Deep in the meadow, under the willow...

[etcircenses]

Who| All those on the liberation mission and all those being made to fight against them.
What| The liberation of District 12.
Where| District 12.
When| This week.
Warnings/Notes| War, violence, death. Please warn for more in headers.

It doesn't take long to get to District 12, the closest district to the rebel district. It's one of the smallest districts, and you only know you reach it when rolling hills grow and grow until they become large, fertile green mountains. The environment looks green and lush, beautiful, really--That is, until you reach the part of the District where people actually live. The weather is chillier than the Capitol, though the wind bares the worst of it. Anyone planning on spending any time outside should definitely get a coat.

The town is smaller than any of the others, and more worn down. Everything seems to have a thin layer of cole settled over it, no matter how much cleaning is done. The center of the town isn't too shabby, and there are a few things that stand new and shining--A metal whipping post and stocks. The latter occasionally has an unfortunate person in it, though most people have learned to buckle down and accept the new rules.

In the merchant part of town, there's some signs of wildlife, knobby trees and green enough yards. The merchants used to ply their trades here, though for now, everything's locked down. As you get farther, it gets shabbier, poorer. Into the Seam, where the poorest of the poor live. Here, the houses are barely more than shacks. Trees grow wild, and what animal life exists is quick to run from any humans, no doubt having survived at least one attempt by the people of the Seam to capture them for the supper pot.

One thing in common with all the sections of the District is a feeling of hopelessness. The mood is dour, as heavy and permanent as the cole dust that seeps into everything. The only sign of anything even resembling any rebellion is a few chalk scratchings on the sides of abandoned buildings, a few zodiac symbols--Anyone who knows the trolls can recognize the symbols of Karkat, Terezi, Psiioniic, and even the Initiate. That, and the grand pictures of Sam Wilson and Joan Watson, and the bold words stating NOT ALONE and WE ALL DESERVE BETTER.

The war continues, and in the back of everyone's mind is a familiar phrase; may the odds be ever in your favor.

Comments

The Battlefield

[etcircenses]

The entire city where the citizens of District 12 will be utilized, as rebels run through the twisting and turning streets, in and out of buildings, attempting to evacuate the citizens. The Capitol wouldn't let this be easy, though. On the rooftops and in side alleyways, Capitol-aligned soldiers are assigned to lurk, and bring down the rebels and their wards.

Those who successfully herd the citizens away will bring them through to the edge of the district. The fence still has its newly reinstated electricity coursing through it, but some enterprising rebels have managed to use the District 13 tools to tear open a large opening in the fence, large enough to get people through. In the meadow, people are gathered, nervous to be away from the safety of their district.

The meadow has also had a section of it converted into a makeshift hospital. Rebel soldiers and citizens who have been injured by the efforts of the Capitol lay on scavenged pillows, blankets, and sometimes just the ground, with healers darting between them, attempting to get them on their feet for the long journey ahead.

The Capitol has their own stronghold in the square where Reapings were once held. The place is set up with tents, including a large one that's also been utilized as a makeshift hospital. In one of the tents, in locked crates, are a great deal of explosives. From here, teams are sent out, moving quietly through the streets and alleyways, ducking into buildings of important note. They actively try to avoid the rebels, and their teammates on the rooftops will occasionally whistle and signal areas to avoid, when rebels and citizens are spotted.

But the fight hasn't been entirely drained out of the civilians of District 12. If there's one thing they know, it's what a danger coal dust can be. And years of trying to keep it safe makes them skilled at utilizing the dust for dangerous purposes. People coming into buildings can find little traps, where stepping in will throw coal dust into the air, hurting visibility and breathing ability. But worse, the trap will also start a spark--Not a guarantee of an explosion, but do you want to risk it?

Even buildings that aren't trapped carry some risk, with the coal dust that coats everything. Watch yourself when you start fires or use your guns. And speaking of coal, you can't forget the mines. If you thought the coal dust was thick above ground, wait until you get down to here. The entire place is dark and gloomy, and even the brightest lights can't seem to penetrate the dissolute fog of soot.

