him somewhere. But Mags had shrugged it off. 'Morgan's' blue eyes were uncommon but not unique and some families spanned over Creneis and Lycorias and physical resemblances weren't so rare.

That was until Legend had pinpointed it and brought a picture of the much younger boy as proof.

Angelo Vasquez. The nine year old who, six years before, had reported his parents for sedition, telling Creneis and the whole of Four that no one was safe, not even from their own brainwashed children.

Mags hadn't believed her eyes.

Of course, there was also the possibility that Angelo had been abused and that his childish mind had reached for the easiest way there was to get free.

Whatever his reasons or his crimes, life had not been kind to the withdrawn young man before her and while Mags could do little for his avoxed family, she could try to make things right by him. She'd checked before coming. Both his parents, barely fourteen years older than Angelo, had been among the thousand dead four years before.

Now she had to face her trainee.

"Who are you escaping from, Angelo?"

The boy spun around so fast Mags barely had the time to notice the blade. Her body reacted before her or she'd have had the kitchen knife against her throat rather than her hand around Angelo's wrist.

"Drop it or I'll scream," Mags said. "Do I strike you as such a drama queen that I'd come alone to taunt you before carting you away? You're not going anywhere," she stressed.

She'd have to put the kitchens under lock. The trainees couldn't be left to walk around armed.

"I'm done with blackmail," his low voice was as sharp as the blade, which he didn't drop until Mags wrestled it out of his grasp.

"I don't need anything except skilled craftsmen and sailors," Mags snapped. After a few conversations with Catalina, she figured any type of softness would be perceived as manipulation by that difficult boy. "Everything else I can buy. If you can't believe in human kindness, listen to reason."

After a tense moment, Angelo shrugged. "So those whaling classes, they're for real?"

The lack of emotions bothered Mags. She knew he loved those classes, he did too well in them for it just to be just inborn skill.

"You'll still get to use blades, practice your balance, and I'll warn the sailors not to talk to you if it bothers you so."

Mags winced. She hadn't meant to cross the line from blunt to mean. "Sorry," she muttered.

Angelo blinked at her, his hostility cracking for a split second. A sneer then flitted over his lips. "Don't bother, they'll hate me before I even meet them."

Mags repressed a sigh. "How did you know Morgan Vega?" She said.

There was the matter of Angelo having known he was dead before anyone else.

"I'll phrase it differently," she said when she stopped the frantic young man from grabbing back his knife. "Who must I arrest in Lycorias? If there's someone who can ruin your life through blackmail, my most promising young whaler, who represents a third of the whalers under forty in the whole of Creneis, is compromised. I don't like that."

Angelo barely reacted to the praise. Instead he seemed to shrink on himself. "What if he's the good guy?" He said, his voice almost a whimper.

Mags arched her eyebrows. She'd had ample time to observe every single trainee. Angelo's whole being screamed 'leave me alone' and his first reflex was to flee. He lashed back only if he was cornered. If Angelo had killed the real Morgan Vega, then they were talking about a man who blackmailed a sixteen year old into committing murder. Mags was confident 'good' was quite short of appropriate.

A hundred and six. They had been a hundred and six crimes short of obtaining those meteorological radars and Lycorias had the highest percentage of unsolved murders and break-ins. Mags wasn't about to leave dangerous criminals around.

"I got my parents killed," Angelo said, anguish tingeing his voice. "I'd heard at school that drugs were really bad and they took drugs. When they laughed at me and told me to try, I thought they were finally admitting they'd wanted me dead all along." Tears of rage and disgust rose in his clear eyes. "I panicked and got them killed!"

Mags swallowed. "That's between you and your conscience. I'm interested by what you'll do from now on."

Great, now she sounded like Glynn. Mags needed Cara to give her some more psych lessons, this was way beyond her comfort zone.

"You can be Angelo Stormborn, first orphan of FLASH if you prefer," she offered. "I won the Games, I don't judge. I believe in second chances."

She didn't say that she never gave third ones.

That seemed to make him pause. Surprise flashed across his face, swiftly erased but noticeable enough that Mags mentally high-fived herself.

"I failed. They'll never leave me alone now," he said gloomily. "I can't go to class. I still need at least year to become a whaler."

Mags almost rolled her eyes. Inwardly, she was pleased he could sound like a teenager. Afraid people would make fun of him. Honestly.

