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Year 74, October, District Thirteen.
Gray.
Drab, daunting and gray.
The windowless corridors were gray, the clothes, gray, made of fibers and polymers recycled and reprinted into wearable clothes too many times to count.
Alma Coin knew the value of physical presence and shared glances, the discipline about it. She made sure not to ignore those who saluted her as she passed. Her pale eyes fell on a discarded wrapping on the floor. It was swiftly picked up by a young boy, one of the dozen Recyclers. Nothing could go to waste. The boy, stringy and pale, met her eyes and bowed his head. She gifted him with a small smile.
Soon this, her home of fifty years, would be a mere unpleasant memory.
The first refugees had come on District Four's boats, rounded up by those they called the Ghosts, bringing crafts, weapons and information. What irony, that they would be happy to come here.
District Thirteen, defiance, freedom. They came from Eleven and Six, from Three and Eight, with drawings of Mockinjays and songs of rebellion. They brought smiles and pride and warm bodies so needed against the Capitol. Alma Coin welcomed them with open arms.
They watched this prison and saw their salvation. Alma Coin's lips twitched in grim delight. District Thirteen, a tomb for the living, barely self-sufficient, where men and women made barren by Pox struggled to find reason to live.
There would be no Capitol after this war. The fortress city would be stripped, brick by brick, and every mention of it outlawed, the Capitol erased from human memory. Alma Coin would make sure of it. The Capitol had tried to erase them, and they would suffer as Thirteen had suffered.
The Districts remembered it as the year of the second Quarter Quell. In Thirteen, it was the 1st year of the Pox. The first of ten. They called it simply 'pox' at first because it seemed rather harmless, a cosmetic impairment, nothing more. People's skins healed, but only because the plague moved to other regions of their bodies. Terribly few were spared. During the fourth year, it had become The Pox, and dozens then hundreds of women came forth, weeping about the children they couldn't have. The sixth year, the deaths began.
Coin remembered living those days in a daze, adrenaline mixing with numbing loss. She couldn't recall her husband's smile, only the dreams they'd whispered to each other before falling asleep. Their one fulfilled dream, Claret, had been buried with nine-thousand others. She would be twenty-five today.
Coin had learned not to dwell on the past. The future alone mattered. And the nine thousand lives the Capitol owed them in blood.
She had stepped in when District Thirteen was about to give up and promised her District war. They listened, tragically shocked to find hope still existed among them. They made her Mayor and told her that a message had come months before from an unknown source. Someone who said not to work for the Capitol.
She obtained a name: Mags Abalone ; a date : 58th Victory Tour, District Twelve, and sent Boggs, one of the first to give her his loyalty. Quite a pity she'd understood so late that Four's first victor was not just a messenger, but one of the brains behind the rebellion.
They wanted information on the nuclear weapons. Coin had them sent her people instead. Intercepted convicts sentenced for avoxing, escapees from Eleven or Eight...
She prided herself in her negotiating skills. Without Thirteen, there could be no rebellion. None would be allowed to forget it.
« How many? » Coin asked, unsurprised to find Boggs in the Strategy Room.
« Six hundred, Ma'am. They've come with food, blankets and fast-growing grains. Sustenance should not an issue. »
« Weapons, leaders ? »
« They brought the parts we asked from Three. I have here the most recent records of rebellious action. » Boggs said, gesturing to the box besides him and the video he was watching. « The refugees are civilians, many are prepared to fight. They await your orders. The crew from District Four is preparing to set sail again.»
Coin nodded, tensing slightly at the last. « Thank you, Boggs. Please ascertain every one is where they should be. I'll pass by later. »
District Four had escaped the Capitol's control in a way Coin could only admire, but she could not have those FLASH people snooping in and reporting to Mags. Just like Plutarch Heavensbee, these people had to learn that she alone made the decisions and decided what information was fit to disclose.
