The Guardian Games: The Wrath of Five

Chapter 6: Songs of Innocence

Capitol Undergrounds

Butterfly Room

After he had ensured that the girl was returned to her cell and that she stayed there, Pitch made his way through the Undergrounds passages, arriving at the operating theatre. Entering inside, he found that it was almost completely dark. The only light was emitted from the holographic screens near the centre of the theatre, where the operation table was.

Pitch navigated his way past the technicians and assistants, who were only there to ensure that all the machines were smoothly running so that there were no interruptions during the procedure. Dr. Randall Boggs, who was the director of the operation, stood on the observation deck, where he would instruct the doctors and nurses according to plan and ensure that all ran smoothly. Pitch could have gone to join him up there, but seeking a more intimate view, he decided to go into the stage of the operating theatre itself. It was his show, after all, and he intended to see it play out in all its glory.

It was Pitch who had told Randall to seek out the doctor in District 12 - the one who performed the operation of the ice mutant's sister. After all, this girl was the only known survivor of an ice-blast to an organ. If they were to reviving someone who had been struck to the heart, they had to done with a similar procedure. The old victor had indeed, after much … pressure, revealed much needed details that helped them to design the operation that was to be conducted today.

The whole operation was done by machine, for there was no strength of man able to slice the frozen flesh. They had taken several scans of the frozen body prior to today to construct a three-dimensional map of his entire body in all systems; everything from skeletal to circulatory. This was used to plot the route for the travel of their instruments through the body. All programmed coordinates were checked often, with re-scans taken every fifteen minutes to ensure that their information was consistently accurate. Even now, the body's interior side was still being monitored with scans so that they could measure his homeostatic responses in situ during the procedure - just in case they accidentally punctured a vital organ halfway through. You'd never know.

The body had been stuck in an ice prism literally since the first day they brought it here. So they had it sliced out with laser and placed in a thermostatically-controlled glass chamber at the centre of the theatre, right over the operating table. They called it 'the operation box', for it seemed appropriate enough.

The surgeons and nurses all stood around the outside of the sealed chamber, their fingers darting over the computer interfaces rapidly. Last minute checks were done on the charts flashing the vital signs to ensure steady health before starting the operation. Incision coordinates were confirmed [and] re-confirmed by the teams in charge of programming the automated operators. Surgeons took their places in front of their control interfaces, as nurses ready by their sides to assist. Technicians declared that they had detected less than five percent chance of mechanical error, which made it acceptable for the procedure to carry on. The unpredictable part, however, lay in the patient himself, who himself was the mystery of the hour.

As he eyed their frozen patient, Pitch found an insistent melody ringing his mind - an old mountain song that he had heard long ago. Its rhythm was steady, repetitive and haunting - typical of ballads that had been sung by the District folk before the Great Wars. How did it go again?

Ah. "Born of cold and winter air,-"

"All in order, awaiting for instruction," the head surgeon said into his communicator.

"Proceed with the operation," Randall's voice rang in the system. So, it began.

A wire-thin robotic arm rose from within the operation box, controlled from the outside by the anesthetist. The anesthetist and his team then guided the needle, which was capped with a diamond tip, to plunge itself into the muscles around the chest area. Microscopic cameras inserted along the shaft of the needle allowed them to watch the needle travel inside the body, letting them pinpoint suitable areas along the frozen muscles tissue where the anesthesia could be introduced. It might seem odd to drug administer anesthesia to one who had been unconscious for the last six months and had flesh as hard as a rock, but the surgeons did not discount the idea that their patient might still have his sensory neurons intact. High levels of pain might snap him awake and disrupt the procedure, sending it awry and possibly even killing their 'mutant'.

Tension was thick in the atmosphere as all watched, but none could deny the excitement stirring in their own morbid hearts.

A few minutes were given after the drug was introduced to see if there were any observable side effects, but the rock-hard mass of frozen flesh seem quite unchanged – so unchanged that it couldn't be determined if the anesthesia had any effect at all. Eventually, Randall gave the order to carry on. If the patient felt pain, so be it – that was none of their concern. If he disrupted the procedure, they would pin him down till it was done.

