XXVIII

…

Grasping at the sides of his head, Boggs lets out an uneasy breath of air. "I'm not supportive of this, Cato. This is a bad decision."

"I don't care if you are supportive or not," I tell him, my eyes continuing to memorize the layout of the tunnel underneath the city. "I'm going to do it either way."

"Why don't you just wait a couple more weeks till District 13 is ready? The rebellion will be in full swing, the Capitol will be weakened, peacekeepers will be dispersed in uneven groupings across the nation, and retrieving Katniss will be easier, less risky."

"The wait is too long." My eyes focusing on the tunnels surrounding the President's Mansion.

"No it-"

I slam my fist against the table, causing his water glass to tip over, its contents pouring out across the maps and blueprints spread out across the table. "The auction is tonight. If not now, it'll be too late"

…

"Cato, good boy, I thought you were back in the districts."

Turning around, I come to face Seneca Crane. Dresses in his usual attire, he looks to be the most sane being at the president's party. "It's good to see you, Mr. Crane."

"Please," he smiles, soothing his hand over his chest. "Seneca."

"Of course." I nod, my eyes scanning the room behind him. "Seneca."

"Well, how's it going?" He ask, snatching a champeen glass off the tray of one of the passing avoxes. "It's good to have you back in the Capitol."

"Good. It's great to be back," I tell him, a forced smile playing across my lips. "I just couldn't stay away, missed the liveliness of the city, the people, the lights, the parties."

He smirks, nodding his head in agreement. "I don't blame you. I don't think I would last long outside the Capitol, grow bored no doubt."

Clapping my hand on his shoulder I let out a hearty laugh, one that faded into the hall, blending in with the endless chatter of the Capitalists. "Secena, I don't think you'd ever grow bored. Your Games show it. I don't doubt that imagination of yours could ever cease, ever allow you to experience a second of boredom."

"Yes," he laughs to himself, "You're right dear boy, those Games do keep me entertained…" He trails off, elaborating in depth of his processes and plans. "Oh, Cato, you must come by the control room, overview our plans for the Quell, see what's to come."

I nod my head in agreement, despite having no desire to do so.

"Fantastic," he tells me before shaking my hand, "Let me go find Heavensbee, we'll make arrangements."

…

"Homes? Mitchell?" I whisper into the cuff, "See anything."

Homes's voice rings through the earpiece in response as if automatic, "The east corridor."

Without a second thought, I turn on my heel. Weaving in and out of the Capitalist, I nod and smile and say empty words to faceless people. Yet, when entering the east corridor there's not a soul in sight, not even an avox.

"Homes." I grit.

This time Mitchell's voice chimes in. "Out the door, Cato. The rose garden."

To the door, I see the garden. Illuminated in the night, the president's rose bushes are highlighted in the midst of the darkness.

"We'll get ready," Homes notes as I twist open the door, stepping into the chill of the night toward the greenhouse.

The in unison they both wish, "Best of luck."

…

She stands in the middle of the garden, on a pedestal mostly likely where one of the president's statues once stood amongst his precious rose bushes. She looks stunning with all the lights directed toward her, a masterpiece. No doubt had been groomed for days in preparation. Her skin is clear, pure perfection. Her hair is longer then I remember; not in its usual braid, it falls down her back and down her chest in long waves. Her jaw is sharp, and teeth white. She looks as glorious as she did when I first laid eyes on her on reaping days just months prior. Yet, her eyes were off, darker then I remember them, as if they had been painted to suit her look.

Nevertheless, she stands there in all her glory. Men and women flock around her, bidders waiting to take a jab at the Girl on Fire, hoping to win the night of their life. Their hoarse whispers and secretive eyes are all focused on her, gualking at the spiked heels and lacy, black material that barely covers her body. Yet, her wavy hair that caresses her chest and the heavy makeup around her eyes creates the sex appeal Snow is no doubt going for. It stirs something inside me to see her like that, some feeling that I don't wish to feel for her, it's something that seems wrong... cruel maybe. It stirs fear inside me, a fear inside me that tells me if this doesn't work out, she's ruined.

