With the muzzle flash, and the following sharp report, I manage to get introduced to a little fact of life… or death, I guess:
Being shot sucks.
I mean, of course it's a given considering all the puncturing and dying that a high-velocity projectile tends to bring. However I never truly appreciated the magnitude of suckiness until now.
Yes, the gun that's used is probably a peashooter, and yes, my coat's armored. Not to mention that this doesn't quite compare to being skewered in the leg, with said leg becoming infected for a while before a big nasty mutt decides to clamp down on it.
It still sucks.
I feel as if I'm punched and actually stumble back a bit into the wall behind me. Fortunately it appears that Beetee was correct in his claims that the coat would be capable of stopping a bullet from entering me; at least, it doesn't feel as if anything has entered me. Unfortunately, he's also correct in that it would still hurt like hell; because, moments later, extreme pain blossoms in my chest with the first breath I take and just keeps on going.
However, as I slowly slide down the wall to land in a crumpled heap, I'm still of clear enough mind to observe a second fact of life:
There are a few things in this world that are universally considered to be a really bad idea.
Such things include climbing an electric fence while it's still buzzing, picking wild fruit with no prior foraging experience, messing around with a tracker jacker nest, and hiring a child molester to babysit. Stuff like that.
Oh yeah, and insulting a host in their own home while breaking said host's ground rules; doubly so if that host is armed. Really, really bad idea.
Sunsilver's smug expression of triumph is replaced with an agonized scream as her hand is sliced off by a sword-wielding Porus. I'm frankly at a loss for how the Commandant's able to move so swiftly. One moment, she's at my side; the next, she's a couple meters away and holding the tip of her sword at the throat of the gibbering Capitol official who's currently backed-up against a pillar. Judging from the strange shape of that sword — it's obviously a double-edged straight sword, but instead of tapering to a sharp tip like most, this one gradually broadens from the hilt before terminating abruptly at a blunt end; it makes the blade look more rectangular than anything sword-like — being stabbed in the neck with that would probably be even more painful than with a regular one. During all this time, the Commandant's expression doesn't change.
She casually tilts her head towards me and, with the same calm air, asks, "Are you alright, Mellark?"
"I'll live…" I manage to painfully gasp out.
"My son and your companions should be here very soon. In the meantime, if you can, I suggest removing that coat to make things go a lot smoother."
I try but it turns out that moving my left arm sends a whole new wave of pain accompanied by a slight bout of nausea. I can't even push away the dogs that are currently licking at my face. So I the best I can do is to carefully unbutton it, and undo the belt one-handed, before shimmying my right arm out of the sleeve. During this time, I look at Porus and appreciate just how scary that woman can be.
Her expression may otherwise be fairly tranquil and impassive, but those eyes… Reflected in those fathomless eyes is pure distilled fury, and not an ounce of remorse.
As she lectures Sunsilver, Porus' tone remains even and dispassionate, yet each syllable is laden with enough venom to even make me cringe back a bit. "'Antiquated', huh? I'm not surprised that you think in such a manner; lackeys of the Capitol have always viewed us with amused contempt at best. Well, do you know that this 'antiquated' custom was the only thing protecting your useless hide? Because, ever since you got here, you have been a barely-tolerable presence to—"
Sunsilver sobs, "I'm sorry! I ju—"
"Don't. Interrupt. Me." To accentuate her statement, Porus presses her sword against the Capitolite's throat. "How typical. You act all superior before and up to the point of shooting a boy who has wronged you in no manner at all. But when the chips are down and you find yourself against someone more powerful, you mewl for mercy like the sniveling coward that you are.
"Well, I would like to key you in on a little fact: I. Am. Not. Merciful," she growls before looking towards a couple apprehensive Guardians standing by. "Travis. Weston. Take this woman over to the clinic; then confine her in the brig."
"Yes, Commander." Both of them are actually smirking a bit as they escort the bleeding official out of the hall.
Once they depart, the Commandant calmly wipes off her sword with a cloth before sheathing it and sighing, "Damn age is catching up to me."
"Looked impressive from here," I quip despite the pain. What the hell was Porus like when she was younger? I'd bet that even now, and even with her diminutive size, she'd be able to take down guys like Cato or Brutus without breaking a sweat.
"It would have been more impressive if I got there before that idiot fired off a shot."
"Spilt milk."
"You seem to be taking this all in stride."
That elicits a laugh from me, which I regret immediately with a wince. "Ow… If you remember, I've dealt with far worse."
"True." I swear that I actually see a ghost of a smile appear on her face. That quickly vanishes as several Guardians, plus Mayor Charlton, stride grimly over. The Guardian in the lead looks a bit older than the rest; also, instead of fatigues, he's dressed in a suit-like uniform with slacks and a coat like Porus'.
