The hovercraft descends, doors swinging down as I step out. More of a jump, really, landing on the paving stones lightly, boots cracking down against them. The noise is deafening, and once the craft is set down my companion joins me. I turn to Prodigy with a smile - he returns it. All around us, as the Hovercraft takes off, are the echoing sounds of yells. The roar, as a Capitol shell slams into a building, and our own artillery thunders in response. The chug of engines, a column of vehicles parading past. Soldiers are rushing to and fro, boxes are being carried by hand and by vehicle, it's the most chaotically organized scene I've ever scene. Another set of vehicles bound for the fighting rolls by, and one without the autocannon on top stops, my mentor stepping out.

Citrine's smiling, hair flowing from her beret into a tight ponytail and swords hanging at her hips. The customary officer's pistol is also hanging, but loose, as she wraps me in a tight hug, followed by the same for Prodigy. There's a smile in her voice, she's speaking with that same smile. "Welcome to the Capitol, doves. The Capitol proper. We've made it. Six months of shithousing in the mountains and sands, and now we've made it. City blocks are secured in all directions, the others have started their push and we're being reinforced by the hour. Seven's got another battalion moving, and."

"And." Prodigy interrupts, and I resist the urge to get Citrine back speaking by interrupting myself. "I'm not certain why me and Miss Baring have been brought here. I'm aware of the operational success, and we're both happy for it." I give a brief nod at this. "But why are we out here? I was under the impression that One needed Victors back home, and I've been pulled away from handling meetings with Coin." Moments of hesitation later, he amends this. "Current President, Coin."

After a moment, Citrine laughs. She turns away, for a second, as a soldier walks up, saluting us. The man's dressed in the uniform of One, camouflage and a beret, coming to attention. "Ma'am. Lieutenant Looper, 3 Company, 2 Plat. We've cleared the approaches. Your vehicle is welcome to move."

She turns to us, the soldier turning into a run as she waves a hand. "Well. Prodigy. You're here because we've got some things to do. You're aware that the lakeshore was where all the, to put it nicely, rich bastards live."

He gives an encouraging smile, and she persists. "We've secured the area around Snow's second home, few Peacekeepers still holed up inside. 2 Plat was getting it secure for us, we're using it to film a nice little propo. If you, either of you, want to go back home you're more than welcome. For the moment, well. We get to go inside first. Everyone up for it? They say it'll be good footage, and we're all good enough with weapons."

I nod, Prodigy doing the same after a moment. It's a little concerning as an idea, but it'll make for good looks. Still, before any decision is finalized I put up my hand, and Citrine laughs. "Sable, go on. We're not at the Spire any more, no need for you to fuck around with hands up and yes miss and no miss. Now, what is it?"

"You have swords. I don't like guns. Can I have..." I trail off as she nods, smile beaming. "Of course! We've got a set here for you. Nicely balanced, I got them brought in specially. Do take them, I've got that and other stuff waiting for us in the vehicle." Climbing inside, we're beckoned to follow, Prodigy giving us a light laugh as he sees the three workspaces, one now covered in armament, and general cramped air. "Spacious, isn't it?" Citrine nods, and I can hear the laugh returned as she speaks. "Of course! I've been practically living here for three weeks, it's worse now. Now, weapons."

Gesturing to the table, she moves things around. "Sable, got your thrower and the... darts? Still think you should just call them spears." A grateful nod, and I've got the quiver of darts slung at my hip, thrower hanging languidly from my hand. Having them feels good, at least. Secure, as Prodigy reaches out for a rifle. "Well, Furrier. I'm not the best, but I did my share of practice when we were getting prepped. I'll take this." A moment's hesitation, and his hand slips out to grab a long dirk, slipping the sheath around his waist. "And this. Best be prepared."

Citrine grabs a rifle. A light laugh, tossing her hair back, and for a moment I can see the perfect blonde who slaughtered her way through the 61st Hunger Games. That moment swiftly passes, and her free hand slips down to one of the swords at her hip, fingering it. "Been a long time since I was due violence. Almost a year, more before that. I cut down more people than I can remember, and. And." Hesitating, she stops. I have to pick up the thought.