"-and mountain rain combining."

"Beginning incision," another surgeon announced, her voice echoing through the system. More doctors hunched themselves over their interfaces, eyes fixed on their screens in concentration. Several automated arms sprung to life within the operating box, and according to the program, they poised themselves over the chest of the patient like a dozen gleaming knives, each having a particular vein, capillary or muscular tissue which they were supposed to enter into.

Upon command, these needles sunk themselves into the frozen flesh.

Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but Pitch thought that he saw the stiff body flinch upon impact. But examining it a while longer told him that he might have been mistaken. The boy's expression had not altered in the last six months, so it would not alter now.

"This icy force both foul and fair,-"

The needles that they used were flexible and wire-like in mobility, with every inch of it follow the most precise of programming, so the surgeons could control how it twisted, moved and pinched within the body under the guidance of the attached micro-cams. To the faint of heart – pun entirely intended – the sight of the silvery thin tubes slithering into the body, even a pale frozen body, could set one's hair standing. But surgeons of the Underground had done far ghastly deeds to their other patients, such that this procedure was actually quite humane.

The difficulty really lay in the fragility of the operation. Their scans had indicated that the boy still retained the injuries that he had gained six months age – puncture in his shoulder, assortment of abrasions, lacerations along his neck, a few bruised ribs and most dangerously, a hole in the heart. Freezing kept him from bleeding to death, as he should have, but freezing also kept him from healing.

"-is a frozen heart worth mining."

Now, in regular people, a hole in the heart could be repaired by patching it up with a piece of muscle tissue. The Undergrounds had the technology to do that. What they did not have the technology to do was the mend a hole in a heart when the heart that was a lump of ice.

It wasn't literally a lump of ice, of course, but it certainly came rather close. From the the ventricles to atriums to the blood vessels attached to them, the entire heart bore a crystalline appearance. Scans that they had done previously revealed that nearly ninety-five percent of that heart was made of frozen water, and the five percent that wasn't was the little trickle of blood that was agonizingly pumped in and out, as well as the remaining working muscles that conducted this tiring, but necessary deed that kept the near-dead body alive. It was the closest thing that Pitch had ever seen to a miracle.

"So cut through the heart, cold and clear-"

Initial plans of the operation consisted introducing heat into the heart in hope of melting the ice off it. This was based on the information they had wrung out of the District 12 healer, who had said that he saved the girl from her frozen head by cutting out the part of her brain that was frozen. They confirmed that his words were true, judging by the scars on the girl's scalp where the white lock of hair grew. The problem, other than only having one case study to compare, was that only a small part of that girl's brain had been frozen, so slicing off a little flesh didn't hurt much, whereas almost all of boy's heart was frozen. The risk was too great to take.

Nonetheless, they took inspiration from the old man's ramblings. If they could not cut away the ice from the heart, then they would beat his heart for him.

"-strike for love and strike for fear."

From the screens, Pitch observed as four of the inserted needles were directed to enter the heart, one through each of the main vessels into the chamber in to the ventricles. The needles were extremely thin, so that they did not block the blood flow within the heart – no need to worsen the already precarious situation, after all. Through the visuals from the micro-cams, a large wall of ice - ice that was never once warm flesh - could be observed to stretch over the right ventricle. This was the layer of ice that covered the hole in the heart, preventing the blood from leaking out from it, keeping its owner alive.

However, what the ice did not do was repair the muscle tissues along the damaged area of the heart. That was what really kept the heart too weak to pump the blood – not the freezing of it, but its lack of strength. No wonder all motor functions were down. The rest of the body barely got enough blood to kept their cells alive.

Fortunately, that was what they would reverse

"See the beauty sharp and sheer."