Just make sure that you don't have trouble breathing, with a potentially hazardous build up of carbon monoxide. Don't you wish you had a canary?

Murder Party Version 2.0

[pythianjudgment]

[General catch-all subheader for the mayhem planned around Terezi dying and Initiate flipping out.]

For Derek and eventually Initiate

[pythianjudgment]

There's something to be said about not bringing a knife to a gunfight. Terezi has never been very skilled in firearms. Her forte has always lain in swords and staves and the ability to outwit or outmaneuver her opponent. Thus, when lots are being pulled for different teams of the mission, Terezi volunteers to scout for the Capitol explosives. It's dangerous work, but this is a war. What isn't dangerous at this point?

Once on the ground, Terezi sets out to keep track of the Capitol troop movement. Top priority for her is finding those bombs, not necessarily engaging the enemy. As such, she sticks to any tight spaces between houses, foliage, empty structures, and whatever other cover she can find. She has to keep track of both the ground and the rooftops for Capitol lookouts, but she uncovers a handful of explosives to report back to the Rebels. Most of the time, there's a team nearby to take care of it, but on this particular occasion, no one is close enough to help.

Steeling herself, Terezi slips out of her cover and over to the place where she observed the bomb being set. It's concealed by tall grass, pressed up against the back of a building. She goes to one knee next to it, resting her personalized staff-sword against the house. She might not be a natural bomb expert, but her fingers are small and slim for delicate work, and she's been briefed on how to handle these.

For Derek, Clint, Albert, then Sam (and Albert returning with Jet) CW:Death, extreme violence + MORE

[carnagecarnival]

She don't breathe. Ticker in her chest bits ain't got its motherfucking tock. He knew this day would come, but not this early. Not this fucking soon. Eventuality as with the dawn but not an eye's blink. His whole life stretches out like empty horizon and he would give anything now for the scream just to fill it so there'd be something fucking there. His jaws open wide with the want of it but he ain't got nothing, just a building ache in his chest and clawing at back of his throat and the noise about him don't motherfucking stop.

There's blood on his hands. It's cool and sticky and it coats his fingers. The light shines open it to make it bright and make it dark, narrowing down the pretty day-sky color into one or the other and only one side is going at to win.

He hears the desperate cry of another fucker taken down, followed quick by more silencing noise.

He shakes her. He shakes her and begs wordless, he can't do this, he can't do this alone, he can't do this without her, he needs her, he can't, he can't. Please come back, come back, come back, come back, please. No, no, no. It's a whole bunch of noiseless howl from him. All howl and no fucking how for the making happenstance of. She's gone. She's... she's motherfucking gone.

The gun shots and shouts and clash of weaponry keeps raining on.

No. No, not gone, right here, right motherfucking here and his girl, his sweet and precious little Pyrope, bitty sister's all done and perished but that don't mean no overness. He lifts her little body up and he finds his shaking hand can steady some when they're holding onto her. He sets her up and cups her jaw, staring into them eyes so blind, so FULL with the knowings of things and the knowing of him. He pulls her close and he kisses her then, hard and desperate, claws poking for first and for once cause she owned his gentle and she gone to take it with her. It is such a brief sweet thing. Just as she. Just as his little teal.

Her fear-tinged words keep echoing in his head. She was so scared. His best girl, she didn't want to go.

He lets her down and lifts his blood soaked hands up into his hair, pulling and digging claws in, awaiting revelation. They'd been quiet, the Messiahs. So so so quiet as to leave him without paltry whispering though even that from them would have been worth a million treasures. They'd been quiet but he is never, not ever alone. So the scripture said. So the angels themselves spoke into his pan when they gave his paint, his duty, and then some. He stares down with trembling form and he prays again, please, please, please, please, fix this, he ain't want this no more, please. Bring it to end.

Bring them to end.