Traces of Pox still survived in Thirteen's lab as their doctors searched for a cure. She would quarantine the ship's crew if they failed to be persuaded through other means.
Alma Coin's lips were set in a thin line as the screen before her revealed the chaos in District was unquestionable proof as to why the Districts couldn't be trusted to handle the war to come. Fire and Mockinjays mixed with screams and shots, ravaged greenhouses and poisoned wells. Militia thugs in black fought on both sides and peacekeepers grabbed children as shields to regain control over the food points. Bands of screaming monkeys attacking armed peacekeepers with staves and falling by the dozens. Coordination seemed to hold a syllable too many for everyone involved.
Idiots. How could Snow let the Twelve girl and her boyfriend live now?
They didn't have enough to turn Katniss Everdeen into a convincing martyr. Coin scanned the most recent reports. The girl hadn't yet been murdered by a coal miner for the food in her pantry. Good.
Coin pulled her gray hair into a bun and willed the tension out of her muscles as she sat down to think. Plutarch Heavensbee was the only thing that stood between Snow and the destruction of their symbol. She didn't like it one bit.
Her thumb slid over her talkie-walkie. « Have three of the hovercrafts on standby. Check the skies in Eleven, we're going out.» She wondered if victor Seeder was behind the radio messages. Eleven was a place full of welcome hate and good intentions, but terrible, terrible logistics.
Captain Chester's voice broke through the static. "Roger that."
She'd give Heavensbee what he wanted: proof Thirteen wasn't unappreciative of the weapons and people sent during the last two decades. Hopefully, it would make that man talk.
In the end, Heavensbee would have to go. Him, Mags and everyone who had too much influence. They were part of the old rule. A new Panem would rise from the Capitol's ashes.
Year 74, November, the Capitol.
Finnick marveled at the number of little girls wearing their hair in dark braids and fiery motifs on their long dresses. Cinna had his hands full, and even with Katniss and Peeta locked in District Twelve, the star-crossed lovers' popularity continued to soar as socialites craved the romance and the Capitol leaders were desperate to have the 74th remembered as a love story and not the beginning of a rebellion.
'Star-crossed lovers'. Poor kids.
Finnick craved to be back in Creneis and learn what was really happening in the Districts. Just two days. The lights dimmed and the streets narrowed as he entered the Sugar Section, the vice district of the Capitol. Two days and he'd see Annie. There was a spring in his step as he entered the Aviary.
Finnick leaned onto the desk, a knowing smile playing on his lips. « I received a special order: Swan, Mink, Ambrosia -» he lowered his voice, revealing his face beneath his hood «and Malachite.»
« Don't see you often here, sexy,» the Madame pointed out. She was District One, like almost all her 'birds', a magenta tracker bracelet fastened to her ankle. Finnick hoped she wouldn't get into trouble.
« My habits belong to the highest bidder. » Finnick winked, granting a half-bow to one of the scantily clad girls lounging in the nearest display window.
The Madame gave a low chuckle before ringing the bell.
The girls were all over eighteen despite Swan's painfully young figure. Impeccable respect of the rules strengthened the Capitol's conviction of it's moral superiority. They simply conveniently forgot how the girls ended up there.
« Birdies, we're going on an adventure, » Finnick said, wagging his eyebrows mysteriously.
« I thought you victors were not available for anything more exotic than one-to-one encounters. » Mink said, her eyes narrowed. A tentative smile kept appearing and disappearing on her lips. She was clever, but life had taught her not to hope for too much.
« We heroically murdered our way to respectability » Finnick said, with affected pride, leading them outside. « And we're awaited at the train station. »
Mink wasn't the only one struggling with an impassive face anymore.
« Train fetish ? » Malachite said. The man was so sleek and polished Finnick expected him to glow in the dark.
« It's a surprise, » Finnick said, gesturing for the taxi waiting in shady alley.
Ruby was waiting at the station. Finnick grinned when she ushered them forward with a crook of her finger and that unnerving smile of hers.
