A HANDFUL OF DUST
By Elleirabird
Disclaimer: All characters, places, and concepts from either The Underland Chronicles or The Hunger Games series are completely owned by Suzanne Collins. This work, however, as well as the character of Ari and all other original characters and concepts, are owned by myself, Ari/Elleirabird, also previously known as Seraphania. Please do not redistribute in any way. Thanks!
Author's Note: This story used to be called "Gregor and the Prophecy of Flight;" I changed the title because there's no longer a prophecy in the story, so it didn't fit. Sorry for any confusion! Much thanks.
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats...
And i will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
T.S. Eliot, The Wasteland
PROLOGUE:
To the naïve and ignorant, the newcomers, and those who decidedly turned a blind eye, there was nothing out of the ordinary to be found. But beneath the bones of the city, down past the brownstones, far below the cavernous sewers that traced the city's anatomy, was a SSC was a city within the city, a secret wrapped beneath.
A dangerous secret.
The SSC was invisible to the public of Manhattan, for the most part. Like most companies and government-funded agencies, they had the open area, available for anyone to come in and learn about what they were doing, make them look beneficial and friendly to the eyes of the public. But, like all government buildings, the actual laboratory was beneath the earth, cleverly concealed beneath layers of dirt and concrete and fragments of history.
The SSC was simply better concealed than the rest.
On one of the deepest levels of the subterranean facility, a group of researchers stood huddled around a monitor. They said nothing, but their body language was more than apparent; they all leaned towards the screen like a pack of sharp-eyed wolves, their hands shaking as they adjusted their glasses or smoothed down their uniforms.
One of the scientists, a slim older man with dark eyes and long, supple fingers adjusted one of the angles of the image of what they were watching.
"Look at that," he said softly, an edge of a smile threatening to break through on his calm demeanor.
The other men and women held their breath.
"It's beautiful," one of them whispered.
A strange creature was captured on the machine's monitor. It looked uncannily similar to a bat, with the same long ears and bony, leathery wings, but there was something otherworldly about it as it soared across the dark background. Judging from the camera's distance, it had to be, what - ten feet, fifteen feet long? The wingspan was more than twenty feet across.
It was only when one looked closely that the figure upon its back could be noticed.
"I think we're ready," said the first man, the older man. He shot a look at one of the younger women. "Get me on the line. We need to meet with the superiors."
With one more lingering, thirsty glance at the screen - the image of bat and rider frozen upon it still - he nodded in certainty, fingers tapping against each other like the echo of a beaten drum.
"It's time. Project PANEM will commence."