His eyes start to shift, soft gold going deeper and deeper into the red what's wanted for. Oh Messiahs, he asks as he rocks and weeps and his breath pulls in fast and so he recieves. He is their voice. He is their hand. He is their blood descended. Even the best of angels exist for justice.

MAKE THEM PAY.

He rises up. His fingers trail over his paint, painting over top with a miracle color as almost as holy. His hands fall down and back, fingers spreading as he readies his claws. He's got voice, not tongue what to speak with, but he's got all the fang what tear with. He stalks forward, starting slow, letting his claws rake on the metal of the building's wall so it snarls for him. The wall ends. The war really motherfucking starts.

And it starts with the resounding scream as Peacekeeper is ripped out of a run and thrown back, leapt upon clawed. The limbs rip off easy as breathing, just like he remembers. Arm, head, guts. The flesh shreds so smooth and beautiful under his claws and the howls don't mean nothing to him except a call for what his name used to mean. He darts, leaps, and ploughs through the next just as quick. He stops only to make a club of that heavy gun, spinning it once in the air bringing it around with a violence at another. Like lightening, he moves until he reaches his... inquisition quest.

He doesn't see the people he shreds through for who or what they are. As far as he's concerned, anyone in the way of his mission is in the way of him. He deals accordingly.

[ka_sera_sera]

A. [open]

Perhaps it shouldn't feel good, having a gun hanging heavy by his side again. Perhaps he shouldn't be feeling that familiar blank, bleak eagerness all settled through him as it hasn't since long before he'd set foot in this world. He should be feeling sick, sick at choosing to fight for this cause, thinking of ways to sabotage something.

He hates the Capitol, aye. But he's got no particular love for the rebellion or for this district's people, either. Not enough to risk the Signless' safety for them.

It's about as organized as it can be, this move into their field of battle. As organized as it can be when the peacekeepers move in tandem only with each other, and seem to leave him to do whatever he likes. But they're close, they are always close, and he has no illusions here that he is free.

Roland flattens himself against a house, and spies someone who definitely isn't on their side. 'Their' side. Nevermind. The time for thinking on that is over. He raises his gun, shoots, and does not expect that the bullet'll miss its target.

(ooc: Whether Roland shot to kill the person beside your character or whether he just shot something close to them to intimidate them is up to you. Capitol people welcome, too, let's kill us some npc's.)


B. [closed to Signless]

All that comes later. First, there is that feeling which comes before a battle. The waiting. It can not really be described, that waiting - maybe it's the same thing some people feel when they're being lowered into the arenas. So far as Roland's concerned it's similar, but in the way a strong wind and a gale are similar. He looks down, stares for a second at the holster which hangs over his waist. It isn't leather, isn't heavy or familiar.

He turns his mind from that, looking up and reaching out to tug at the straps holding the Signless' weapons on instead. "Stay back if you can," he says, because a reminder won't hurt, will it. "They'll think nothing of you letting someone else take point. Oughtn't be you in front, anyway, ought to be someone with a great deal more experience in shooting."

[69problems]

Much as Signless hates being coddled, he understands that this is very real advice that Roland is giving him. A battlefield is not an arena where he can run and hide until it's over, and he has a sneaking suspicion their captors won't take kindly to that anyway.

"I don't plan to try the gun," he affirms. Not unless he has absolutely no other choice, but he hopes it never comes to that. "If I need a weapon the knife will do better. No running out of bullets, no need to reload."

[69problems]

A. OPEN

It's not a battlefield like Signless was expecting, and for that he is glad. The lack of an open are and a crush of people meant he could avoid fighting at least for a little while and stick to his usual battle plan of staying swift and quiet. He doesn't want to hurt the people of 12, the people who made him one of their own, the people who he's held in his heart as one of the reasons he couldn't let Panem beat him down.

The problem is that other people are, after a point, unavoidable. To his horror he finds that no matter his own feelings on killing, his hands have other plans. And so he can be found with the knife he hadn't wanted to use wet with rebel blood. The way he looks at any other rebellion-affiliated characters who approach him says that they may very well meet the same fate as the dead soldier slumped before him.