Ruby had been Cashmere's second for the 64th Games, with a treasured scar on her left cheek reminding everyone how close she had come to volunteering. When Cashmere had left for the arena, Ruby had cut her hair and left at the arm of the Capitol's wealthiest businessmen. She was a bodyguard in killer heels with a smile as quick as her knife. All the Academy's girls hoped to be Ruby: of all the courtesans, models, waitresses and entertainers born of One, bodyguards were treated the best. Cashmere had recommended her to Finnick, and she had been right. Ruby had a gift : her employers trusted her with what was said in closed-door meetings. The forget-drugs which ruined the minds of so many beautiful women had never been for her.
Ruby let them in the small station. Mink gasped and Finnick had to smile.
They were maybe two hundred, the girls and boys of the Academy become luxuries. They were all uniformly beautiful, some exotically altered, all wearing uniform blank expressions or small sultry smiles to mask their confusion. Why them and not others? Finnick was just happy to be the man to take them home.
« Time to go home." A home they hadn't seen since their teens. "The tracker bracelets are deactivated. No one will know for at least a day.» Finnick said, tensing despite having only good news to offer. Most of these girls could be lethal, and they had to trust him. « Four's Winter shipment will make a stop in One. »
« No!" It was one of the older girls, a petite beauty with hip-long red locks and terror on her face. "The peacekeepers will just take us back. They'll make us pay.»
Finnick tensed further, his eyes darting for threats as hope and fear sizzled through the air. Ruby had a gun out, her expression very clear on what would befall anyone who thought to betray them or flee.
«They won't," Finnick said, his voice loud enough to call silence. "One's rebelling. You'll be hidden. The Academy closed a month ago. »
"One is rebelling?" The incredulous, anonymous whisper almost shattered Finnick's mask of merry confidence.
So many people had no clue. No hope for change.
"It's not just District One," Finnick replied, his smile broadening as it was slowly mirrored on dozens of faces.
He noticed one of the men with a girl who couldn't be older than ten and most certainly wasn't his daughter clinging to him as if her life depended on it. Finnick took a shaky breath. The brothels were tightly regulated but money worked around many laws.
Finnick had to talk to him, to all of them. He had secrets, but only a small fraction of those secrets. He needed to know who to remove, for the traffics to stop. He needed a list of names and crimes, another weapon to bring chaos in the Capitol. He did not look forward to it. He didn't want to know.
« Unless you want to stay here ?» The train driver bellowed, poking his head through the window. "I've never had a prettier cargo, but we have a schedule to keep."
« We go now, » Finnick ordered, gesturing to Ruby.
Finnick's whole face ached, but he couldn't suppress the smile etched in his cheeks since the train had left One, and their clandestine passengers, safely behind. The Winter shipment was empty now aside from him, and he lounged among the covers, coats, boots and electrical plants' maintenance parts, counting the minutes until he would be home.
If he went back to the Capitol before the end of the rebellion, he'd be a dead man. He only grinned harder.
She was there on the platform, her hair shining red in the light, a smile on her lips, and he forgot everything that was wrong with the world.
Finnick laughed, greeted by the salty air and strong arms around his neck.
« You've saved people today. » Annie said, planting a kiss on his lips. There was a mischievous light he saw too rarely in her light green eyes.
He didn't let her pull back, grasping her waist and lifting her until she was between him and the afternoon sun. She was his sky, he never knew when there would be dark clouds hiding all light, but on days like this, he knew no-one who could shine as brightly.
« A hundred people,» he exclaimed, joy sizzling through his arms. Annie was so light. He twirled her around, stopping regretfully to let her catch her breath.
« They tricked the system, you know. One's peacekeepers all took leave the same week. The computers didn't notice. They'll close their borders as soon as we do.»
« Typical, coming back only when all the pretty ladies have returned. Boys. »
Finnick chuckled, delighted to see her in such good spirits. He blinked, now curious to check if the number of enrolled peacekeepers in One matched the deported girls'.