"Andromeda Bones can give you personal classes if you wish," she said. "We're a small wealthy structure taking its first steps. Enjoy it while it lasts."

She was not having Angelo give up on her like that. He wanted a life, she could see it from the attention he paid to Sergeant-Major Douglas' passionate speeches, and Mags wanted a whaler who wasn't a danger to society.

"You can't stand not fixing things," Angelo muttered behind his curtain of tangled hair.

Mags winced. That was too close to the bone for comfort. "People. Things I just replace." She caught herself before her hand could squeeze his shoulder. He'd take the gesture the wrong way. "Give it a chance," she said softly.

Angelo shrugged, but he was meeting her eyes again.

Seated on the edge of his undone bed, Mags was proud to note the air smelt dry and clean. They'd done a good job with the constructions.

"Ormand Northcliff," Angelo whispered when he realized she wasn't about to leave without a name. "If you meant that about second chances, you have to be the only one who hears him out."

If that was a glimmer of hope in those too-adult blue eyes, Mags wouldn't let it be squashed.

She hoped she'd never find out what had happened. Time spent with victors had taught her some histories were best left buried. She'd task Legend with the job, he was too ecstatic about his new wife to be depressed by anything anyway.

She also knew that one day, if she felt the need, she'd get Angelo to talk and then bite her own fingers for having done so.

Year 13, November.

"So?"

"That Angelo kid's messed up bad. But the guy deserved what he got," Legend said, not even an ounce of pity in his tone. "I had him talking, I think we've got a criminal network using orphans and other vulnerable people to dismantle in Lycorias."

"Want to make a trip?" Mags said with wry cheer.

"No," Legend said, grimacing in distaste. "I've got a pregnant wife, offer a bonus for whoever gets the job done cleanly there. Someone will be competent."

Marquise stifled a snort. "The bets are open," she said before inhaling sharply. "No, seriously, Mags, don't give a general alert or it'll be a rampage with innocents arrested and the real criminals evading capture. It can't be too hard to find who does the good peacekeeping with all the contacts you have."

"Careful Marquise, if you continue to think like that, Falx might make you Sergeant when Ajax leaves," Legend said with a broad smile.

This time Marquise snorted outright. "Dario will have a stroke."

"Dario won't stay more than he has too," Legend pointed out.

Mags didn't know it yet, but they were about to kick an anthill. Two years later, with radar domes proudly installed in Orythia and Creneis, Mags would remember this madness fondly.

Year 14, 14th Games, training day Two.

"Mum, I want the same dress," the toddler exclaimed.

Mags stifled a laugh when Myia attempted to say no while not upsetting her daughter which ended up with Nymeria being promised an absurd amount of things for her birthday.

Myia's little girl was cute enough that Mags could almost forget what Glynn had told her about preimplantation genetic diagnosis and all those complicated sounding techniques that made having a baby in the Capitol sound like going to the market.

Glynn, who was right now her favorite person in the world, because she had become 'friends' with two of the three main people in charge of avox management – who were all doctors on the side – and gotten the third sacked for diverting funds and falsifying records.

The Capitol hadn't had the time to realize what was happening. Glynn had gotten thirty-six people sacked or outright tried in the last two months after almost two years of 'data gathering' and whatever she did on the side with Syrianus.

Mags pretended not to notice that Glynn couldn't not speak about him for more than ten minutes. She preferred to tease her friend about the slight Capitol accent she was acquiring. Glynn was almost ridiculously sensitive about it.

Teasing Glynn aside, Achlys finally had proof that her faith in Glynn had been well placed, which meant Glynn had been promoted and now had access to avox files.

They were getting finally somewhere. Slowly, the avoxes would be organized into a full rebel network.

And Mags had a brand new stomach implant that filtered alcohol. All in all, she was a happy woman.

"Nymeria, if you learn to weave, you can make your own dresses," the victor said.

The kid was bright for a two year old. Her eyes widened in a way that was definitely calculating. "Mum!" She ordered. "Teach me to weave."

Myia grinned helplessly before furrowing her brow. "That's actually not a bad idea. Might keep my little monster occupied for more than five minutes straight."

"Mags," a voice called.

The frantic knocking had her rush towards the door behind which she could hear her tributes talking.

"Cree from Two said he'd come to assassinate us in our sleep when we refused to ally," Delmar said, worry creasing his face.