B. Closed to Psii

He looks like shit. He's covered in blood and sweat and coal dust, with a knife clutched in one hand as one might clutch an angry electric eel and an expression that vacillates wildly between horror and anger. He didn't want to do any of that. He couldn't stop himself. He couldn't stop himself for Karkat and he can't stop himself for the Psiioniic either. He doesn't want to hurt the other troll. He has to hurt the other troll.

"Psii--"

It's not a warning, precisely, but it's the best he can do. Combined with his appearance it should clearly say 'keep away from me'.

OTA

[justoutrunyou]

Sandy hadn't wanted to come back here. She hadn't wanted any of this.

Despite not having grown up here, despite only visiting once for a short time, she loved District 12 and all it's people. The video she'd found in her room after the last arena had emotionally wrecked her for a week. She forced herself to watch it over and over again as a sort of punishment for not having protected Char better and not having won in the end.

But none of that mattered. As soon as her feet touched the ground, it was like she was a passenger in her own body. She was picking up a gun, she was running, following commands and darting between buildings faster then any of the adults.

She had only one mission. Find the rebels, find those who would resist and end them.

Her eyes were glassy, her expression blank and in the back of her mind she was screaming, begging herself to wake up.

But with every passing moment the world became blurrier. Foggy like she was in a dream.

A nightmare that was impossible to stop. Just another miserable day in Panem for her.

Behind the lines

[hollowvictor]

Everything was a blur of activity. The Initiate had gone crazy, they'd lost a handful of their forces and a chunk of the volunteer forces from 12, some of their number had been captured. He didn't let himself think about it. A whirlwind of reports came in and he listened to them all without letting anything sink in. The peacekeepers in the mines escaped, but the citizens were being evacuated and it seemed things were turning in their favor. For now. He had to concentrate on that. He turned his attention from the reports to the injured coming in, there were so many it made him wonder how this was considered a win, but it didn't stop him from helping where he could. He was no healer, but he could patch people up well enough to get them to travel.

The reports continued coming in and even while his hands were busy, his mind was listening for names and statuses. There were still people he hadn't heard about yet and all he could do was hope they'd come back in one piece.

for Terezi

[crabmunicator]

The reality of war is strange. It makes sense that it would happen, because how could the Capitol keep up pretenses after the raid? The Victory Tour surely couldn't go on, and what of the Hunger Games with so many missing? Still, after so long caught in the oppressive atmosphere of the Capitol and the games themselves, it feels unreal.

Still, it's what he wanted. Here is a chance not just to prove himself, but to fix what's wrong with everything. How is he to ever claim a place for himself if he can't help tear down the old rot and build something solid in its place?

To that end it seems the people of District 12 believe in him. He saw it by chance, something out the corner of his eye that looked familiar, and only once he drew closer did he see clearly. Chalked on the side of a building are signs he knows well, symbols of trolls, including the one he calls his.

He has things to be doing - civilians to be evacuating - but for the moment he's caught. His hand touches lightly to the mark. He can scarcely believe it.

For Kousuke Nitou and (eventually) Albert Heinrich

[wizardplease]

The rebels need scouts to see what's being planned in town, and Haruto is a more than willing volunteer for the job. He's decent at being sneaky and perfectly fine in a fight, and has also proven to be very, very good at running away when the situation gets bad... though he's not very inclined to brag about that last one. Thus far, he's managed to get past the perimeter and through the better part of the Seam, keeping close to houses and whatever cover the place provides.

He's not here to disarm anything, just to see what he can see. Get in, get out. Report who's there, and with what, so they can make a better-educated advance later. And that's fine with him. Fighting and killing Peacekeepers, he's come to terms with. They know what they've signed up for. They're them. But he doesn't want to have to go toe to toe with any of the off-worlders. That's a step too far for him right now. So he holds still, waits for a patrol to pass, and then makes a dash for the next dilapidated house over that he can use to keep himself out of sight.

