Zeus Dynamos, District 1 Victor of the 2nd Hunger Games

I'm getting too old for this. It was disturbing enough when I started, but now I'm fifty-four and still, the Capitol calls me back for this. I sigh quietly as the train slows into the station – it's just me on board, unless you count the handful of Avoxes, which I don't. Usually I'm accompanied by Splendor or Julius, both of whom are rather popular amongst Capitol citizen both old and young alike, but the two of them just returned from a weeklong stay a few days ago. So it's just me.

Of course, there are probably other victors out in the city, ones I might see when I return to the Training Tower after my . . . job. Xanner Bryne, Aaryn Burch, maybe even Lura Carson – I've heard she's become quite a hit now that she's eighteen. I don't care about any of them, though; they're just average mentors, loved by the Capitol while of little importance to myself and the other victors. Because they're not part of the rebellion.

The train comes to a stop and, reluctantly, I rise to disembark. It's late, ten at least, but of course the Capitol is still alive and bustling. I didn't think the train station was used for anything but dropping off produce and materials from the districts, not to mention the annual arrival of the tributes, but it turns out after a year of Games is finished, tracks are built out to arena for people to visit the arena and tour in style. Hovercrafts don't come with onboard dining services.

I can see another train now, large signs positioned out front declaring Haunted Nights Arena Tours and Visit the 28th arena like never before. Limited Time Only! Unfortunately, it has yet to leave, and quite a few people are milling around the waiting area, chatting aimlessly and playing games on their wireless devices. Of course this all stops immediately as I step onto the platform.

"Is that . . . is that Zeus Dynamos?"

"Oh my god."

"Quick, grab the camera, dear!"

"Oh my god!"

"Mr Dynamos, Mr Dynamos! Will you sign my arm?"

"Oh. My. God!"

Once upon a time I might have enjoyed all this attention, but now my smiles seems forced as I struggle through the crowd, trying to dodge the pens shoved in my face as people fight for autographs. I'm overwhelmed by the sheer amount of colours; blue, orange, pink, green – these people are all colours of the rainbow, and that's not even taking their clothes into account. Red, purple, yellow, white – it's making my head hurt, something the numerous flashes of cameras isn't doing anything to help. I don't mind crowds usually, but these screaming Capitolites get old fast, and as the seconds pass and the mob refuses to move, I find it harder and harder to stop my old Hunger Games reflexes from kicking in. Punch the one in the front; he collapses into the others, sending them all to the ground. Kick to the right, elbow strike to the left, leap over the fallen bodies and make a run for it.

"Mr Dynamos."

In the presence of such colour, black stands out like a ruby amidst sapphires, and the two men in dark suits making their way towards me are impossible to miss. The crowd catches sight of them too, and after watching them forcefully push a rather excited fan away, everyone quickly backs off, though they're still shouting enthusiastically, snapping pictures from the sidelines. In moments, the men have cleared me a path, where I can see a familiar black car waiting parked right by the station road. Always the same – too bad the job doesn't get any less detestable.

Nodding to the men, I make my way past the crowd, still smiling and giving cocky, sarcastic waves that I've became known for after I won the Games. People whoop and cheer, hands still outstretching with fingers clenched tightly around pens, or just empty and desperately trying to touch the second victor in Hunger Games history.

Compared to the roars of the crowd, the car is almost a relief as I slip inside, shutting the door firmly behind me. The two men follow suit, getting in up front and I allow myself to relax slightly as one of them puts the car into gear, trying to drive off despite the amount of people crowding around the vehicle and standing on the road. Take as long as you need, I think, allowing my eyes to close as the sound of the car's horn cuts through the muffled applause from outside. I'm in no rush.

All too soon, the vehicle clears the sea of people and their shouts slowly fade into nothingness as we hit the highway, zooming away from the station to head for the main city. Or perhaps this appointment will be held more in the Capitol's "suburbs", a collection of quaint neighbourhoods that lack the hustle and bustle of the more urban sprawl. Usually these "invitations" come with notes and addresses, but I told them to stop sending me those a long time ago. Holding a card in my hand, it was impossible not to take my eyes off the name scrawled at the bottom, the name of a person disgusting enough to buy me for an evening. At least without one, I can just pretend I'm going on a pleasant little car ride.