…

"Thirty seconds." Homes echos in my ear.

No.

"Twenty-five."

No. Not yet.

"Twenty."

A little longer.

"Fifteen."

Wait…

"Ten.

Shit.

"Five."

Fuck.

"Zero."

…

The lights go out. And, the greenhouse goes dark. Every single light in throughout the city in fact turns off. Thank Panem for Beete, thank Beete for a whole sixty seconds of darkness. And so, the lights go out and the plan begins.

Panic takes over. The Capitalist scream and huddle in fear. Peacekeepers scramble, and the avoxes stay where stationed.

Katniss doesn't move yet, stays standing on the marble pedestal as most likely previously instructed. She doesn't even fight, making my job ten times easier.

Snatching her from her pedestal, I cradle her to my chest, waiting for the Mitchell in my ear to tell me what to do next.

Then it happens. Information is provided and a move it made. We slip away into the night, out the greenhouse and through the garden, we go below the surface and up again. We disappear, and the lights turn back on.

…

Looking to the front of the hovercraft, beyond where Jackson and Boggs were jamming sonars and piloting our escape, I look for reassurance. "Homes?"

"We're good." He calls out in response, knowing the question on my mind.

My eyes don't budge from the window though, scanning the sky for an oncoming attack. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. No one's following us. We're in the clear."

Nodding my head in relief, I run my hands over my face before turning my attention to the other side of the hovercraft where Katniss sits on a metal table under a dim light, being examined by Mitchell. Here she doesn't look as she did in the rose garden. She didn't look perfect. The Capitol shine that had been painted across her frame was gone. She was a wreck. Her shoes were gone, and he clothes were torn from our venture through the sewage system. Her skin was pale and thin. Her frame was thinner then I remember; her ribs were visible through the fabric that wrapped around her. Bags hung under her eyes and her hair was fragile.

She didn't look glorious… just a little broken.

…

When Mitchell finishes with Katniss's examination, he moves from in front of her. It's then that her eyes lock with mine. They changed. Darken, going from gray to black in second. Her composure seems to shift too.

Then, she did just that. She snapped; lurked off the table and sprinted across the hovercraft. Before I can even know what was happening, her hands were wrapped around my neck, applying pressure, strangling me. And, before I can even process, my body reacts. My training kicks in. My left arm goes for her neck as the right connects with her wait.

She goes down almost immediately. But it doesn't stop her. She continues. She swipes her legs under me, causing me to fall to the hovercrafts floor. My body hits the metal with a slam. And then, she's on top of me. Straddling my waist, she grabs my head with one hand of her hands and smashes it against the floor before lifting it up and smashing it down again.

My hand goes up and grabs her neck, pushing her away. Her arms grasp for me, but don't reach. It's then I lock eyes with her. They're black, pitch black. It stops everything. She isn't the Katniss I know. Screaming and clawing for me, driven to harm, she isn't the Katniss I know; she's the girl in the arena again, the girl that was driven so far beyond human following the death of her district partner.

Soon enough, the moment ends. She stops screaming and clawing. All her muscles stops and her body goes limp. Her eyes shade, returning back to their normal shade of gray. I hold her at a distance for a second longer before I let her fall on top on me. I allow her torso to fall on top of my chest, caressing her head against my shoulder. Above, Mitchell and Boggs look down at us- at her with concern.

…

"I'm sorry, boy." I hear a gruff voice speak up behind me, filling the observation room that for hours seemed to stand still since I had entered upon our return.

I don't look up at Mitch, I can't bring myself to do so. "What did he do to her?"

"Broke her," he breaths. "Further than he had done before. They- the doctors say they used tracker jacker venom to- to overtake her brain. They put her back in the arena, or at least that state of mind sher upheld there… She thinks you're the enemy, the last tribute she must kill before she can escape. He made the face of the rebellion, the downfall of the rebellion."

I nod my head, not fully comprehending what he was saying. "How do we bring her back, the real her?"

"I don't know, Cato, I don't know."

…

Note:

Sorry I have not posted in awhile. I hope to be able to pick up and finish this story over the next month or so. If you have any suggestions or request, please leave a comment.