«So no pretty dresses and necklaces and perfumes until this is over? » Annie said with a pained sigh. « In these conditions, I have no choice but to fight for freedom.»
Finnick took her hands in his, his eyes pools of compassion. « And we'll be eating a disproportionate amount of fish for the months to come. We were just waiting for the Winter Shipment to close the border. »
They wouldn't even have to pretend sunk ships to build new ones at the shipyards.
« But I want to see Katniss and Peeta when they come, » Annie said with a pout that had Finnick want pick her up and show off to the peacekeepers pretending not to watch. That's the girl. My girl. She loves me.
Or better yet, kidnap her and go somewhere far away. Alone.
« So does the Capitol. We're not blowing up the train lines, just blocking them. The Victory Tour will happen. Snow needs his people happy and distracted » Finnick said, proud of his self control. There was at least half a foot between him and Annie, and that teasing blue dress was decidedly unfair.
Annie smiled. Finnick had to clamp his teeth not to kiss her.
«And I guess we can eat seagulls if we get tired of fish. I did as a girl, it wasn't too bad. » She put her finger against Finnick's lips.
She was playing with him, flirting despite wanting to be in his arms as much as he did hers. He saw it in the underlying tension, in the light in her eyes. He had a decade of experience, and yet it worked on him, every single time. He hoped she never tired of it.
« No more talk of anything but us, » Annie declared. « Mags wants us for dinner, but now it's you, me and the motorcycle. »
Finnick beamed. « I'm all yours. May I kiss you properly ?»
He knew she was chuffed when he asked. Something about a bit of insecurity being cute, and her finding the idea she could say no flattering.
She nodded with that adorable little smile, her eyes betraying the fact it had been much too long.
The next time he'd go to the Capitol, he'd go with Annie, and the whole world would finally know about them, and how wonderful she was.
Year 75, January, District Eight
The warehouse was a humid, cramped hellhole with no window worthy of the name. But it was an old building with stone blocks beneath the rotting wallpaper.
People clad in greens, yellows and browns, cast offs that had never reached the Capitol, were looking through the helmets and boots from Two to go with the contraband peacekeeper uniforms.
They all grew still, focusing on the dark-skinned woman marching up the creaking stage. Paylor had never felt so self-conscious, and yet it was exhilarating.
"We grew up cowering in workshops." Paylor's voice bounced against the walls, amplifying into a vibrant rousing call that miraculously didn't betray her nervousness. "We toiled our backs bowed in the cotton fields, harvesting silkworms, we threw away hundreds of hours of work when the Capitol changed their fashions on a whim. Today, we are winning the fight to freedom."
Was this how politicians felt when addressing trusting crowds? A hundred men at least, clusters of women, even mothers holding the hands of children much too young to be there but standing as proud as the rest. They were drawn, ragged, determined and soldiers all of them.
"Are we? Winning?" One of the men challenged. His arm was in a sling, he held his eldest daughter, a woman of twenty, in the other, and the only thing his eyes showed was is desire to fight.
"I reveal my name and face to night and will not go to bed fearing execution." How long she'd come from hiding her identity and trusting only a few. "The law forbids meetings of more than four unrelated people, but here we are," Paylor said. Her firearm was heavy against her thigh. A real firearm. The noise in the streets was becoming deafening. "They're coming. They're in for a surprise."
The bolted doors creaked. Shouts from outside pierced through the silence, voices cold and unyielding like the mountains of Two.
"Open the gates or we torch the building!"
Fear rippled through the assembly, peacekeepers didn't make empty threats, but the people stood their grounds. Paylor found herself biting back a smile, pride bringing tears to her eyes. Every day they buried ten, twenty, fifty, and every day a hundred times that number took up arms.
The peacekeepers outside had to think they were so stupid, cooping themselves up in an old warehouse. But what else could you expect from outlier thugs?