That night. That dreadful night, when the arrow fell, the Mockingjay rose. The run from the Control Center. Elise, Lapis, Circe, others staying back to buy us a few seconds to run. Me having to half-carry Millie when she refused to run, wanted to make her stand. Laurel, fuck no Laurel, fully carrying a wailing Poppy. Mink and Citrine, both armed and ready to fight as we made a run down the street in the dead of night. After all, the Administrative buildings were close enough to the Control Center it was a quick run. Dead Peacekeepers, dead Victors were both too much to ignore for most times, but under the circumstances and the fact we were all in the building and pledging loyalty we managed to get on a train to One.

And now we're back in the Capitol. Back in the Capitol, armed to the teeth and ready to get some payback for fallen friends. I see Prodigy's hand flip out, grab a grenade and clip it to a strap in his belt that looks especially well-suited to holding it. He smiles with white teeth nods down at it. "Might come in handy, later. Never know."

The vehicle's finally stopping, door opening, and we're out. The mansion looms, imposing in brick and concrete. Few windows, not that we must force the building to have them. If they want to use it, those few windows might be better. Means there's less chance any of our enemies can see what we're up to, and that's always a positive in a war. We don't want 'espionage', after all. Reaching the door, and finding it locked, it's time for everyone to move. Citrine and Prodigy with their rifles held, me with a dart locked in in case I need to kill anybody.

Entry is simple. Through the door. A single charge and it's blown off hinges, Citrine ad Prodigy entering first with rifles up and flashlights attached. There's one Peacekeeper they miss, cowering in a corner. Maybe he wants to give up, but if he'd wanted to do that then he could bloody well come out and surrender like a man. Or woman. Who knows, under that armour, and I can see trembling hand reaching for a gun. My dart goes through a white-covered throat, and the head hangs forward until the chin is resting on it. It's a good shot, and Citrine turns with a yelp. "Lovely work, Sable. Maybe warn us next time, k?"

This continues for a while. Continues as we stalk through room after room, rifles entering and me covering backs. There's a couple of Peacekeepers set up behind makeshift barricades, but both of them take shots. One goes down, the other begs to surrender. The table he was cowering under is tipped onto his arm to keep him trapped, and then a call for a medic is placed. Should be there in ten minutes, for extra precaution handcuffs are applied to a wrist to connect them to the table leg, an ornate thing for which there's no chance of slipping the other loop over. Why Citrine has handcuffs, I don't ask.

The main issue is when we enter a living room, see a full squad waiting. Citrine takes a shot, drops one. My dart flies, drops another, Prodigy misses. Then we're running, ducking behind a corner and hearing shots ring out behind us. We're pinned, and pulling back exposes ourselves. Citrine darts out, fires off two rounds and ducks back. Then Prodigy, but his move is answered. Our shots go wide, but so do theirs thankfully. For now, it's a squad on us three Ones, and that's not good.

The snapping bark of a rifle, Citrine and Prodigy firing short bursts before slipping back behind the wall. They've slipped into formless rhythm now, no rhyme or reason to prevent Peacekeepers knowing what comes next. Their shots are answered, and by now the whole thing has descended into static fighting. Exactly not what I'm here for. Citrine's barking into a radio, demanding 'immediate support at Snow's mansion, it's only a block from the fucking staging area? Do you need a map you're that incompetent, not the big one, the lakeside one.' Then there's a deeper chug, and Prodigy sighs at my Mentor's words. "The closest lot are fighting like hell a block north. We'll have to wait until that stops."

I resist the urge to laugh at the ignorance of what's going on., nodding at Prodigy's belt. "You said that might come in handy." Citrine barks out a laugh, and Prodigy takes out the grenade at his belt, flicking the switch. Waiting three seconds, even as we can hear a ticking from the internal mechanism. Throwing it, and moments later there's a roar of heat and I'm crying and Citrine's got one hand on my arm, pulling me in. "Hey. Hey, Sable. It's ok. It's ok. No fire, you hear? No fire. No fire. You're safe." Weak, weak, weak. I should have known that would happen, should have known it'd set off a reaction inside me. Instead I'm sobbing, and it's up to Prodigy to poke his head around the corner and bark an 'all clear'.