After going through the greeting protocol and assurances that everything's taken care of, Porus says to me, "Mellark, meet my senior adviser, Sergeant Major Trajan Santos."
Due to my current state, all I do is give Santos a smile and a small wave, which he returns with a slight nod. He then turns back to Porus, "Commander, I have some urgent news."
"Need me to leave?" I ask, even though the only way I'm getting out of here is if someone helps me.
"Actually, Mr. Mellark, I'd rather you stay. This partly concerns your group."
A wave of dread settles over me, but I resist the temptation to press the guy for questions. In any case, he begins to summarize exactly what happened.
"There was an incident in the hangar. A contingent of disgruntled Peacekeepers moved to confront the District Thirteen soldiers."
Ah, dammit…
Thing is, I'm a bit unsurprised. As we were being escorted out of the hanger, I remember a group of Peacekeepers giving us really nasty looks. However, I ignored them assuming that they would at least honor the ceasefire, if not Central's ground rules. Seems that I was wrong.
Anxiety builds — I really hope no one got hurt — as the sergeant continues on: "Our men attempted to intervene; however, the moment they got there, things escalated and the Peacekeepers opened fire." He gives a long exhale. "Fortunately, we were able to pacify the situation without too many people getting hurt."
"Casualties?" Porus asks stonily.
"Nothing life-threatening." I breathe a small sigh of relief at the news. "One of the soldiers from District Thirteen was grazed in the side, and another got hit in the shoulder. Some minor burns for the Peacekeepers as well as probable auditory damage. As for our forces: one mild concussion, a couple wounded arms, one wounded leg, and some bruised ribs. So, by not counting minor bruises and scrapes, that would make four Guardians injured."
The Commandant clenches her jaw a couple more times at that last bit. "Did the District Thirteen soldiers partake in the fight or directly contribute to the escalation leading up to it?" I freeze at that question. If our guys did so, then we are possibly in deep shit.
Fortunately, Santos shakes his head. "Both eyewitness accounts and surveillance footage refute that idea. No weapons were discharged from the side of District Thirteen. In fact, Commander Boggs immediately ordered his soldiers back into their hovercraft. It was at this point that the Peacekeepers started firing.
"It's also probably pertinent to mention that not all of the Peacekeepers were involved in the altercation. Besides the pilots, several stayed back and a couple even tried to dissuade their companions from the confrontation; all of them are still currently detained. Also, I've just been informed that while the Peacekeepers already held animosity towards the rebels, it was apparently Ms. Sunsilver who encouraged them to attack. Intelligence is currently cross-examining her for further details.
"So, that's what we have so far. How would you like us to proceed?"
Porus only seems to think for barely a minute before she answers: "Those Peacekeepers who were non-aggressors are to be released. However, they and their hovercraft are also to be completely disarmed, and their departure shall be postponed till I say so. As for the rest…" She turns to the Mayor. "Jon, is there anything important happening tomorrow?"
Charlton shakes his head. "Not that I'm aware of."
"In which case, send a message out. At noon, we'll be having a broadcast from the Glade. I trust you to have everything prepared by then."
"Of course," he murmurs, before briskly walking away while barking orders into his communicator. Before he left however, I think I saw a wide smirk appear on the mayor's face along with a slight glint in his eyes. Actually, other than Santos and Porus, everybody else present looks positively giddy with delight. It's a bit disturbing.
Porus proceed to state to Santos, "Of course you know the protocol. In this case, the statements and any item of importance from the condemned can be taken with their hovercraft on its way back to Two. If that's all, then you're dismissed."
As the sergeant heads out, my group barges in. Looks like they used a bit of the time to change as Gale's in his usual Thirteen get-up, and Lucius is wearing jeans and a t-shirt; however, the latter still has his medical kit and hat on. Also judging from how unsteady Haymitch is on his feet, it also looks like my mentor finally got his hands on some booze. I guess they didn't hear the details about what happened to me, because upon seeing my slumped form, the guys practically flip shit and rush over.
Within an instant, Lucius is at my side and gently shooing the dogs away as he rummages around in his pack. "Krysos, Agyros: please give the guy some room. Ma, we came here as soon when we heard about the incident in the hanger. What happened here?"
"Ms. Sunsilver, in her infinite wisdom, thought it would have been a smart idea to attack our guest here. From the looks of it, the bullet hit him on the chest, near his left shoulder."
"HE GOT SHOT?" Haymitch roars incredulously with a mixture of horror and rage written on his face. Gale also looks ready to go berserk. Beetee… is concerned, and that's about it.
"I believe that I made myself clear the first time," Porus says with a twinge of irritation. "In any case, she's going to receive the punitive measures for her transgressions."