"As in assassinate here," Ula stressed, outrage giving her voice a strident edge.

Mags frowned. "Plant a pike behind the door, I'll warn Lucian."

Delmar's eyebrows shot up at the word pike. "Serious?"

"Very," Mags said with a smile.

At four in the morning, Mags bit back a snicker when the two-hundred-pound-of-muscle Cree wilted under Mordred's murderous gaze.

"You tried to do WHAT?" The victor from Two thundered.

Year 14, 14th Games, training day two.

Mags' cheer burst like a popped balloon. She cursed herself for having allowed herself to believe.

Delmar had been different.

For the first time, six well-trained volunteers had entered the Games. Six scores of eight and over with one unbelievable ten. Unfortunately, Cree from Two got killed first, because a ten in training had even his own district partner scared.

It was one of the flaws in Two's training method. District partners almost acted as strangers and evidently didn't trust each other at all.

No one was surprised anymore when they saw a Cornucopia stuffed with supplies and weapons at the beginning if the Games.

Delmar had scored a nine and was the kind of handsome that went a long way in the Capitol. He had rushed in the arena ready to buy his siblings the castle he had promised them, to escape poverty and cure the cancer of the grandmother he loved so.

He had a girlfriend he wanted to marry. She was as beautiful as her family was poor, and she would have married a wealthier boy than Delmar, no matter where her feelings lay, because family came first.

Delmar had every reason to fight. He'd come to FLASH two years before and had left hardened but not bloodthirsty. He would struggle to kill, but he'd not crumble at the sight of death.

Mags was right on all accounts. Neither jabberjays nor ghost holograms fazed the young man. He killed quickly and he and Ula made a magnificent team.

It was the Gamemakers who put an end to her hopes.

When the crowds began to cry for more actions and complain that Domitia from Two –the current best killer – and her allies had slowed from the lack of food.

That's when Mags knew they had lost. Delmar could have handled a week of meager meals, it would have given him a huge edge. Now, after a bloody fight to control the large tent of supplies the Capitol had gifted the official Career alliance with, Delmar, wounded, was the sole survivor from Four.

Medicine was not available that year. The odds were back in Two's favor.

Domitia won in the graveyard arena after fifteen terrible dragged-out days.

Mags let out a shaky breath when the Capitol announced the victor. Dread had turned her insides to stone.

Domitia was not like Mordred or even like Gunner, the eerie blonde victor from the twelfth Games who didn't seem to process suffering like others did.

Domitia killed for sport. She reminded Mags of Sable, but a more focused, larger, more dangerous Sable. She trained because it was a thing people now did, not out of necessity. She defined herself as a Career, not as a daughter, friend, sister or girlfriend. She had no cause, and had even looked lost after the initial thrill of victory and Mags could tell it was because Domitia feared that now that the Games were over, she wouldn't be allowed to ever behave like that again.

Domitia was the third victor from District Two in five years (and would have been the fourth if everyone hadn't piled up on the couple from Two during the thirteenth Games. They had taken an unprecedented eleven tributes down with them.) And for the first time, Vicuña looked furious.

Mags couldn't ignore the fact something was very wrong anymore.

She hadn't had the occasion to talk with Vicuña the year before. To really talk, hidden from the cameras. In truth, she hadn't had the energy to do much aside from mentoring Belita and Deniz. The Games drained her so much that basic human friendliness was too often squashed by the ambient death and nightmares.

This year, she had decided being miserable was no excuse for staying inactive. She'd fought to keep Zalij from Eight from being excluded, him and Victoria from Five, the perpetually twitchy previous year's victor.

Rowan, despite his grumbling about unhealthy expectations, volunteered to help her pull the newest victors out of their shell, and soon, Mattock, Bianca and Comet were doing what they could, organizing late night get-togethers and whatever was needed to remind each other that life wasn't so bleak.

Even Vicuña had tried, attempting to convince them all they should be proud and not guilty to be alive. It hadn't worked and the explosive resulting argument had alerted the Home Guard, but Mags still figured the night had been productive.

Vicuña. This time, Mags had taken the victor on her surveillance-free walk with to her traditional post-Games tea with Plutarch.

"I was too caught up in my new training system to be in a state to listen, I'm sorry," Mags apologized. "Now spill."

Vicuña had to have still being simmering, because she pounced on the occasion.