We set off again. The fire's burnt out, now, leaving some charring and scores in its wake, but the heat still laps at my mind. It feels like we're back in the Arena again, jumping at all the noises and with weapons drawn. Me and my allies, safe, but now it's not the Arena. This is war, brutal war, and there's no need to play-act like the Arena. So I stand behind Citrine, get the occasional pat on the shoulder. The soldiers arrive, and have to be told that no, there's nobody for them to kill, and I can swear I've never seen a bunch of Ones look so genuinely disappointed. Play-disappointed yes, but real disappointed? No, this is a first.

Almost an hour of exploring, clearing rooms and having a bit of fun (who'd known the President would have so much ice cream?), and we're finally standing in the office, behind the mahogany desk. Filming, the cam-drone and operator eyeing us as we speak. Prodigy first. "Hello, Panem. I'm Prodigy Cortez, duly elected representative of District One. I'm here, reporting from Coriolanus Snow's lakeside residence. Took us a while, but we're finally here." Citrine and I both nod, and he presses on. "I'm here to tell you that the Capitol can be beaten. Is being beaten on their home turf. District One, in cooperation with our allies from Three, Five and Seven has seized the Capitol lakeshore, and has already set up operational capacity to maintain this position and advance."

"Juliet Paylor, and forces from the Eastern Districts have taken the main train station, and territory around it. We're winning on all fronts. So this is One's message. Our truth. We will win. If you're seeing this in the Capitol, put down your weapons. Come west, if you don't trust the easterners. We're not in the business of injuring civilians." Below the camera, his fists are clenched. "Or not accepting surrender. If you're here, fighting for what is right? Keep fighting. Make sure those in the Capitol fighting learn exactly how much anger they've brought in. We'll see you in the centre of the city." Prodigy popping off a salute, it's my turn.

"People of Panem." The script is running on a prompt board behind the camera, meaning I don't have to get overly busy with thinking about what I'm going to say. "We've fought. We've dared. It's time to end our search for justice. I'm a Victor. I was told what would happen if I disobeyed, if I did anything wrong. Well, Coriolanus Snow. I've disobeyed. I'm standing here in the Capitol, my boots on the ground in the warzone. How's it feel to be the one under siege, under threat? How's it feel now that Vivienne and I, Citrine and Mink, Millie and Satin are out from under your headsman's axe? The rest as well. How's it feel to be down hostages?"

Citrine last, giggling as she takes a seat. "We've come this far. I will admit we've wronged you. District One, the crowning jewel in an empire from sea to shining sea. But, my friends, I'm here to promise One is on your side. Our boys and girls are fighting in Nine, Five, clearing up in Two. We're not Districts any more, divided. We are Panem. We are the men and women of a free nation. And One will uphold these values."

The phrase of the Capitol is said by her with an excited giggle, a wink. "So, now that it's new. Our Panem today, Our Panem tomorrow, and I sure do hope it's Our Panem forever." The camera switches off, and the operator looks around at us with a confused nod. "Thank you Sir. Ma'am, Ma'am. I'll be off now, hope you lot don't get into too much trouble." We all laugh this off, and then he's gone. Thank the gems, he was getting on my nerves with his constant demands for us to move 'just a little bit to the left', just a 'tad to the right'.

When he's gone, it's time for me and the rest to handle our affairs. We only get a few minutes to rest, to recuperate, before there's a knock at the door and a woman comes in. Early, mid-twenties. District One, from the blonde hair and uniform. We're given an eyeing from two blue eyes, and then she rushes over with smiles of gratitude and thanks.

"Oh thank Snow. You're the relief force, we were told they were coming, but..." The young woman trails off when she further considers of our uniforms, berets, and ducks her head. "Meaning no offence, ma'am, ma'am, sir. You're the rebels?" A brief nod of Citrine's head, and the woman looks dejected. "I was hoping we'd get help... for his." "For his what?" That's Prodigy, eyes flashing. Interposing himself between Citrine and the unarmed woman, one hand on his rifle. "I believe the relief force is dead. Tried to get us. Now, you can tell us what you're doing here, or." She shakes her head, and it's up to Citrine to intercede.