Little Canary

[etcircenses]

The majority of the rumblings of rebellion in District 12 have been in the mines. Once the word got to the Peacekeepers, they began patrolling the mines carefully, keeping an ear out for seditious talk. However, with the arrival of the rebels, some miners have used the chance to finally put an end to their overseers. They collapsed an important tunnel, leaving many Peacekeepers trapped in the mineshafts with limited air supply.

Some Capitol soldiers have been divided from the main forces to go rescue the Peacekeepers. Because the main sections have been closed by the miners, the only way to get to the part of the cave where they can be tunnelled out is through a rickety mine cart rail. So pack into the mine carts, hold on tight, and mind the rebels!

The rebels have decided that they really don't want the Capitol to get the extra manpower of the Peacekeepers, and know that their deaths will be a huge morale loss for the other side. So they've assigned a team to go into the mine and try to collapse the entire section, killing both Peacekeepers and those assigned to rescue them. Of course, as the Capitol agents will be in the mine rails, in order to get to them, you're going to have to hitch a ride on a mine cart as well.

Have fun!

OTA

[f0rthereaping]

Hannah is far past a care for hypocrisy. Is she going to have mercy on a couple of Peacekeepers and what soldiers happen to be down there? Not a chance. She's the perfect candidate for a job like this, really.

She lifts the specially made daggers-- shape into fine needles, up to hold in her teeth as she starts pushing that rail cart, trying to build up a solid moment before she hops in. She rushes in and down, the mine taking her deeper and deeper, the air growing hotter as she and anyone joining her is swallowed into the mouth of hell. The way it races past gives the sense she's in flight, the world speeding by. Many times it seems as though she'll be flung out from the cart or perhaps something will give it. It never happens.

She reaches the bottom and she's out just as fast, fully aware that the way out will take a lot more time. But she's here and maybe now she can get to work caving this place. Woe be the ones who find themselves at work with her.

OTA

[the_marshal]

It had been a while - and he supposed he did owe 13 that - since Wyatt had felt death so readily at hand. A flash of a leering face in the shadows that whizzed by the cart; the rustle and flap of robes in the wind whistling past his ears; a chill leeching up his spine.

He'd had problems with the mission from the start - how they planned to go about stopping these Peacekeepers. Instead of trying to help them, instead of maybe showing them why even they could believe in the rebellion, in a different, better Panem, they were gunning to leave them to suffer. To die slowly.

Now, besides that, he was in a rickety cart, threatening with ever turn to buck him like a bronco and thrash him against the mine walls. He was following behind a man he doesn't know from Adam, and Hannah, who'd already proved herself willing to kill everyone and herself if she couldn't immediately come up with something better.

He wished he'd thought to give his letter to Max to somebody else. Bucky, maybe. Or Albert.

When the cart finally came to a sudden, violent stop, he hopped out and took a moment to find his knees again. Touching the wall with one hand, finding the paper beneath his coat with the other.

Containing The Spark

[etcircenses]

With the war raging, enough bomber planes to level an entire district, the Capitol is ready to do what it must and will spare none who stand against them--certainly not for one as small as 12. The last media breakthrough has sent waves through the nation, especially that of twelve. If the rebels want to rile twelve into war so all of Panem is dragged with it, then the district needs to go. So, Capitol forces have been dispatched with enough explosives to level a city. Their job is simple: Take the explosives and plant them in the designated areas. They need to move as fast and quietly as possible, so the rebels can't find the bombs to disarm them.

Of course, the rebels will be trying to stop this, or at least put it off as long as possible. One lead by Katniss Everdeen herself, groups will be moving through the town, trying to find either the bombs, or the teams responsible for planting them. People in these groups will have a twofold challenge: Figuring out where the bombs could be placed, and how to disarm them once they're found. Of course, you can just try to find the teams and kill them, but that leaves the bombs they may have planted still there.