"I refuse to have the training centers they have in Two. Ours are more than enough. They…" Vicuña had to wait a whole minute to be able to talk through her rage.

"They have the fourteen-year-olds kill the criminals to see who can handle death and who can't." She said, red-faced and shaking. "I don't care if we don't have victors. We have fifteen students competing for the volunteer title and soon they will be the best of the hundred and fifty who are selected on their twelfth birthday."

Mags winced, suddenly feeling inadequate with her sixty or so students, all ages -fourteen to seventeen- included.

Her stomach lurched. All the fourteen-year-olds were murderers?

"District Two has been selecting a thousand at eight for the last two years. Eight years old!" Vicuña cried making a passing Capitolite jump. "And three-hundred kill and maim animals at twelve, to handle blood and screams. Two-hundred kill men, women and even child criminals at fourteen," she said, as Mags paled further and further upon hearing the numbers. "and there's over a hundred left among which to select the volunteers."

Vicuña paused to take a breath.

A thousand eight years old? Two hundred murderers, minors, every single year?

This was Mordred's rational system? This was the price he found acceptable to pay in order to bring a victor of questionable integrity home every other year?

Mags shook her head slightly, as if it'd clear her brain and set reality back to what it should be. This couldn't be possible. The parents, the District, how could people accept this? How many criminals were sentenced to death just to provide training fodder?

Mags clamped her mouth shut and forced herself to swallow back her bile.

"I've heard some of those kids torture people, Mags," Vicuña continued, her hand clenching and unclenching as if she craved for a weapon. "I've heard of deaths in the centers for the honor of volunteering. They even piss in front of an audience to prepare them for the lack of privacy in the arena."

"They're insane," Mags breathed. Insane, demented, evil. This was so much worse than the Hunger Games themselves.

Vicuña spluttered in rage. "The Councilor and parents are upset that we have had no victors since me in One. There's always at least one in the last eight, but always we lose, and now twice at the hand of the victor from Two. I'd rather lose my tributes than train hundreds of murdering beasts every year," she snarled.

"If you ever change your mind, tell me," Mags said, her throat dry as she struggled to process the ghastly revelations. "I'll punch you, hard."

Vicuña chuckled. Her rough chuckles died as her face darkened further. "I've heard over three quarters of those who never volunteer join the peacekeepers Mags. What kind of person can someone who's trained like that be? There'll be the cold but decent ones, and there will be those broken by training who'd hate unnecessary violence, but what about the bloodthirsty power-hungry idiots that must abound? It's been less than ten years since they opened the centers, but soon the volunteers will have ten years of conditioning behind them." Her voice broke from fear, and Mags saw a Vicuña more vulnerable than she ever had. "Evadne won't forbid them but I don't want One to be like that."

"Then we'll make sure it never will be," Mags vowed through clenched teeth, grasping Vicuña's arm. Guilt was etched on the blonde's face for she knew that she had been the first Career, that she had given them the idea.

Of course Achlys would favor a system that gave her hundreds of pre-trained ruthless peacekeepers.

"I'd say permanent sponsoring is becoming a tradition, no?" She added, an idea forming in her mind.

"I dare say," Vicuña said weakly, her eyebrows arching. "They don't like not being able to sponsor live."

"Next year, I'll try to have everyone sponsor for District One."

A strangled laugh escaped Vicuña's lips. "Mags –"

"Watch me," Mags challenged with a tight smile. "Just select your volunteers properly."

No one knew the other victors like Mags did. No one bothered to be there for them like she tried to. If she told them this was the price to pay to avoid having the Careers from Two outnumber them before the decade was over, they would listen to her. She'd make sure of it.

She'd have a year to plan it. She wasn't prepared to have Mordred and his mentees hate her just yet, but she would do what she had to do.

She sighed when the Heavenbees' flat came into view, a small smile gracing her lips. "Plutarch develops an instantaneous crush on every woman from the Districts he encounters and he's bright for his age. He won't talk of the Games, it'll change our minds."

The robust teenager now wanted to become a psychiatrist and specialize in avox management. Mags really loved Glynn and her shameless manipulations.

"Sounds wonderful," Vicuña said with a grin.

As I promised, things are moving faster. This is the time for you to tell me what you would like me to focus on (obviously, I have an outline, but I can always insert a scene here or there).

Please review.