"No need to worry, Miss. We're One. We stand for the peacock, not for Coin's stalking bear. We do not cause issue where we must, and we started this war to protect people, not for revenge. You're One, yes?" Mutely nodding, the woman lets Citrine continue. "Then there's nothing to fear. You're not going to come to any harm" A noble promise, but the hate visible in Prodigy's eyes is something to behold. Somehow, these sentiments may not apply fully to him. "Now, you can leave whatever it is you're meant to be protecting here and hope it can survive, or you can talk to us."

"Aemilia Snow." The statement ripples throughout the room, nobody I can see is entirely sure what to make of it. "Here?" Prodigy. "How?" Citrine. "Why isn't she..." Me. The questions come thick and fast, and it's all the woman can do to hold her hands up and promise that 'now isn't the time. Come on. We can talk on the way.'

The explanation is given on the walk through the hallways, a walk that takes longer than expected. The woman is glad to get it off her chest. "She's been here for weeks. Snow's had her escorted over, but apart from that Aemilia. Well. Her mama and papa are dead, who knows how. President's a lot of things, but someone with the time to be a fatherly figure? Absolutely not. So he hired me as a nanny. I'm grateful for that, and I've been here since she was two. She's a good girl, never raised her voice or anything. I've been her parent in all but name the past eight years. It's been a nice time."

We keep walking. She keeps talking. "Aemilia's been scared. You know, you must, she's the granddaughter of the President. She knows these people don't like her grandpa, don't like the Capitol. Can't blame them. Can't blame you, sorry for the familiarity. Aemilia's terrified that you lot are going to do something drastic. You aren't going to do anything drastic, are you? She's just a little girl, Victor Furrier."

"The only drastic measures are if someone tried to cause issue. I've done a lot. Not getting this done again." Prodigy's got a certain concern to his tone, leaning in. "Citrine. We're under Coin now, she can't know. She'll want the child." "And she won't get the child." That's me, glaring. "I've killed little girls. So's Citrine. No more dead little girls."

Prodigy stops his agitation, now, reluctantly nods and accepts the consequences. "Of course, Sable. No more dead little girls."

Aemilia Snow is hiding in a cupboard underneath a stairwell, the kind of cupboard no Peacekeeper would be in because it's too small. Terrified, eyes wide when the door opens. She's wearing the kind of dress you'd expect the sole heir to the President to wear, pretty and ostentatious and probably sewn by the nimble fingers of a factory worker from back home. It's crumpled, though, wrinkled now. The nanny gives an apologetic nod. "It's all we had. We were meant to have more clothes moved, but." It's Prodigy, the father, who gives a curt nod. "You did the best you could. What have you been eating?"

"The cupboards were stocked. Freezer and fridge going on and off. Not the best cook, but did what I could to keep her ok. That's alright, sir?" "More than alright."

Aemilia's not moved, she's still hiding in the corner. Not at all like what One's girls are lie at ten, but to be fair at ten One's girls are standing with weapons in hand ready to train to fight and kill other children. Maybe even some as young as twelve, only two years older than they are now. It's hardly a comparison. Which is why we all wait outside, until the girl comes out and grabs the nanny's hand. "Iris. Who are these people?" "Rebels, Aemilia. From One. They're here because."

"I know why they're here, Iris!" The tone's scared, all of a sudden. "Iris. I don't want to. I. I." She dissolves into a fresh round of sobs, and now she's buried herself in the skirts of her nanny, no, Iris. Citrine smiles, and drops her gun. "Hey, Aemilia. Remember me? I know we've talked, once or twice." They probably have. I probably would have at some point. That's not on my mind for now, though, as the girl pulls her head out and looks astounded after a moment of consideration.