I snort at the thought; when do I ever ride in a car, unless it's driving me somewhere awful?

The question is answered the moment the vehicle stops, and I find myself cracking an eye open to take in the home we've stopped outside. Once it registers, however, I shoot straight up, a small smile beginning to creep onto my face. This isn't just anyone's house – it's hers.

I hop out of the car before the men in suits even need to ask, striding quickly towards the front door. The car won't pull away until they're positive I've entered my client's house – wouldn't want a victor cheating the president's glorious system. Occasionally, I've entertained the idea of running, of seeing how far I could get before Capitol personnel finally caught me, but this time, all I care about is getting into that house. I hate all Capitolites, loathe visiting their homes late at night – but there's one exception to that rule.

She opens the door moments after I knock, one hand on her hip and eyebrow raised as she takes in the sight of me on her doorstep.

"Zeus?"

"No, of course not."

"Yep, that's you."

And Verena Metoph steps aside, allowing me into her house.

It's one of those quaint, "old-fashioned" designs, without all the bells and whistles that most of the Capitol homes contain. Wooden floors, soft colours for the walls, pictures of her family spread intermittently throughout the place. I don't care much for the décor, though – seen it all before – and turn quickly back to the object of interest herself. "So, you called?"

"No, of course not."

For a Capitolite, she's surprisingly well-versed in the art of sarcasm. "Kids?"

"At their friends', having a Hunger Games marathon."

She doesn't seem all too happy with that fact, but then again, that's not a surprise. I've known Verena since I was twenty-four, back when she was known as Verena Honeytiller, and she's been against the Hunger Games from the start. Refreshing from a Capitolite, but I still find it odd – after all, she married a Gamemaker. "Husband?"

"Off overseeing the construction of this year's arena. They build a small, temporary hotel out there for the Gamemakers so they don't have to fly back and forth each night." She pauses for a moment. "You know, he's the Head Gamemaker now."

"Is he?" That's an interesting piece of news; not to mention highly beneficial for us. "When did that happen? No, wait, don't tell me." I hold up a hand just as Verena opens her mouth. "Right after the 37th Games? President off Lilibeth for allowing Janaff Skye to win?"

Verena's lips press into a hard line as I casually discuss the murder of her husband's ex-boss. "Officially, she's gone missing."

"And unofficially, Varlios killed her." Verena bites her lip and I raise an eyebrow – even if her husband was too naïve to see it, she must have realised that's the truth. I enjoy insulting Capitolites as much as the next district citizen, but Mrs Metoph is not the same airhead most are. "Anyways, forget that. You didn't call me here to talk about Lilibeth," I continue, the same excitement I'd felt in the car coursing through me once more. "Don't you have something you want to show me?"

That's all it takes to get her striding off to the bedroom, me following closely behind.

She reaches the large master bed and sits, but before we can continue, I have to double check. "So you're positive we won't be interrupted?"

"Yes."

"Absolutely sure?" It'd be rather unfortunate if someone walked in on us while we got down to business.

She frowns at me. "Yes. We've been fine all those other times, haven't we?"

True. "All right then," I say, beginning to unbutton the light jacket I wear. "Let's get started."

Click.

Verena retracts her hand from the bedpost, where the button to the secret compartment is hidden, and reaches down to withdraw the files from the drawer. I take a seat on the bed beside her, tossing my coat carelessly in a corner of the room – won't be needing it anytime soon. I've been here enough to know this house always feels like a furnace.

"I can't believe your husband still uses that thing," I say, shaking my head as she shuts the compartment, the door clicking closed and now impossible to detect in the seemingly solid bed frame. "Head Gamemaker and he still leaves hardcopies of his files out like that?"

"They're back ups in case the system is hacked," she responds, shuffling the papers around to find the one she wanted to show me. "And besides, who would go looking for them here?"

"You."

"I'm his wife."

"And the rebellion's most loyal Capitol ally." I snicker at her expression. "Your husband sure knows how to pick 'em."

Her frown deepens. "Stop. I thought you agreed to stop insulting Kelwin."

"Was that an insult?"

