Who| Porrim and Nick
What| One last meeting
Where| The streets of the Capitol
When| Backdated to early morning, day 3 of the final battle.
Warnings/Notes| Language, will update.

Porrim’s second night in the Capitol is rough; even surrounded by the deep, even breathing of her unit, she’s jumpy, over-alert to every noise, every buzz of radio static, and she feels the strangest sense of relief when it’s her turn to take guard duty. She sits near the door of the building her unit has taken refuge in, gun propped on her lap, eyes sharp despite her exhaustion, keeping watch for anything out of the ordinary—movement, sounds, anything at all that might signal danger.

She loses track of time easily, the minutes sliding together in the heavy stillness of the witching hour; she’s beginning to think that maybe her watch will pass uneventfully when she spies movement on the far side of the street. Her instincts kick in immediately; Porrim is on her feet with her rifle on her shoulder before she can even think, but she says nothing; she looms in the doorway to the bombed-out storefront with her gun aimed squarely at the human-shaped shadow, until it’s just past her and she can identify it as a Capitol soldier. Her blood runs cold, and then hotter than ever, and she lets herself step out of the shadows so she’s behind him, their steps synchronized so as to minimize sound. It isn’t until she gets right up close that she lets herself say anything.

“Halt, if you know what’s good for you.”

Who| The rebels and a scientist from the Districts. For now… (later: EVERYONE)
What| The Revival Mechanism is discovered. Things fall into place. (A Whole Lot Of Meta.)
Where| A facility nestled in the mountains between District 2 and the Capitol.
When| Now.
Warnings/Notes| Please put warnings in headers. The Scientist’s spot will unfreeze for commenting when this log reachers 20 comments or when time is up.

( Katniss... Primrose... Rue... )

Who| All those on the liberation mission and all those being made to fight against them.
What| The Liberation of District 5.
Where| District 5.
When| This week.
Warnings/Notes| War, violence, death. Please warn for more in headers.

Coming in from the hovercraft, soldiers will see a vast stretch of desert going on for miles and miles. Flying in during the day is ill-advised to impossible. The sunlight reflecting off the many mirrors of the solar panels makes it difficult for pilots to navigate, and even more difficult to not be seen from below. During the night, the sky is lit not only by stars, bur a massive electric plant. Peacekeepers patrol all edges and levels, inside and out. But that's not all.

A large dam pushes waterfalls through its barriers in a booming cacophony from the massive lake it all sits at the base of. Peacekeepers are patrolling here too, perhaps more thoroughly than even the electric plant. Only though the surrounding houses (all small things made of stone, tucked into the rock wall or dug into the ground, panels on the top of them all) seem to have sparse patrol. This allows some graffiti saying Make a difference NOW and Trust In a New Panem! but there's not much.

The people of this District are divided. Some dive into their houses at the sight of anyone at all. Others are already going into the fray, either to sabotage the rebels, or assist them. It can impossible to tell which is which until it's too late. Even families are divided down the middle as fathers chose one side and sons chose the other. No one from the District wants to hurt their own, but the chance is their all the same. A hint may be the humming of a tune recently played in the rebel's propaganda.

The cold of the desert can be biting for those ill-prepared. Especially by the dam, where the air is heavy with the spray of the waterfall. Everyone is wide-eyed with either fear or desperation and resignation. Everyone knows what they have to do. The question is, when it comes down to it, will any of it be worth it in the end?

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 2.
Where| District 2.
When| This week.
Warnings/Notes| War, violence, death. Please warn for more in headers.

The hovercrafts fly in over the tall mountains of the Rockies, dwarfing the towering trees. From the sky, the scene is beautiful, all glittering snow, blue water, and green that never fades. The planes stretch on into the east, seeming never to end. Nestled in the mountains is a city that doesn't appear to have ever seen better days. It's worn and patched, and were the temperature a little warmer, one's first thought might be of the old west. The trains only add to this image, going all over into the various mining mountains.

