Who| All those on the breakout mission and all those being made to fight against them.
What| The liberation of District 4.
Where| District 4.
When| This week.
Warnings/Notes| War, violence, death. Please warn for more in headers.

The ocean is a calm clear beauty only for a short while. Storm clouds loom on the horizon, dark and massive beasts prowl quickly forward and growing size. The waves grow higher and higher over time, crashing violent upon rock, dock, and shore alike. One wrong slip, and the ocean may very will claim you for its own, war be damned.

The once bright and friendly tourist city and pier is on total lockdown. The businesses (curios shops, restaurants, and even games and rides) have closed their doors and barred them with wood. One of the hotels has been turned into the Capitol-soldier boarding and war room, a refuge for Peacekeepers in the new uprising.

Said Peacekeepers are struggling here, quicker to react due to the nature of the District's people. There is an overwhelming amount of rebels here, perhaps even the entirety of the District. Many of them, as comes from being a former career District, know how to fight, make traps, and generally outlast their opponents. Capitol soldiers will be stretched thin trying to help the Peacekeepers settle this District's ire. The people of District four want vengeance.

Everywhere beyond the tourist's city is rebel territory. Propoganda is rampant here. It's greatest control is the weather washing it away. Yet still words can be seen such as in the face of adversity; stand together! and TO BRAVERY! and Time's up, Capitol.

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

Who| All those on the liberation mission and all those being made to fight against them.
What| The liberation of District 9.
Where| District 9
When| This week.
Warnings/Notes| War, violence, death. Please warn for more in headers.

By now, even the most remote and isolated Districts are well aware of the chaos ravaging Panem. District Nine, golden with wheat and blinding with its expansive blue horizon, is quiet, and yet nothing about it feels safe; the stillness is less like a serene oasis than like tall grass that cannot help but contain lions prowling. An air raid siren was going off an hour ago at the sight of hovercrafts, driving everyone inside. No one is outside working the fields or traveling the dirt roads to the hub of the District, which sits in the center like a spider in its web or the axel of a wheel. Displaced Capitolite and Districter both are hunkered down within the corrugated-metal buildings.

The air is hot, and once outside the hovercrafts one finds that what was previously mistaken for silence is in fact the monotonous hum and whine of insects, too continuous and amorphous to really qualify as actual sound but certainly not the absence of it. The sun glares down from a cloudless sky. The earth was tilled until an hour ago, and many of the fields are only partially plowed. Some still have farm equipment left out. Mills and water towers sit awkwardly at the edge of the fields like sentinels or oversized dominos.

The crops stretch out to the horizon, ranging from waist-height to taller than the average full-grown man, depending on the breed. The sheer variety is astonishing, the quality even moreso; ears of corn are as large as toddlers and the wheat is a flawless golden color, thanks to Capitol technology and genetic modification. There are no pests, as most of the plants have a natural pesticide that is fatal upon ingestion and only removable with sprays available to importers to the Capitol, to prevent theft by the hungry employees.

There are crop circles, many in the Capitol’s logo and a few stamped with the insignias of local Capitol-run businesses. It does not reflect the sentiments of the natives but rather an attempt by those clinging to their echelons to enforce a mindset in vain. The propaganda has largely been repelled from the souls of the people here like bugs to a windshield. Only the rarest bit of graffiti may be spotted saying "All is not lost" and "you are weak" both of which have clear attempts to be scrubbed away.

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

Who| All those on the liberation mission and all those being made to fight against them.
What| The liberation of District 1.
Where| District 1.
When| This week.
Warnings/Notes| War, violence, death. Please warn for more in headers.

The nearest to the Capitol in both relationship and location, District One is a sight to behold. Unlike the other districts where things are obviously poorer and dirtier, District One looks and feels like a smaller (and slightly cheaper) version of the Capitol. The architecture from the City Hall to the corner stores is Roman based and with the whole city built on the edge of a lake, it seems to glimmer when the sun hits it right. With half the goods to be found in One based on precious jewels and metals, the shops hold their own kind of glimmer in the windows.

This is the prime vacationing spot for wealthy Capitolites and the place looks the part.

Unlike in some areas, this may be the only place outside the Capitol where someone might suspect the war isn’t happening. The Capitol doesn’t want it’s citizens thinking there’s something to be concerned about and it’s clear in the way there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong at all, the only noticeable difference is the Peacekeepers. Previously laid back and generally unconcerned with their routes, are now more attentive, keeping watch for anything or anyone undesired.