Paylor pulled the device out of her bag, adrenaline spiking through her veins but her grip secure. "Straight from District Three."
"It's not over. It won't be for months to come, but this isn't vandalism or discontent, this isn't an uprising, this isn't even just about Eight." She stood to attention, in a contraband peacekeeper uniform. "This is rebellion. The Second, the last Rebellion. We'll make, and keep our own peace." The signal on the device lit up, Paylor pressed on the button and hoped nobody could see she had no clue how that thing really worked.
It didn't. It was Paylor's first thought when an explosion tore through the air. Eyes shut, she forced herself to stand tall. They were all dead anyway.
But the pain didn't come. Loud, uncomfortable, whistling replaced the explosions and Paylor realized that the screams came only from the outside.
She opened her eyes once more, only to see people on the floor, scrambling up with tentative smiles on their confused faces.
Quipus and Marko would be out there, clearing out the dead bodies. Paylor hoped Gilly would have those medals ready soon. They needed every morale boost they could get.
"Do not leave yet," Paylor said when a man made a move for the door. It had worked. Their crazy ambush had worked! "We are all glad to have District Three as an ally, but a little mystery about their weapons is healthy."
Nervous laughter rippled through the room, and people began elbowing each other, chatting in subdued tones.
"So, you did all this?" An older man said, causing the chatter to die down. "With Three and other allies?"
"The Capitol split us because together we are stronger," Paylor said. "I know what I'm asking. But trust me on this: if we stand firm, if we are united, the Capitol stands no chance."
"But we don't know what's happening!" A woman shouted from the back.
"Neither does the Capitol," Paylor replied. "Four, Six and Eleven have rebelled." She paused to let the news sink in, loving the excitement on everyone's face. "I can tell you that two other Districts are as we speak severing all ties with the Capitol. Not even Two is loyal. Most Peacekeepers are," she acknowledged as grumbling immediately rose from the crowd, "but every weapon from Two we got from allies born in Two who love their own District and want freedom as much as we do."
Paylor had no idea if that was true, but it made sense, and she had promised she would not feed the hate between Districts that the Capitol thrived on.
"We are not alone," she said, amazed at how much relief those simple words could bring. "And believe it or not, we are winning this."
No matter how hopeless some days seemed.
"So what are our orders, Ma'am?" The first man demanded, a big smile beneath his silver mustache as he shouted on top of the cheers.
Paylor fought the urge to break into an unprofessional grin. Every man and woman there had family and friends awaiting orders when they'd come home. Finally they would be organized.
And Paylor had somehow ended up in charge.
The sewers had their cleaner parts and they'd made some corners into refuges. Paylor frowned at the ever growing moss on the walls. The temperature inside was mild, but illness in winter would decimate them as surely as a peacekeeper descent.
"Sergeant Aleyn was to make sure everyone left the warehouse without encountering trouble," Gilly said. "I hope the meeting was a success."
Paylor nodded curtly at District Four's undercover victor.
The brown-haired woman had appeared one day out of nowhere, announcing that she needed a place to live and all the information Eight's rebels had. She was brisk, with a penchant for cutting sarcasm, and distant, to the point where Paylor wondered if Gilly hated people or was battling severe shyness. But Gilly had been sent by Mags with critical knowledge and contacts in every District and Paylor didn't need to understand the woman to work well with her.
"Yes, there were no casualties on our side and the various groups have finally agreed to defer to central orders."
Gilly's eyes flickered to hers, swiftly returning to her coded notes. "A new food shipment will be arriving next week if the weather holds. Did Three deliver?"
Paylor swallowed. They'd followed instructions, placing those odd heavy boxes in all the buildings around the warehouse, sending their people in the sewers to block off the sector and add the chemicals. They'd had no idea.
"The buildings blew up, the gas pipes exploded, there must have been some acid..." Gilly barely winced, reminding Paylor she'd seen much worse than burned peacekeeper corpses. "It was very effective," Paylor concluded.