The more the rebels hinder the Capitol, the more time that the civilians will have to evacuate. But it's the same in reverse: The more successful the Capitol is, the more insurgents will be elminated by bombs.

Luckily for District 12 citizens, the plans to bomb the district to the ground was discovered by a rebel spy in the Capitol. They got the word out, and now the rebels are attempting a mass evacuation. Lead by Gale Hawthorne, groups have been dispersed to attempt to extract as many people as possible and lead them to the meadow, where they will begin the process of migrating to District 13.

However, a mass bombing hardly works if everyone survives. The Capitol has selected crews to halt the evacuating forces. They sit on the roofs, in alleyways, anywhere they can sneak up on groups to try to harry their departure. Some Capitol soldiers may not be fully informed that a bombing is taking place, only that everyone is required to be brought back to their homes. Meanwhile, those perfectly fine with killing, are instructed not just to eliminate the escapees, but to slow them down in other ways as well. They want to cause panic and chaos, and they'll be focused more on slowing down the forces as much as possible. At several points, they'll shout to civilians that anyone who leaves the rebel forces, and goes to the Capitol camp to help them will be spared.

If the Capitol soldiers weren't bad enough, the civilians themselves aren't being very cooperative. Many don't believe that the Capitol would actually bomb the district--after all, how would they get coal if they didn't have miners? It'll be a challenge to just convince them to leave at all, not even mentioning the various obstacles to getting them out of the district.

[on_fire]

Her skin was crawling with frustration. She wanted to scream at people to get moving, she wanted to be everywhere at once, her fingers flexed with the want to be moving, be doing more, more, more.

But she knew how to move well in District 2 without being seen, knew where the hiding spots, the places a bomb would cripple the city, and right now finding these bombs, and those planting them, was where she needed to focus. If 12 was wiped off the face of the earth...how do you fight for a home you no longer have?

"In here. These houses should all be evacuated...check the back rooms, that's usually where they keep the coal for the house." Getting people out hadn't been as easy as they had hoped and wanted them to be. She couldn't understand how anyone could drag their feet in this, and her frustration had been more than a little obvious. Here, her barked orders actually did something, the words hit people who understood what was underneath them.

[silberfuchs]

It's a depressing thing how familiar the war zone is.

Albert's never been to District 12 before now. He doesn't know the people who lived here, has no names to match to faces of those he's leading in moderately organized groups from the outskirts of what could modestly be called a town and to the makeshift rebel base to wait out the fate of their home. He doesn't know it's called the Seam, doesn't know Katniss Everdeen from any other Victor, and certainly doesn't know the dark haired young man called Hawthorne. Everdeen, at least, has been on television.

But the frightened faces on the civilians he's trying to lead to safety beyond the fence, the disbelief and distrust,even the dust that chokes the streets from fighting happening in other areas of the town, that is familiar and disgustingly puts something in him at ease in knowing what to do.

Death is your element.

He's not sure if the thought is his own or something remaining dreg of Jaden's influence that he hasn't managed to shake, but either way he needs to shove it aside and get these people moving faster.

"Ma'am, it's not safe. If you don't get moving, I'm going to have to carry you whether you like it or not," he replies to another disbelieving Districter, his eighth today so far that refused to see the danger coming. He's running out of patience.

Open to Those Who Want to Witness Wesker's Benevolence

[president_evil]

The air was thick with coal dust and gunpowder and the stink of fear. Gunfire echoed, an almost heartbeat, rap-tap-tap, and screams cut loose, sharp and erratic. Figures darted like birds, ducking and to and fro, trying to be anywhere but where they were. The Peacekeepers moved in the streets of Twelve like a white flood, firelight shining in the black masks of their helmets.

Moving behind them, moving as if he did this every day - head high, gate steady - was Albert Wesker.

He might have been out in the Capitol, for the impassive expression of his face. But his fine, tailored suit had been replaced with shrapnel deflecting leather and there, tucked under his arms, the gleaming grips of twin pistols. (Not his. The Desert Eagles still tucked away in one of the Captiol's many hideaways. But more than enough to get the job done.)

