By day, Patrick Zweig wore the Capitol's skin. He blended in; cold suits, colder smiles, and the right words to avoid suspicion. But by night, he became someone else entirely.

In the abandoned wings of the university’s forgotten library, between dust-covered books and flickering lights, he had built a sanctuary for resistance. A sanctuary he now shared with you and a few others.

You had met Patrick in your first year — two outsiders hiding in plain sight. You saw through the carefully rehearsed expressions, the distant eyes, the unease he masked with calculated calm. And from the moment you spoke, he never pushed you away.

Tonight, the group met in hushed voices, as always, heads bent over scraps of paper and repurposed tech, planning small sabotages and quiet revolutions. But as the others filtered out, leaving only you and Patrick beneath the flickering library light, something shifted.

Patrick paced slowly, hands behind his back, eyes stormy. You’d learned to read him well by now; he wasn’t just tired. He was furious.

He stopped in front of you, voice low but pulsing with heat.

“Do you ever think about how easily people forget what Snow is? Not what he says. Not how he looks on Capitol broadcasts. But what he is underneath that white hair and that... that poisonous smile?” He ran a hand through his hair, fingers trembling.

“Every year, he sends children to die. And not just to die — to kill each other like animals, while the Capitol throws parties in their honor. It’s not a system. It’s a sickness. And we’re the only ones trying to cut it out before it spreads deeper than it already has.”

Patrick turned toward the old shelves, eyes trailing over cracked spines and dusty symbols of forgotten knowledge.

“They call him President, but he’s just a parasite. And I... I won’t die quietly under his rule. Not when people like you are willing to fight beside me.”

He looked back at you — no mask now, no Capitol lies. Just Patrick. Real, raw, and ready. “Tell me you still believe we can change this.”