She was torn over asking if there was more, or hoping they would never use chemical weapons again. She still wasn't surewhat she had seen.
Gilly surprised her with a tinkling laugh. "Three's are skinny, nearsighted and useless on the front lines. Their battlefield is labs and offices. They're slowly paralyzing the high-tech industry through inefficiency, and the Capitol won't be the wiser for months." Her smile turned ugly. "Paylor, for Threes, the ends justify the means. They don't play games."
Paylor straightened. She knew so little of Threes. Or anyone outside her District. She couldn't afford to stay in the dark anymore.
"Gilly, I want to be introduced to your other contacts. Eight can't afford to be cut off if the Capitol finds this place. And..." Paylor lowered her voice, hoping she hadn't misjudged the woman before her. "And I think you'd be happier if we chose together which orders to give." Gilly didn't strike her as a willing leader.
The victor's head snapped up. She squarely met Paylor's gaze for the first time in eighteen months and smiled slightly when the younger woman didn't look down.
"Are you certain you are ready for the promotion, Commander Paylor?" Her voice was testy, but Paylor's gut told her Gilly wanted her to say yes.
"I know leading comes with burdens. I must do this." She paused, unable to help herself. "'Commander' is not an official rank."
"It was, before the Dark Days. It stopped making sense to have so many ranks in a Panem so divided and sparsely populated." Gilly squeezed her hand. "We're not divided anymore."
That and the sudden eye contact made Paylor feel she had successfully passed an important test.
"I'm certain," Paylor said.
"Then I'll teach you the radio codes," Gilly said. "Your code name is Little Gray, after your grandfather."
Paylor grinned. She was thirty-one and her life had just begun.
Year 75, early February, The Capitol.
Plutarch sank into the sofa, pouring himself a glass of liquor in way of greeting. "How are the mutt vats going?"
"Still on maintenance," Glynn replied, her eyes narrowed. She couldn't remember the last time Plutarch had been exhausted to the point of rudeness. "Fifteen percent are operational, enough for the Quarter Quell and medical. Did Snow speak of starting war-scale production?"
"Not yet. He's convinced the rebellion will die the moment Katniss acts enough in love with Peeta," Plutarch said, his lips twitching as if he found it humorous but couldn't manage the strength to smile. "Showing she's just another stupid teenager."
Glynn truly admired how Plutarch had used Snow's sense of superiority to brainwash him into not seeing the rebels as a true threat.
« I've convinced the President that making Katniss Everdeen one of us, a lavish Capitolite, » Plutarch said, unable to control the sarcasm seeping in his words. « while Twelve is ravaged by peacekeepers, will destroy all sympathy towards her.»
Oh Plutarch. I'm sorry you have to bear this weight.
But it was useless to betray her grief. A half-smile quirked Glynn's lips. « He's totally blinded by the psychiatrist aura and the fact you look so harmless. I'll have audiovisual convinced a live broadcast of iron-fisted law enforcement in Twelve what the President wants. »
« He's going to murder someone if a live broadcast gives the rebels an edge again, » Plutarch pointed out, staring at the glass he was cradling.
Glynn shrugged. You didn't change a method that worked.
Plutarch leaned back in his couch, and Glynn knew that while it made him look relaxed and confident to most, it revealed a deep desire to disappear. « There was a bloodbath in Eleven when Katniss made her speech. Nine squads of Peacekeepers will reach Twelve after the Victory Tour. Hounds. Katniss' wedding, our victors' blossoming young love, on prime time television, with breaks to show people whipped and executed, rebels brought to their knees…"
Sudden fear kept Glynn from hugging him. He was rambling, the anger he had buried for so long threatening to break through. There were too many choices still to be made. Plutarch couldn't break. He deserved so much better than to be just another casualty of war.
«A great illustration of Capitol/District dynamics, » Glynn said with a mirthless smile. With practice, she could almost pretend not to feel.