Propaganda can be seen everywhere here in the city; posters of Snow, of Capitol supporting Tributes, things seeking to inspire District unity. If it seems to rebels like they're the bad guys here, that's because they are. District two doesn't want liberation. A District home to people loyal to the Capitol, to their District and the Peacekeepers, fans of the Games, and full of indoctrination, rebels are not only unwelcome, they're considered threats. Loyalty means everything to them and rebels are disruptions to this loyalty. There will be no help from the people here unless you're a soldier for the Capitol, in which case, housing and bed are offered, as well as munitions. Poster of Albert, Anna, and Felicity have been placed up, saying "The Courage Of Sacrifice!", "The Light Of Victory Shines Ahead!, and "To A Bright And Protected Future!", respectively.

If you serve the rebellion, however, it's off to the mountains with you. It's not exactly safe, but it's the best that can be managed until a takeover is made. The hovercraft lands upon a wider ledge of the snowy mountainside, sitting there rather precariously. There's no cave, and only barely enough room in the hovercraft. Resources are heavily rationed. Camp fires will need to be made outside the plane, and food hunted. Simply pulling in breath in the high altitudes may be difficult. Fight off frostbite may be more so. The moaning winds inspire all kinds of paranoia. Best stick close to one another.

Although everyone is lucky to find the sun shines during the day, allowing for some warmth, as the night falls, the temperature drops. The District shuts down all power, putting it all into heating and leaving the city in total darkness. This provides an advantage of cover for everyone, but if you're not a Districter used to the dark, seeing what you're doing may very well be a problem.

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 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 breakout mission and all those being made to fight against them.
What| The liberation of District 6.
Where| District 6.
When| This week.
Warnings/Notes| War, violence, death. Please warn for more in headers.

District Six stretches out for miles, a wide expanse of red and brown dirt with only the slightest hint of mountains in the distance. The air is starchy and arid, sucking the moisture right out of the eyes and mouth. The sun pummels down. Everything about the District screams of harshness, of elements cruel in their intensity and exposure being a serious concern. Combatants are advised to hydrate and try to avoid heatstroke in the temperatures rising above a hundred and fifteen fahrenheit.

People in District Six are too poor to consider their safety, already risking it every day in their jobs at the auto manufacturer with huge under-kept machines and toxic exhaust as they build cars and hovercrafts. Though they know they’re the epicenter of another attack, they go back to their assemblylines, under the watchful and paranoid eyes of Capitolite foremen. There’s an anxious air about the place. People drop their wrenches sometimes and make their screws extra tight, as if fortifying the vehicles against the coming storm.

They’ve been told that there are Rebels attacking, and so the residents here have diligently placed landmines throughout the desert; the wind has already erased all traces of where they are. Other than that, there are machine guns at each factory, aimed towards anyone - anyone - who approaches.

Between that, and subservience, there's not much in the way of propoganda. Most of what's done are the chalk drawings of children. A watch. A coin being flipped. A very small arrow with flame.

Vultures circle high overhead.

Who| All those on the liberation mission and all those being made to fight against them.
What| The liberation of District 11.
Where| District 11.
When| This week.
Warnings/Notes| War, violence, death. Please warn for more in headers.

If you were sick of the wet and cold weather, you're in luck. As you arrive to District 11, the weather warms up considerably, but becomes muggy and humid. District 11 is a massive district, both beautiful and hopelessly poor. The contrast within this district is easy to see as you move through the land. Sometimes, the landscape is lush, rolling farms, with fields of wheat swaying in the breeze, or a picturesque orchard with ripe fruit just waiting to be picked. But then you get to the areas where the workers actually live--little wooden cabins, many barely better than huts. The lands here may be rich, but the workers are anything but.

Because of the importance of securing food for the Capitol, District 11 is one of the most tightly controlled districts in Panem. The laws here are strict, and the authorities don't mess around when it comes to punishing anyone who breaks those laws. Public whippings had been common before the rebellion and now it's a daily occurrence, on top of the executions of those who have been found to be rebels.

Despite this, the workers are far from disheartened, and the treatment from the Capitol has only made them all the more eager to aid in the rebellion. The dust lies heavy in the air, and the people are grim, knowing it will be a long and bloody battle. But despite that, they are optimistic, encouraging each other and the rebels they meet. A lot of graffiti can be found here, often spread over the posters of Sigma, Luna, and Wesker asking compliance, all of them marked out with the the words DEFIANCE, THIS IS NOT WHAT'S RIGHT, JUSTICE, and THIS WAR IS OURS. They've been waiting for the opportunity for this for a long time. They just needed the chance.