Truth be told, he wouldn't have even needed them. ...But it did expedite things.

Stop them, so the order had been. And so he did.

A single bullet down an alley, a body streaking toward them, and one weapon was out, jerking against his palm seemingly before he'd even moved. Then the man was down, screaming on the ground, clutching his now useless legs.

Wesker tapped his sunglasses with his other hand, the bomb locations flashing before his eyes, and he directed the team on.

"The next right. Through the first building."

Ahead the time moved. Wesker's head swiveled, a quick surveillance -- and something flashed. Soft and pink. The hem of a dress disappearing back around the corner of a building across the street.

The gun twitched, started to raise. Color bloomed behind his glasses, a bitter, poisonous red... then both receded. The team moved down the designated street unaware, and Wesker could afford to be merciful.

For the moment.

Quickly, quickly, little bird. I wouldn't stay there, if I were you.

Open to Sam Wilson

[earthborn]

Shepard was, as ever, a one-woman army.

Steve had told her once, her Steve of course, that in transit she was as vulnerable as anyone, but on the ground, invincible. She'd laughed at the time, given him the smile he was looking for, but the shadow of a half-million dead batarians had loomed, dark and silent, over every word.

Torfan. Aratoht. Pinnacle Station. Sanctuary.

A quieter voice whispered names, the names of ships, of people, little snippets. Had to be me, she told herself, when she accepted the job. Shepard didn't mind a little blood on her hands. Hell, she welcomed it. Anything, anything to break out of the monotony; Commander Shepard wasn't built for peace. She was a goddess of war. She had killed five people to get here, the foundation of a warehouse. It was built to house coal, four storeys; not the tallest building in town, but it had a squat, toad-like footprint. It was saturated with coal-dust, like cleanliness was only a patina put over a black-crack core. It would burn like a match and blow chunks of charcoal all over the surrounding neighborhood, igniting the town. Shepard had killed five people, unarmed civilians, to get here.

The door guard had seen her, and reacted too slow; she'd crushed his throat with the heel of her hand then brought him down the access ramp. The next four had been waiting for her, unconcerned, waiting to offload their orders, complaining about the hour of the day. She was early, after all.

They weren't ready.

She shot them all, calm, methodical, pop-pop-pop, and when the last one came around the corner to see what had happened, pop. Easy, too easy. Messy. She closed the loading-bay doors, dragged the bodies out of the casual line of sight, noted the locations of the antique security cameras, and went to work.

Simple principle: find the support beam. Where is the floor weakest? Set the charge, don't look up. Focus. Wire the explosives. Check the timer. Hope you weren't followed.

(Know, that you were.)

[pimpcanes]

Finally, Tom's returned to his element.

Thirty years a terrorist, a saboteur, a mercenary, a gun for hire - he hasn't been putting the smoke and gunpowder in his veins to use like he was hoping as a Peacekeeper. He wanted the violence, the power, the sadism, and for the most part he was just reviewing security footage and jockeying a desk. Now that he's finally back in the thick of it, he doesn't bother to hide that knife-like smile tugging the corners of his mouth up into jags.

He's set up with explosives and a sniper rifle, and thus far has been picking people off as they mill around. There's no particular method to it - he doesn't aim for children, although sometimes they get in the way, but other than that he's indiscriminate in the lives he takes.

He sees a woman with red hair, not very far from him, with what appears to him to be some sort of medical kit. Smirking to himself, he turns his gun on her, not bothering to hide his position from someone he's sure will have a bullet between her eyes in moments.

[molotov]

They say of a sniper’s bullet that it if you hear it, then you are safe, because it will already have passed safely by. It is the ones that you don’t hear that are for you.

It's been a long time since Molotov's had her eye to the scope of a rifle. Since she laid out on her belly and systematically took out targets. One, two, three, bloodspray against brick walls as men and women fall, their little groups of fleeing mice scattering and screaming with their leaders gone.