The needles inserted into the flesh, though very thin, were actually hollow to allow the introduction of medical fluids and such into the targeted area, not unlike those of the more commonplace hypodermic needle. The difference was that these needles stuck in this particular heart were used not to transfer fluids into the body, but solids - black solids that had been pounded into the thinnest powder. If you looked at them through the microscope, you would think of them as merely black sand.

But this 'black sand' was not the common place 'sand' that one might find on near volcanoes or in the desert. It wasn't even a natural compound. It was, in a matter of fact, a very dangerous substance known as 'Iron Argonite', created by one of Panem's greatest scientists. It was known to be highly reactive with many materials – even air itself. Few at the Capitol dared to handle such a substance. Fortunately, Pitch was not one who feared risks.

Most of the time, Iron Argonite proved toxic and the subjects died during experimentation – they were just prisoners, nothing to worry about. But it was discovered that the substance had rather unique properties when used on muttation and also, yes, the very occasional mutant.

Their success and the boy's survival seemed to rest on that simple question – was he a mutant, or was he just a body frozen by a mutant?

"Split the ice apart,-"

Iron Argonite particles were laid out against the interior surface of the heart by the needles. At once, they were absorbed into the frozen, icy cells, blending with them and turning them into a darkened shade. The needles were piloted to continue laying out stripes of this compound against the cold walls, and it continued to sink into the flesh.

The entire operation room was silence as all eyes that were not on the interfaces turned to the one showing the heart-beat. It was a tremendous risk, introducing such a dangerous compound in such a vulnerable place. No one was entirely sure what was going to happen.

Pitch peered at the screen blandly, before casting his eyes upon the unmoving body with the operation box. Though he didn't show it, he too was waiting for an uncertain result.

In a few moments, as the Iron Argonite infected itself into remnants of the heart muscles – muscles that kept the blood pumping – the heart rate started to fall. Drastically.

The frozen heart was dying. Everyone began to panic.

"Pull back!" Randall hollered through the system.

The doctors got to work at once, hastily typing into their interfaces. The long tube-like needles extracted themselves from the body, twisting and sliding out from their places. No sheen of ice crept over the punctures created, as it would have before. The frost that had formed on the wall started to melt. Micro-cams left in the body showed that the heart was changing from its initial white state into a bizarre amalgam of black and frost-blue.

Pitch was the only one who remained unflustered. Under the long sleeves of his robe, he had a thumb rested against his tip of his middle finger.

He snapped his fingers together.

Suddenly, there was a gasp from the operation box. A sharp inhale. There was a sound of coughing as the pale body jerked into motion, arching up before relaxing back down. The screens showed the heart rate rising suddenly zooming up, bouncing up and down.

This unexpected turn of events was met with silence at first, then cautious congratulations and cheers were passed around the theatre, from nurses to doctors to the technical managers. From above, Randall surveyed the scene with sweet pleasure of success. However, Pitch's attentions were focused on the boy lying in the chamber, whose breaths marked a new layer of frost on the glass surface.

The glass surface which suddenly cracked.

It was so loud that everyone in the theatre went silent at once, and if they hadn't shut their mouth then, they would have found themselves swallowing the freezing blizzard smashing against their faces.

The frozen corpse – which was no longer quite a corpse, but still somewhat frozen – seemed to rise from the operating table, carried by the very winds that he had created. His eyes, which had for so long been shut, were very much open and they glowed. In a matter of fact, his entire being glowed.

Snow came ripping down. Hail sailed through the holographic screens and smashed down into the interfaces. The doctors and nurses covered their heads and screamed. Some tried to escape through the exit, only to find themselves carried away by the torrent and slammed against the wall instead.

Despite the surprising change in climate, Pitch held his ground. The wind, while very strong, was not strong enough to make him stagger. With everyone else focused on saving themselves, they paid no attention to him, which made his job much easier.

Raising a gaunt arm towards the floating – dare he say – flying boy, the ex-Gamemaker concentrated his energy at him, then clenched his fist. Hard.