"Never did like her," Lucius mutters as begins working on me with the same look of determination that I saw in the picture earlier. Before I know it, my coat's completely off — how he managed to remove the thing without causing me more pain than usual, I have no clue — and the shirt's cut away. The guy's working so quickly and smoothly — all the while, somehow keeping conversational — that I can hardly follow what's happening as he begins examining me. Already, a nasty hexagonal splotch of dark reddish-purple has formed on my skin.
While Haymitch settles for sitting with Beetee to watch me from a couch, Gale gets increasingly fidgety. One moment's he's at my side; the next, he's pacing back and forth; then he's looking over Lucius' shoulder. At one point, the Corpsman finally says in a calm tone, "Gale, I know that you're concerned, but you ain't making things easier by hovering over me."
That doesn't seem to do anything to ease the hunter's disposition. The final straw comes when I involuntarily let out a hiss of pain from Lucius checking my ribs to figure out the damage. Before I can say anything, Gale is lifting him up by his shirt and pressing him against a wall.
"Why the hell aren't you giving him any painkillers?" Gale seethes.
I'm in no shape to yell at him to stand down, so I settle for groaning in frustration.
Dammit Gale… Are you trying to get us all in trouble?
However, to my surprise, Porus has no sign that she's angry or concerned with the current turn of events other than continued irritation. Looking back at the pair of guys next to me, I notice that Lucius is also unfazed. He must have things under control, though it doesn't look like it.
"Right now, Peeta's in a stable non-life-threatening condition," he explains softly, as if Gale's a scared child instead of someone who could beat him to a pulp. "I need to see the extent of his injuries so I can make a proper treatment that allows him to heal completely."
"Look at him!" Gale shouts as he points towards me. "It's pretty obvious what his injuries are."
"Gale, calm down, you ain't doing him any favors by losing your head."
"Don't tell me to fucking calm down! Peeta wouldn't be in this mess if we were there." The hunter is actually getting more hysterical by the minute. "Peeta's not supposed to get shot. He's not a fighter. He's supposed to be the guy who manages to avoid conflict whatsoever. He… He…"
The whole time, Lucius still maintains the same calming tone in his voice. "Gale…"
"And now you're causing him more pain!" For some reason, Gale's speech is starting to slur. Probably drunk. "What the hell kind of medic are you?"
"Gale."
"What?"
"Take a nap."
He gives a bleary scowl. "I'm not tired."
"That ain't a suggestion."
Before Gale can retort, his face slackens and eyes roll to the back of his head as he loses consciousness. Lucius quickly catches his now-limp body before it can fall to the floor; he proceeds to half-carry-half-drag the hunter towards a nearby chair and gently lowers him down into it.
The event that just unfolded causes Haymitch to sit up and send a glare over. "The hell you just do to Hawthorne?"
The Corpsman just holds up a pen-like injector in his hand. How did he jab Gale without being noticed? "You going to be difficult as well, Mr. Abernathy?"
Fortunately, my mentor just leans back into the couch. "Nah… I'm just curious in case I need to shut down certain uppity kids." Thanks Haymitch…
I look at Gale's slumped figure. I have never seen the guy have a meltdown like that.
As if sensing an unanswered question, Lucius smiles at me and says, "Gale's going to be fine. He's just worried and needs some time to cool off. Now let's get you fixed up."
Without any further distractions, he finishes up his examination and begins patching me up. Besides the obvious external bruising, I apparently have several bruised ribs; fortunately, there's nothing more than that. He quickly puts a cold pack on and explains that I'll have to wear my left arm in a sling, which he'll provide later on, for a short while to prevent further straining. Finally, he injects me with something that banishes the pain away with wonderful fuzziness. I embrace the fuzzy.
Once Lucius has finished working on me — I'm even given a small piece of candy in the end — Porus gives me an expression that shows she's made a decision:
"It seems as if the Capitol is intentionally attempting to force my hand. So, congratulations Mellark; I believe that you have yourself an alliance."
I give her a weak grin and thumbs-up before I'm overtaken by blissful unconsciousness.
*The Capitol: Five Hours Later*
That was a wonderfully productive morning: fresh air, serene setting, watching that idealistic fool squirm and go through an existential crisis…
Who knew the boy was capable of so much venom? Not him, it seems.
Really, short of crushing this little district rebellion, I couldn't ask for more.
I'm about to call it a night when I get a call from Central of all places. Maybe they finally decided to get off their high horse and join the fight.
"Ah, Roxana, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
Seeing her grit her teeth at my usage of her former name is quite satisfying. To this day, I'm conflicted as to whether allowing that woman to continue as Head Peacekeeper of Central was a good idea. On one hand, her father was instrumental in my rise to power. Not to mention that Central under her oversight has been content to ignore talks of rebelling. Also, it was a generally a bad idea to contradict my predecessor on any of her decisions, even after she had left power; quite frustrating that it took Agrippa so long to pass.