« She's to be the symbol of everything the Districts envy in the Capitol.» Plutarch said. « Coriolanus doesn't understand that even making her a traitor would just fuel the Districts' rage. »
He looked so worn. Glynn wished he didn't live alone. « Those peacekeepers, no matter how violent, will not kill in six months more than the mines and winters have in the last decade. It's a battle we're making District Twelve fight, and they will come through victorious.»
« I know." Plutarch whispered after a tense pause. "I have a right to be upset about it. »
Glynn sighed, anger flushing her cheeks. She was sitting here, in a cozy couch, and it didn't matter what she did, or that objectively they'd saved more lives than any one rebel fighting peacekeepers for his home, but her privilege felt like slime on her hands. « Quite. »
« He wants all the victors to die, » Plutarch abruptly said, standing up. He didn't seem to be breathing right. «I told him they would, but in the right place, at the right time. He thinks I mean the Hunger Games, what else could a Head Gamemaker suggest ? But I...»
Glynn stood up to grasp his arm. This needed to stop. « Plutarch, when's the last time you cleared your mind. That you exercised for example ? »
« What ? » And for an instant he was that bright-blue eyed lad taking pictures at her wedding again.
Glynn refused the sorrow the memory brought. They'd done unbelievable things, extraordinary things. Mourning the days they'd been innocent was an insult to everyone they'd ever helped. Her spirits lifted at the thought of the One girls and boys they'd sent home. Snow had traced it back to Finnick, but there was nothing he could do now.
« Enough. You're burning out. We're taking time off, without knocking ourselves out chemically, » she added gently. It never helped in the long run.
« Sports ? You're eighty-four. »
Glynn giggled despite herself. She should be a corpse in a rotten boat at the bottom of the ocean. She brought a hand to her braided bun in unconscious vanity. « Yes, thrilling isn't it ?» She said with her first true smile of the night. « I'm still walking, talking sense, and you are taking me out to dance. »
The Muses' Club was all about older high-profile people not talking to each other and enjoying the music.
Plutarch's raised eyebrows were belied by the twitch to his lips. « Won't your husband object if I steal you away with no notice? »
Glynn's resolve hardened. Plutarch hadn't even made an attempt at refusing. He was more beaten down than she had feared. She couldn't change that he was the only one with access to the President, but she would push the deaths out of his mind enough for him to collect himself.
« Syri has a conference until ten. It's only vaguely related to neurosciences, but you know how he likes to keep updated and ask evil questions to terrified young doctors. »
And sciences could give the illusion that Panem was thriving and marching towards a better future, if only for a few hours.
« I've killed them, Glynn » Plutarch said, his voice suddenly shaking. « I wanted to buy them time, but I've planted that idea into his 75th Games, a Quarter Quell of victors.» His breath hitched as he scrambled for a miracle. « If, if the Capitol revolts at the thought of them being forced in an arena, if we prepare them-»
Glynn stopped him with a hug. « Enough, » she whispered. « Plutarch, we have District Thirteen. We have hovercrafts. Have the arena far from the Capitol, a skeleton guard or our own people, and a rescue mission ready. They won't need to set foot in that arena. The details can wait.»
Plutarch nodded, some color returning to his cheeks. The wonder and relief in his eyes was heartbreaking. « Thirteen.. You're right. »
« You should have thought about it yourself, » Glynn chided. « It's high time for a break. » She smiled at him. « You know, when I wake up every morning, I look at the mirror, smile, and say 'I'm saving the world.' It really helps. »
Plutarch's rumbling laugh was the sweetest victory of the day.
« Classic mind trick, » he pointed out.
« Precisely. What are your fancy studies worth if you don't put them to good use on yourself ? »
Year 75, April, District Four.
If you could just see it, Cereus. Mags' fingers brushed the engravings on the tombstone, fighting the urge not to let herself hope. They're moving, for these children, these symbols. That's all we needed, my love, a Mockingjay, something that all Panem would rally around. From District Twelve, of all places.A wistful smile danced on her lips. I would have given up so long ago had it not been for you, but you were right. I have lived to see the Second Rebellion, and I might even see our victory.