She rolls her eyes and continues to shuffle the files around, leaving me to wait and watch. As much as I hate to admit it, it feels good to talk with Verena, to return to my almost-old self. For a while there, after everything that happened with Achilles, I wasn't sure I'd ever smile again.

At least I have the twins. Abalone is watching over them while I'm gone, but she's let me keep them seeing as, with her guidance, I'm slowly learning how to be a good father. I may not be great, but I'm a whole lot better than my own dad ever was.

"Here." A blueprint is shoved under my nose, so large it's been folded multiple times just so it could be wedged inside the drawer. I take it from Verena's hand, glancing at her for an explanation, but none is offered. So, with nothing else to do, I unfold the blueprint.

And my jaw drops.

"It's based on these," Verena says, picking up some story from her bedside table. "Comic books. They're the latest fad, all about superheroes saving the day."

"So once again your husband is getting famous for being the biggest plagiarist in the Capitol." I try to keep my tone casual, but I'm positive the shock I feel can still be heard. Is this really possible? And this diagram off to the side, the writing around it . . . no, they couldn't possibly pull something this intricate off. Could they?

Verena doesn't look impressed; at least she seems to have missed my stunned expression. "Now that was definitely an insult."

"All right, you got me." I lean over, jabbing my finger at the picture that holds my attention. "This is a joke, right?"

"Of course not."

"But that's . . . how can they do something like this?"

"They did something similar last year."

"Yes, but . . ." Abandoning all attempts to act unconcerned, I meet Verena's gaze, desperately hoping to see the joke hidden within. "There are hundreds of them."

"And think what we could do with that."

My brow knits together in confusion, then slowly, my eyes move back to the picture. Think what we could do with that . . .

Oh.

Oh, yes.

"We can hit them where it hurts," Verena says, taking the blueprint from my hands to analyse it herself. "And we can destroy the Hunger Games from the inside out. I know Spinel was talking about waiting for the next Quarter Quell, seeing as those Games are planned years in advance, but this is our chance, Zeus. With Janaff in Eight and Twelve's escort on our side, we have someone in every district. The rebellion can happen this year. It can happen now."

She's right. Screw the planning, if we act fast, we could overthrow the Capitol before the fourth decade of Hunger Games rolls around. We don't have to wait for any Quarter Quell, especially not with Verena's husband as Head Gamemaker. She'll be able to manipulate him to get what we need, though this arena's already more than we could ever have hoped for. We can do this. I made a mistake with Achilles, forcing him into the Games, and it's one I'll regret for the rest of my life. But if I can end the Hunger Games, give his children a life without the horrors of being reaped, it'd feel like I was . . . making it up to him.

"Yes," I say suddenly, and Verena glances up from the file. "Yes. Let's do it now." For Achilles.

She stares at me a moment, almost surprised – perhaps she was expecting more of a Spinel response, where I'd sit and think things over for, oh, ten years. But that's not how I work. "Really?" Her expression changes immediately as I nod, lips quirking into a smile and eyes glimmering with that rebellious fire I'd first caught sight of twenty-nine years ago. "Excellent. We'll have to tell the others immediately. And, of course, there's all sorts of planning to do in terms of . . ."

She begins to ramble on about the arena and how we can use it to our advantage, her lack of hesitation leading me to believe she's been thinking this over for a while. Her brains, not to mention her connections, are an incredible asset to the rebellion, yet I feel a slight pang of guilt every time she helps us out. Because I know her aid is only due to the impossible promise I made her when she first showed interest in overthrowing the Capitol. That day, I'd looked her straight in the eye and sworn that both her kids and her husband would be safe from the destruction the rebellion was sure to bring. But in reality, there's no way to guarantee that, especially now that Kelwin has been promoted. How can I tell the rebels that the Head Gamemaker, the one whose entire life is devoted to murdering twenty-three district children a year, deserves to live?

I sigh inwardly, glancing back at the blueprint in her hand. I guess I'll figure that part out later. For now, though, best listen to Verena's ideas for the rebellion, seeing as we'll need to stop this year's Hunger Games early on. Because if we don't, then, judging by these plans, the tributes are going to have one hell of a nightmare inside the arena. And survival might just be impossible.