Those soldiers from the Capitol will notice they receive plenty of smiles and hellos and general niceties one might expect from a district sitting in the palm of the Capitol. However, the real note that shows that perhaps not everything is as it seems on the surface is in the way the citizens look at the rebels. Although disguised, the people of District One know a Capitol tool when they see one and they know when they’re looking at someone who doesn’t fit that image. And yet, nothing comes of it. There’s a flash, a look of knowing in their faces, but they smile and give hellos to the rebels as well, as though they’re aware of what might be going on and simply refuse to lift a finger to change it.

And why should they? Luxury does not always buy compliance. Still, it would be wise to tread lightly no matter which side you’re on. Things aren't always as the seem. And it would seem there are many marks of both sides here. Goodness and Peace can be seen, sometimes with a question mark beside it. There are those who wear red wrist cuffs for Haruto and some with jade green dots under their eyes. There are bigger, bolder images of Quintus and Beck seen around. On one wall, a painting of Emily and Beck's hands together can be seen. A home-made banner on one house proclaims this is our home.

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

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.

Who| Ellis and Open
What| Week 5 and 6 catch-all
Where| Various locations
When| Weeks 5 and 6
Warnings/Notes| Typical Arena violence and discussions of isolation and death

( Which one will land? )

Who| Ellis and Open
What| Various Losses and Trials
Where| Various Locations in the Arena
When| All through Week 2
Warnings/Notes| to be updated!

( You build that wall... )

Who: Jeremy Fitzgerald, OTA
What: That care package is only confusing him further.
When: Beginning of week 2.
Where: Forest and surroundings.
Warnings: Mention of head injuries and various FNAF related grossness.

( please pay no attention to the terrifying screams )

For the majority of you, this has become a familiar morning routine. Escorts come to pick up their Tributes and Stylists quickly see to setting them up with the bland and thin grey suits, much to most of their dismay. You'll not hear a word said in complaint though. The staff has gotten the threat to them loud and clear. Only the daring will be willing to offer even a mere "good luck". Peacekeepers quickly collect Tributes to send them off into the launch tubes. If you're from the Districts, it may be one of the last things you ever see.

What everyone rises up to is not much better a sight. It's a war zone out here in every sense. Those native to Panem will recognize the sight before them, having seen it every year in a propaganda tape. The wreckage of District thirteen. The Cornucopia sits at the very center. Offworlders might recognize some of the weapons there, and if not, then they'll certainly be able to spot some familiar scenes far on the outer edges of the arena, perhaps even a beast or two they know well from their worlds.



It's muddy and damp and there's plenty of wreckage to cut one's self upon no matter where it is Tributes run. The Cornucopia tempts the Tributes in for its bloodbath. Districter and Offworlder alike, there will only be one winner.



The gong rings out and a voice announces; “The Arena is now open”. The Tributes are free to make their choice; to run or to fight. The Games have begun.

~~~

By the end of the night, one child from each District will have their face shone up into the sky, the first twelve killed at the Cornucopia. Only twelve to go...

Who| Nick, Tabris, Ellis
What| Nick gets killed in the mini-arena. SURPRISEEEE.
Where| The forest area
When| Day 1
Warnings/Notes| Typical violence and zombie stuff.

( Welcome to Die. )

Tributes are woken early to be taken onto the hovercrafts. Each Tribute and participating Mentor receives an injection. Resistance will not be tolerated. In short time, they will fall unconscious only to wake within a room of a boat.

25 - 24 - 23

Participants have all already been dressed in a District marked thermal suit, for water, heat, and cold, though not resistant to extreme temperatures.

20 - 19 - 18 - 17 - 16

The platforms await them, sure death to come to those who don't move along, only to find no Cornucopia in sight. Instead, they stand among only the Tributes from their District and a harsh winter just outside the windows of the boat. There are stairs leading down into the rooms that hold the Cornucopia items, and a door leading outside where a heavy lifeboat waits. The boat gives a terrible creak, familiar to those who saw or took part in the second mini arena.

11- 10 - 9 - 8

They've all been warned, don't step off your pedestal early. They have also been warned to put on a good show. That's all this is about, a good show. None of them have been told that there can be multiple winners this time around.

5 - 4

3

2

The sound of the gong plays crystal clear within the boat. The games have begun.