"Miss Furrier? Citrine? Why are you with them?" "Because your grandfather, Aemilia, did a lot of bad things. Things people consider wrong." "Like the Hunger Games?" That's a question and a half, coming from a ten year old. Prodigy nods, kneeling. Taking over for a second. "Yes, like the Hunger Games, Miss Snow. And other things too, to our Victors. To the Districts." That's all that's said for a moment, breaths audible from some, until the man offers his hand. "Prodigy Cortez, from District One. Here to represent the District's elected government."

Those words probably go over her head, and it's my turn to smile and wave. "Sable Baring, you've probably seen me on TV." A flash of recognition flits over Aemilia's features, Citrine gives an approving nod. "I have! And you look very nice in that uniform." That's not the expected comment, but I smile and nod nonetheless. "Thank you, Aemilia. Your dress looks very nice, as well. Maybe we can swap." This draws out a laugh. That's good. Laughing is good.

"Aemilia, we're fighting for District One. And our friends, Five and Three, Seven and Ten. Nine a little as well. We're not here to hurt you." That's the wrong thing for Citrine to say, and the girl's collapsing into hysterics like death itself is staring down upon her. Which, to be fair, it kind of it. After all, I've killed, Citrine's killed. Prodigy probably, during this war. "You-you. You're going to, to give me to Coin. To her rebels. To the bad ones. Please."

Bad and good rebels. A novel idea, but not one I'm entirely disliking. I've met other Rebels, Eight and Four as well as the ones One's been on the front line with. They've all seemed pleasant enough, but pleasant enough doesn't necessarily mean they're the best people in the world. Only that they're just that. Pleasant enough.

"Look at me. Aemilia, look at me!" Citrine has the little girl with a gentle shake to her shoulders, and Iris is standing, ready to move in until she realizes who she'd have to tangle with. "Aemilia. I've sent enough girls into death. Girls older than you. Girls who should have lived long lives, and I taught them to smile and pose and kill for rewards I.. It was no reward." A whimpered nod from Aemilia, and I can understand the terror that inhibits a response, when three heavily armed figures are staring you down. I've felt it myself. It takes seconds for Citrine to compose herself, tone turning businesslike.

"You can't stay here. Coin would find out and be demanding your head on a plate." Another whimper, and Citrine shakes her head. "Can't leave you with the forces, they're not in the best mood. Might not be safe. Tell me, Aemilia. Have you ever seen One?" Nodded assent, and a call is placed for several of her staff members, all of whom arrive within fifteen minutes. Good thing we are so close to the staging point, it seems, because the staff arrive and with them soldiers.

The efficiency is staggering "I want the next hovercraft home readied. Immediately. I want the detail replaced with staff personally bloody loyal. To me. Staff who won't talk. When it lands, I want the passenger immediately conveyed home to the Victor's Village, and I want Mink, Millie, Poppy and anyone else there told that she's not to be harmed." A glance from me and a nod from Iris, and Citrine recants that. "Passengers. They're not to be harmed. Tell the crew that if Coin demands the contents they're under full authority to use lethal force. If we can get them through safe airspace all the better. Tell them to go west, get under cover of our grid. If necessary, over Five is an acceptable alternate route."

Nods, and there's other questions. When this needs to set off (immediately), how many people should know (as few as is physically possible), whether there should be armed guard increases to the Village (double it). A slew of pertinent questions, and with a hug from me and Citrine, an overly formal handshake from Prodigy Aemilia and Iris are off in Citrine's vehicle. They'll be back in One, soon, thank every star in the belt.

With that done, it's time to reuse the building. The staging point being so near means soon there's a column of people like ants filing consistently in and out. Bearing technology, flat-screens and weapons and all manner of things. Bearing construction material to shore up tables and secure everything, bringing in concrete when they begin to work on a shelter, everything they need to turn a once palatial manse on the lake-shore into a command centre.

Even I'm conscripted into helping. Sure, this helping is mainly taking photographs with people, because it's 'good for morale' to see a Victor interacting with the common soldiery, but I'm lifting screens sometimes. Keeping everything going in some regard, like Citrine's got coffee brewing and Prodigy's directing efforts or doing whatever the hell it is he is doing.