She lets the mice run, leaves them for the Peacekeepers on the ground, because it's more rewarding to find the soldiers from Thirteen. Many of them are faces she knows, making for twice the joy in each fired bullet, because it's uncanny how almost all the defectors wound up being people she is, at best, completely indifferent toward. It doesn't surprise her, really -- those who think all the universe is their business are the most insufferable.

Molotov swears softly as one of her bullets lodges in a wall, and she buys herself some time to reload by tossing a grenade through the broken window of a nearby building. She braces through the explosion, the grenade pin still between her teeth, reloads and then aims again, this time at a man firing back against some Capitol troops.

The bullet pierces his cheek, comes out through the other side, and she catches him with another in the temple before he can even fall. Blood-soaked teeth fall from his open mouth as he crashes to the ground, and she grins.

[leiche]

This is definitely worse than the arenas.

As much as he wasn't fond of the concept of being forced into a death trap and dying in various spectacular ways over and over for a bunch of strangers to cheer about, it was better than all out war against those who could barely fight back - and won't come back. The arenas were a spectator sport, and they had to bring the tributes back so the sport could continue. But this? There's no coming back from this, not from bombs and snipers and Capitol soldiers taking out everyone in their paths.

But as dire and awful as the situation is, it's one he can help in. In the arenas (the only one he was in,) the most he could do was find a halfway decent hiding spot and hope no one found him. Here, there's people who need help, innocent people - innocent children. Nothing gets to him quite like screaming children.

He can't really call it a house. It's barely a shack. One of the bombs had gone off nearby and sent debris flying everywhere, and a large chunk of something had crashed into the roof of the small, downtrodden building and nearly collapsed it. It's barely being held up on it's supports, but it's the screaming and crying from younger children inside that lead him to the scene, admist all the chaos. A few of them had made it out, but others were trapped inside, and the small gap they were escaping from was closing in fast.

Jeremy hurried over to try and help, holding up the archway as best he could to help the other trapped kids crawl out. He tries his best to be reassuring to the scared children, telling them to stay close and he'll help them all get to safety - other tributes and rebels were helping to evacuate people, they knew the right way to go. But he knows he can't hold up the crumbling ledge for very long.

"Hey! S-Someone, we-- we need h-help here!" he calls out desperately, because damn it, he's got to save these kids. But can anyone else hear him over all the chaos?

(frozen comment) Results

[etcircenses]

(frozen comment) Little Canary

[etcircenses]

It seemed like hope might be lost for a bit there. Some of you may have heard Peacekeepers cry out about families or even not wanting to die buried alive. Or maybe, you heard nothing, choosing not to think about the people the rebellion was looking to kill. But with effort, and shovels, whether it's wanted or not, the Peacekeepers are rescued! And just in time for them to turn their guns on the rebels who have been trying to stop the Capitol forces. Some rebels manage to escape, some are killed, and a few are captured. The Peacekeepers and the Capitol forces troop to the surface with their captives, more resolve, and more forces to help them kick out the rebels that remain. The cave-in murders are a Rebellion failure.

(frozen comment) Containing The Spark

[etcircenses]

The rebels managed to dispatch nearly all of the bombs, and the Capitol isn't willing to keep sending supplies to a failure of a mission. The Capitol soldiers are forced to beat a hasty retreat, but they leave a parting gift. What bombs they did manage to plant explode, but because of the efforts of Katniss and her crew, the damage and casualties are minimal, and District 12 marches on. District 12 thanks the rebels for their efforts, and gives them the District's support--for whatever it's worth. There are a decent number of people who are worried that the District hasn't seen the last of the Capitol, and some of the civilians who have been evacuated decide to travel to District 13 anyway, though they can now travel with more than whatever they could grab in the few minutes they had before.

(Somewhere in the Capitol, Snow discovers a piece of coal in one of his socks. He must have been very naughty.

Merry Christmas, Panem!)