Conrad Blizzard's POV

There were things that I didn't understand, but I was going to find them out soon enough.

I stood beside my father. My sick, dying father who was just about ready to pass over. Despite doing everything the Capitol could do to preserve his life, there was a limit on how long someone could live. At ninety eight years old, I supposed that it was a good life span that he got.

The IV tubes that were in his arms, neck, feed him life, but they were only delaying his death. After all, father didn't even look like he should be alive. His skin a deathly pale colour with blood shot eyes that seemed to bulge out of his eyes, and his entire body, shaking slightly, only noticeable if you looked closely, but shaking neither the less. His breathing, weak and rasp. His body, ice cold. His mind, while still able, it wasn't half of what it was even a year ago. But father was a genius, and even on his deathbed he, just in my own opinion, was smarter then the average civilian.

"Father," I asked him, not wanting to waste any time just in case he passed away in a moment's notice. "What the fuck was with this year's reapings? Did you really draw a card that said to kill an age group? Is there really such a rise in the population that it justified the killing of thousands?"

"No." My father's gasping voice told me. "And yes."

"No and yes." I sighed, frustrated at what could come from his decision. "Do you realize what you've done? The districts won't stand for this." They'd want revenge. It wasn't the way we did the reapings, and they hated the way we took away twenty four of their own on regular reaping days. Now we killed much more then that, how did they feel now?

"I've killed. Capitol people as. Well." My father told me, taking in a deep breath after every second or third word.

"Well they won't know that," I told him, now thinking of all the Capitol people that he killed. He obviously kept the home front killings more quiet, otherwise I'd of known about it and people would be storming our home at this moment. "And what do you mean you killed Capitol?" I asked, alarmed that he'd kill the people at home. I knew that he killed people, even our own, but why and how many? "How and why? Did they really need to be killed father?"

"Population. Control." He simply told me.

Population control. If he killed everyone in the thirteen parts of this country, then there really must be a spike in the population. But still, we didn't have that many, did we?

"How come I don't know about this? Who have you killed here and how will this affect us? Won't people find out sooner or later before breaking down our doors and demanding the surrender of this family?"

All my father did was give out a weak smile, almost like he wanted to laugh.

"If anything. They should thank. Me. The only people. That I. Got rid of. Here. Were useless. Drunks and homeless. Those in dept. Parasites."

One side of me was saying 'good job father.' Those homeless bums were a real pain in the ass to deal with, always asking for money and wanting a free place to stay. More then half of them were drunks that terrorized the public. There were also those in dept, or the ones that were poor by their standards, the ones that didn't have a big enough house or those that complained about lack of avoxes or those who were almost out of money. They were just as much of a pain as well, because some of them turned to criminal activity, putting others at harm if they turned to violent crime. The worst ones were the ones in dept that refused to either live with themselves in recovery homes with the drunks and druggies that wanted to get clean again, or pay their dept off by becoming a peacekeeper. They were always a pain.

The other part of me said 'these are your own people.' And while the districts had my sympathy, the Capitol was my home.

"I estimate you exterminated at least two thousand people." I told the dying figure in the bed. "Why? What did the card say?" If the card did indeed say to kill an age group, then fine, there was nothing he could of done to stop that. But what if it didn't?

"In order. For Panem. To remember. Who controls them. The president. Shall choose. What happens. To them."

"And why that?" I asked, pointing to the television in front of him showing the re-run of the District Eleven killings. "Why'd you choose to kill all those kids? And don't give me any of that population control bull shit unless you can really back it up."

All my father did was wheeze and smile at me, like I couldn't understand a word he was telling me. It irritated me. I may not be as smart as him or have his in site on things in this world but I was far from stupid and ignorant.

"Population control." My father repeated. "Too many. People. Not enough. Resources." Was it really? Because we seemed to be doing pretty damn well. And what of the consequences?

"Did you think of the rebels?" I asked, wondering if he had any thought beyond the food and population, if there really was a problem with all that. "About our people noticing the missing people? How they'd feel about the massacre? About how the tributes will act here in the Capitol? About anything beyond the short term loss and gain?"

"Yes." My father breathed harshly.

"Not very far you didn't." I told him before turning my back on him.

There was no use talking to him, he looked at me like I was lost, like I couldn't understand anything. I didn't need that right now. I think old age finally got to my father when he drew that quarter quell card and he made a fatal mistake. He had doomed us all, and for what? Nothing, that's what. Sure he fight of solved some problems, but not all of them.

"Where's Arcane?" He asked.

Arcane, my brother, his other son. The one who was always different.

"He's on his way." I told him. "He won't be back for a while." Knowing where he was traveling from, he wouldn't be here for a long while. About a day or so. I just hoped that he'd get here before father passed away.

Myles Blizzard's POV

I watched my son step out of my room with anger and confusion. He couldn't understand why I had chosen to kill all those kids and he didn't want to understand. Conrad was smart, but he wasn't thinking of the full picture, all he could think of was that I had created a mob of angry district folks that'll start a rebellion because of my decision.

What he didn't see was that they wouldn't, and couldn't start a rebellion even if they wanted to.

There was a reason that I choose this very twist for the tenth quarter quell, and it hadn't come to me in a day, or a week, or even a month. It took several months of thinking on what the perfect quarter quell for this quarter century would be, and it hadn't come easy.

There were things that my sons didn't want to hear from me, and I knew that my excuse for burning, electrocuting, shooting, and all around killing district kids and Capitol folks was one of them. They didn't want to hear it now, but they'd understand soon enough. And if they didn't, well, I made a recording of why I choose to destroy the district youths and the worthless Capitol parasites. Whether they choose to listen to it or not was their choose.

A/N: This went a lost smother in my head.

To Dani Wicken: Dear God the reapings. I plan to write from all the tribute's POV at least once in the Capitol. I'm sorry to say this, but I'm not very good at spelling or grammar, and I don't have word, I have notepad, and I use internet spell check which is a bitch to handle. Also, I really don't like that I'm not a walking thesaurus either.

Anyway, thanks for saying that this is some good work, and I'm sorry for making you cringe a lot. If you like this story and want to continue reading it, be prepared to cringe even more. Though I'll try to keep it as minimum as possible, but don't count on spelling and grammar being too much better.