I'm not entirely sure what he is doing, but it has to be important if he's being allowed to do it rather than help out physically. I'm just holding up a screen to get bolted into place when I'm called for help. "Baring! You're needed!"

I'm needed, as it turns out, to sign off on some things because of course it should be Citrine or Prodigy doing it, they're the ranking officers. With them out, it's my job. My signature is slender and looping, and then it's back to work.

A screen hums with noise, and it's Citrine being called. Running over to greet it, we're greeted with the dour face and grey hair of the President of all Panem. The new president, not her predecessor.

"Victor Furrier. I've been informed you've located Aemilia Snow. On behalf of the Panemois Provisional Government, I must at once encourage you to allow her into the custody of District Thirteen." A simple 'no' does as a response, and of course Citrine has to throw a wink into it because what would she be without that? "Aemilia Snow is coming to District One, effective immediately. The government back home has cleared it, and if you want to show you're not as inclined towards liberty of Districts as you'd say you are then I'm sure the others would have a lot to stay about it."

"She's a figurehead of a dynasty that has abused and beaten the Districts. The people will not allow her to survive and threaten our nation. We must deal with her. It'll be quick." "Under no fucking circumstances. She's a child, Alma. I thought we were against killing children." "Sacrifices must be made, Victor Furrier. Aemilia Snow threatens all our security while she lives. We have to-" "Again, no. She's coming to One, that's the end of it."

Coin's nostrils flare, and I'm sure she's going to curse out Citrine until a slight nod is given over the cameras. "Very well. I presume we will be allowed information on her location?" Another no. "She will be allowed to integrate into the population. Maybe she can stay with me and Mink a while, but we'll find her a nice family. Worst comes to worst, Mink and I adopt a kid. I hope we can get a family, though. Might do the poor girl some good to be out from any scrutiny. But, Alma, under no circumstances will she be given any leeway to reestablish a Snow dynasty. Understand?"

"Understood. Keep that girl on a tight leash, Furrier. Capitol loyalists will want to use her as a figurehead to undermine our democratic process, and-" "And you're doing the same. President Coin, when's the last time you were elected?" "Thirteen's been in a state of war for seventy-five years, if you think we've had the time-" "You've been claiming to be at war. When was the last time before now Thirteen's fought? One election in nine years does not positively incline me towards your new government." Stutters from Coin, I'm grinning off-shot until Prodigy elbows me, and Citrine's back laying into her. "So either you can accept some kind of democracy, an election. One, Five, Seven, Three and any other Districts not Thirteen get a long leash, and our own local government. Or, we can do a second war this year. Which would you prefer, Alma?"

The screen is cut without any further speech, and Citrine turns to me and Prodigy with a smile. "Cortez." To Prodigy, then. "Any issues with my undermining of our traditional government structure?" "I have my reservations about your actions, Furrier. However, you're one of ours. Alma Coin is an up-jumped mole who thinks she can control all of Panem. Furrier, do what you need to do." An unstunning vote of confidence, but it's always nice to hear support. Then to me, and I can smile and inject a little levity. Always good to keep laughing, and nobody's dead, so this is a good day in my book. "Citrine, good handling! Can she have a sleepover at mine and Vivi's, though? She seems like a nice girl, and polite, and having Aemilia Snow over would be good stories."

"That's what you're focused on?" A glare, and Citrine and Prodigy are both looking highly exasperated. "Sable, she's a damned child. A scared child. You're not treating her like a pet to be passed around from house to house. If you invite her, and she says yes, and you get her her own room. Then we can talk about this." That's more a response than I was expecting to get under any circumstances, and I nod. "Sure. Sounds good." This devolves, given lack of other things to discuss, into a discussion on sleepovers and parties, for which everyone has a story. A good break.

We're all laughing, and I never want the fun we're having to end. Not the most easily expected of trios to laugh together, but we're having fun as Prodigy explains how he managed to get a peacock into a party and subsequently release it. It has to end, though. Prodigy's in stitches, but spares the time to wave us off. Citrine and I are off back to check out another sector of the lines, keep morale up. He needs to go home.