As if a switch had been flipped, the glow surrounding the boy died. The snow, hail, and winds all ceased as he landed on the operating table with painful thump. Their patient sat himself up, panting and coughing as he rubbed the flesh that had been bruised. Perhaps unconsciously, one of his hands ran up his chest. His fingers clawed over his heart, where a dark, ugly patch had appeared on his fair, blue-tinted skin.

He raised his head, turning it towards Pitch, who was then lowering his arm. The boy's white brows knitted themselves together, his countenance twisted in both confusion and agony.

Pitch merely shot him an unnerving smile. "Welcome to the land of the living, Jack Frost."

"And break the frozen heart."

District 13

"Elsa?" There was a rapping sound. "You awake?"

For a split-second, her drowsy self could almost believe that the eager voice belonged to her sister, but when her eyes opened to the grey-tinted walls and the frost-lined flooring, her heart sunk right back down to her stomach. Groggily, Elsa pushed herself off the metallic slab that was her bed, staring sullenly at the snow pelting down from the ceiling.

"Elsa?" She heard the voice call out again. "You in there?"

If she kept absolutely quiet, the visitor would undoubtedly go away. But this voice belonged to one that she might consider a friendly soul in her cold, friendless existence. He did not come by often, and if she turned him away now, it might be ages before he returned again.

"Give me a moment," she called out hoarsely. The blonde girl was draped in a white nightdress of her own invention. With a little concentration, she transformed it into a long-sleeved shirt and trousers, similar to the uniform that she had seen her fellow District 13 citizens wear. She turned her bed slippers into a pair of army boots and strapped them on.

With a sigh, she departed her bedroom and went out to the meeting chamber. The metal shutters were still drawn, so she turned the switch. Slowly, the blinds rolled themselves up, revealing behind the glass a young boy seated in his chair. He had the mouthpiece of the microphone poised by his mouth. On the table before him, there was a tray of items - a glass of water, a metal headband, and a ... was that a metal glove?

"Erm, hi," his voice rang through the system, and she observed him wave sheepishly at her. As usual, his black hair was tousled and unkempt, while his uniform was crumpled from the lack of care. But his eyes were shining bright with excitement in a way that reminded her of Anna when she was up to one of her crazy ideas. "Sorry for waking you up."

"Not a problem," she told him, though she yawned immediately after. Covering her mouth, she then asked, "What can I do for you, Hiro?"

"Well, I was hoping you could help me with an experiment."

Elsa quirked a brow at him. The electrical clock on the wall told her that it was one in the morning. "Right now?"

"If you don't mind, please," he said, his head bobbing up and down in his enthusiasm. He then added in a low tone, "I'm supposed to be doing real work. Don't tell anyone about this."

Elsa appraised him, puzzled, saying uncertainly, "Okay?"

Hiro stretched himself forward to unwind the safety clasp on the small sliding door, the one that was used to move things in and out of the compound. Then, he pressed the three buttons around the door, unlocking it and sliding it open, revealing the compartment inside. He placed the tray carrying the three items into the compartment, then slid the door shut and locked it. Elsa then reached for the sliding door on her side, undoing the clasp and unlocking the sliding door. She pulled the tray out of the compartment drawer and shut the door, locking it back as she did. The minute her fingers touched the tray, a layer of frost began to spread over the items despite her gloves. She quickly dropped it on the table, splashing some of the water from the glass as she did.

"Sorry," she said shamefacedly, not daring to look at Hiro.

"It's alright." The boy waved her mistake away, fiddling with the controls of his motorchair to push himself forward. "Okay, Elsa, I need you to put on the metal brace. You think you can do that without freezing it?"

The blonde girl gazed down at the contraption that rested on the tray that was already covered in a thin sheet of ice. She let out a deep exhale, trying to still her heart. "I'll try."

Elsa removed the glove on her left hand and laid it on the table. Holding her breath, she gingerly lifted the metallic gauntlet from its tray. It was quite heavy, and she could tell by the loose joints and screws that the boy had assembled it in haste, making it even more fragile in her hands. She slipped it over her hand quickly. Immediately, a surge of panic rose in her system. She could feel her left palm burning, aching, the ice pushing against her nerves, leaking into the metal. She frowned bitterly at herself. That was all she was good for, wasn't it?