No victor, save Haymitch of course, had been allowed so much as a glimpse of Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark during their Victory Tour. The cameras in the broadcasts were all on the victors' faces, blind to the turmoil in the Districts, as Katniss and Peeta reaffirmed their love for each other, their naivete and desire for peace.
If only that girl knew how essential she is.
Mags might have been fooled by the young victors' displays of affection had Finnick not snickered through the whole thing. She smiled, remembering the shot of Plutarch dancing with Katniss in the Capitol. It was only fair he properly met her after preparing for years for someone like her. The child had looked splendid in that dress, and despite Snow's attempts at making Katniss into love-sick girl easing like a princess into Capitol hedonistic lifestyle, the Mockinjay burned brighter every day.
They whipped that Seam boy, Gale, Katniss' cousin. They whipped him bloody on Twelve's square and she saved him, Cereus. Katniss, Peeta, Haymitch, standing between the boy and that foul officer. They cut the live broadcast just too late to hide how much power victors can have.
Finnick's voice shattered the peace of the small garden. "Mags!"
Mags grinned despite herself. It was nice at her age, to have boys this handsome rush after her.
He gave her an apologetic smile. "Snow got fed up with watching propaganda fail. Big announcement in the news tonight."
"The Quarter Quell," Mags said. Snow had never missed an occasion to use the Hunger Games to enforce the piece. It was the right time of the year.
Finnick frowned. "You're probably right, as usual."
Nothing had prepared them to Snow's rule change. The President of Panem spoke in his usual silken tones that had no care for life or morals.
"On the 75th anniversary of the Dark Days, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol," Snow declared, "the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."
What? Mags' world screeched to a halt. He could do that. He really could.
The spot next to her was empty. Annie had fled, a sob tearing through her chest.
Mags bolted to her feet when a crashing noise burst through the fog in her mind. It was just the chair. And the window.
"Finn," Mags warned softly.
"Whose side is Plutarch on?" Finnick snarled, a hateful glare twisting his features."This, this... I -" The second chair groaned as Finnick's dug his fingers into the wood. He breathed out and some of the fury dimmed in his eyes. "I'll find Annie," he whispered, unable to meet Mags' gaze.
A trembling sigh exited Mags' lips. She willed herself to trust her Plutarch, to push down the crashing wave of fear as the door slammed shut.
She put on her coat and slowly walked to Nori's house. She was too old to clean up shards of glass and the wind was making her living-room uncomfortably cold.
Seeder, Chaff, Woof, Johanna, and Katniss of course, they would be there. There was no one else to reap. Columbus and Sparrow, Six's last surviving victors, so drowned in morphling that Mags wondered how much they still cared. Finnick. It would be Beetee, not Aster, and Cecelia, not young Moire, it would be Gloss and Cashmere, because they were popular and gifted and their loyalty not absolute. Lyme or Enobaria? Bahamut or Brutus? The Capitol would need a victor. Would they pick a loyal Two, or simply the person to kill Katniss Everdeen?
"If rebellion comes from the victors you're so fond of, Mags, I will not kill you. I will make sure you see them all die."
It had been long ago, one of the many conversations in Snow's office, a day which Mags remembered more fondly as the one Cecelia had admitted to wanting Plutarch's children.
Mags stiffly pushed Nori's front door open when her knocking went unanswered. The door seemed so much heavier than in her youth.
"Mags," Nori gasped, shivering in her husband's arms. "You heard -"
Mags smiled, her finger brushing the doll-like cheek of her oldest victor. "You'll die here, Queridita," she promised.
It would end like it had all started, in an arena. Not Snow, nor any force in Panem, could keep Mags from being there.
Please review,
and feel free to tell me where I erred regarding canon^^.