Still, I don't think any of us anticipated Roxana making the community so independent. It was merely due to their increased innovation and productivity — not to mention their low-key nature and playing by the rules during reapings and Tours — that I was willing to look the other way as she kept recruiting for her unrecognizable security force; I even allowed her youth program to stay in place and concede to having those of age in Central be exempt from reapings. However, her refusal to commit her troops to this fight has been the final straw.
Well, if she is coming to offer her support, it's too little too late. After this conflict has run its course, I'm cutting off her supply of potential recruits for her precious Guardian Corps and will gradually phase them out in favor of proper Peacekeepers. I may even consider tweaking the age groups a bit so as to have both of her "children" in the next Games. I could have them continuously chased by stinging flies until they die; a fitting punishment for a community of fence-sitters.
As usual, the "Commandant" isn't much for pleasantries besides established protocol. "Spare me your false affability, Mr. President. Several of your Peacekeepers, as well that idiot of an attaché, committed a severe breach of hospitality by firing their guns without provocation. Several of my men were injured in the process."
"Well, that's unfortunate." It really is. The one thing I can respect about the system she installed in Central is the upheld and strengthened principle of hospitality. Such things ensure even the most unruly individuals know to toe the line. "Well, if you wish to take any disciplinary action, I won't stop you."
"How magnanimous of you." My, someone's feeling fairly snarky. "However, that is not why I called. I've decided that Central will no longer be a neutral party in this conflict."
I allow myself a wide smile. Finally. Still, you're too late to prevent the fallout after this. "You have no idea how pleased this makes me. I'll be sending a couple military advi—"
"Who said anything about us fighting on your side?"
Wait… "What?" I growl as I push myself up to lean towards the projection.
"Did I not make myself clear the first time? Very well then, allow me to reiterate: We are joining the Rebellion. Is that clear enough?"
"What in the world compelled you do such a thing?"
"Let's just say that I currently don't have that much confidence in the rebels finishing you off on their own."
She was already preparing for my downfall? When I don't say anything, she adds, "Try not to take things personally. I just don't trust you to treat Central with any sort of dignity in the possible event of your victory."
So she has a general idea of what my plans are. I never took the woman to be a fool, but why now all of the sudden? Why…
The realization hits me like a slap in the face.
Mellark.
That conniving son of a bitch! He must have used the ceasefire as an easy way to sneak into District Three and convince the Commandant to have a change in tactics. Those rebels are also probably why those Peacekeepers and my official broke protocol, which likely solidified the Commandant's decision. And there's nothing I can do at this moment without going back on my word about the ceasefire agreement.
Little bastard played me this entire time.
A little blinking light signifies that I have an incoming call, but I ignore it.
However, the Commandant seems to have noticed me looking at the alert. "You probably want to get that."
I finally answer the comm. "Make it fast," I bark, "I'm busy."
Ferrier stammers, "Sorry sir, but I think you need to see this."
A map of the nation is bought up. In bright yellow, the communications network sprawls across the area. At this point, they are not only integral for overseeing loyalist and Peacekeeper operations; they are how we are able to monitor everything that happens in the districts.
That's when I notice the problem: the vast majority of the network is flickering instead of being stable as it should be. To my horror, District Three goes completely dark.
"Explain, Mr. Ferrier," I grit out while attempting to maintain my composure. "Why is this happening?"
"I don't know! We been trying to maintain control but—"
"Ferrier?"
"Y-yes sir?"
"You're fired." And in line to be an Avox for the rest of your miserable and incompetent life.
Districts Six, Seven, Eight, and Nine are gone now.
I put the Commandant, who still has that infuriatingly impassive expression on her face, back on line. "What have you done?"
"Something I should have done in the very beginning. You forget who developed and installed the majority of your communications systems, as well as your precious surveillance devices."
"You know that you and your family will be some of the first ones I take care of when this over," I hiss.
She just snorts. "I seriously doubt that. And I dare you to throw your white-clad lackeys at us. We'll be prepared to receive them."
Now it's Five, Ten, and Eleven.
"You should have never reaped my friends." This time, her voice is laden with spite as she glares at me.
The traditional Career districts are the last to go.
In the end, the only places, other than the Capitol, that still have operational communications are the mountain complex in Two and the MOB in Twelve. It is fortunate that I decided to overhaul the Capitol's and Two's systems in the past couple years without Central's assistance. However, due to the relatively hasty way the line to Twelve has been set up, even that connection is unstable.
Of course the stony bitch has to get the final word in before she closes off her line. "Goodbye, Mr. President. This will be the last time we speak."
A/N: Moral of the story? If you're having trouble convincing somebody to accept your proposal, get yourself shot. That will get them on your side.