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 10.
Where| District 10.
When| This week.
Warnings/Notes| War, violence, death. Please warn for more in headers.

Fields of grass are all that can be seen in any direction for at least an hour while the hovercraft come in. These fields are broken only by the occasional color change (marking different kinds of grass and even the occasional wheat field) and a farmstead every now and again. It’s easy to see that the animals here far outnumber the people as it’s more likely to see a grazing horse or cow or even something stranger like llamas and elephant before one would ever notice a human being. The temperature is mild in this season, not too cool in the shade and not too hot under the sun, although as the hovercraft come in and the people of the main city come into view, quite a few are dressed in long pants and sleeves, their clothing worn and dirty from hours of hard labor. In wide open fields like these there are only a few groves of trees to park a hovercraft out of sight behind. It’s one of these far off groves the craft lands. It would be a shame to have to hoof it all the way into the city.

If you’re from the Capitol, this doesn’t apply, as they can land wherever is most convenient. For those in the rebel forces... well just be glad someone knew what to expect and has procured more than a few horses to carry you into town.

District Ten has always been overlooked by the Capitol. A large district by landmass alone, its people are perceived to be just as domestic as the livestock they tend to, so despite whatever political climate it may hold, rebellion is not seen as a concern here. Consequently, those on the rebellion’s side will find they’re the first ones on the scene.

They’re greeted by friendly, if not guarded, faces. These are people who stick to their own community, their own families, but they’re not an unfriendly group. They know who you are and why you’re here. They’ve said for ages that the Capitol needed to go down, that something ought to be done about Snow and his Games, but no one ever paid them any mind. Probably because all that talk may be there, but it’s only ever been that. No one expects an uprising from the countryfolk.

Being so laid back, there's really not much in the way of graffiti. No one particularly has anything to say that has been said and shrugged off. One might hear laughs and mutters about the compliance video or a morose mention of Bison and the call to fight. There are also others pointing out that this is just the way things work.

Even the peacekeeping forces here are limited and laid back, not nearly as strict as might be found in other districts, but they are still there, so it’s best to keep your heads down as you move through the town.

As for how the Capitol forces are greeted upon their arrival, well, that all depends on how successful those rebels are.

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 8.
Where| District 8.
When| This week.
Warnings/Notes| War, violence, death. Please warn for more in headers.

District 8 is a dirty district. That's one of the first things you notice as you step out. District 13 was underground, but the filtered air was clean, at least. And the air outside of it was crisp and clear. But here? The air is weighed down with pollution and smog. For those perceptive individuals, there's a tension in the air, as well. A feeling that something soon was going to snap.

The woman in charge is wrapped up in various bits of garments that had probably been colorful at one time. But she carries herself with an absolute air of authority, and the way she speaks is crisp, knowledgeable. This is Commander Paylor, and she's quick to order around the new people, let them know what the situation is as she takes them to their current hideout.

Paylor tells them that District 8 had been one of the first districts to openly rebel against the Capitol, but District 13 hadn't been able to send aid until now (and she doesn't sound particularly impressed by this). As they walk, there's graffiti over the walls--the phrase 'Mere'lin' is repeated in multiple places not to mention such phrases as From ev'ry mountainside Let freedom ring, so we can go home, for peace, and we are already free.

This District will be one of the most enthusiastic to see the rebels. The people of District 8 are ready and willing to get started, almost bloodthirsty in some regards when it comes to taking out the Capitol. They were among the first to rebel, and they're eager to see their efforts finally be rewarded.

The majority of the pro-Capitol forces there are either peacekeepers, or the wealthy, some even Capitolites who had moved to District 8 to own factors and take advantage of the loopholes extended to Capitolites. They hold the wealth and power of the district, and they're frustrated and angry that their workers have decided to try to rebel against them--and that the Capitol isn't helping to what they feel is its peak capacity.

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.