"Elsa," Hiro's voice buzzed through the room speakers, "you see the headband on the tray? You need to put it on."

She quickly grabbed the item that he referred to. It was also a crude construct, with silicon chips and soldered parts still all exposed. She could feel the ice screaming against her palms, surely threatening to turn Hiro's hard work into a chunk of ice. She placed the headband over her forehead. Anxiously, she asked, "Now what?"

"I want you to pick up the glass of water with the gloved hand,-" he angled his head towards last object on the tray "-and think 'don't freeze'."

She stared at him, incredulous. "What?"

"Just pick up the glass, think 'don't freeze'," he repeated.

"That's not going to work," she said with a frantic expression. The psychologists that worked with her was absolutely that taking control of her own thoughts would help her control her powers, but Elsa had sadly discovered after many attempts that all thoughts - good or bad, calm or agitated - produced ice. There was no way to get around it.

"Hey." Hiro gave her a small smile. "Just trust me."

Elsa took a look at his encouraging expression, let out a doubtful exhale and picked up the glass with her metal-gloved hand. Despite her underlying skepticism, she did as he had asked, focusing intently on not freezing it.

The clear liquid swirled freely in the cup, but a bit of frost had already started to climb up its side. Elsa still continued to hold it steady in her hand, her eyes trained hard upon it, willing it with all her might not to freeze.

And other than that little frost, freeze it did not.

Even after a full minute, the water was still liquid and the glass had yet to crack. Elsa set it back down on the table, amazed. She could hearing Hiro making a whoop in triumph on the other side. She peered at the metal contraption that rested over her glove.

"I knew that it would work!" she heard the boy crow, nearly jumping up in his wheelchair in his joy. It was a good thing he didn't actually jump out, for if he tumbled to the ground right now, Elsa, being stuck in the enclosure, wouldn't be able to help him back up and there would be no one around this time of the night to lend aid. But Hiro didn't really seem to care. "I'm a genius! I'm on fire!"

"But, how?" Elsa asked, twirling her arm around, staring at the gadget with wonder.

"The headband that you're wearing-" Hiro pointed at the metal ornament over her forehead "-is connected to the glove. There are these little devices in the glove that locks themselves into your nervous system via electrical signals and suppresses the part of you that instinctively produces ice. Then, the headband amplifies the signals from left side of your brain - that's the part that controls logic - so that you control your powers with your thoughts rather than your feelings." He nodded at the glass of water. "Just pick up it up and think 'freeze'. You'll see what I mean."

Elsa did pick up the glass with the metal-gloved her hand again and as Hiro said, thought of freezing it. A blue light spurted out that hand and ice wrapped itself around the glass at once, shattering it an explosive 'ping!' that had her staggering back in shock. The water froze before even hitting the ground, breaking into crystal-like fragments on the floorboards.

"O-kay, need to do some adjustments on the feedback," the boy noted in a more humble tone, sighing.

The next few nights were spent like this - Hiro waking her up at wee hours of the morning, tired but eager for her to try a slightly more refined version of his previous contraption. With very little company for most of the day, Elsa welcomed these interruptions despite the inconvenience in timing. Hiro couldn't come at other times, as he had work to do, so who was she to complain?

Many glasses of water were shattered during their attempts, an extravagant waste by District 13's standards of frugality, but they were sacrificed gladly in the name of scientific advancement. The gadgets that she fit over her brow became gradually thinner and the gauntlets that she wore over her hands became lighter. It was learnt during their experiments that covering more part of her skin made it easier for her to control that part of her body. Hiro had some science-based theory on why that was so, but Elsa privately thought it was because covering her skin was an ingrained psychological suppressant of her powers. She worn gloves for so long as a child so subconsciously, covering her skin now resulted in better control for her powers. Whatever the reason, if worked, it worked.

Hiro played with different materials; some more durable in icy conditions, some more flexible as to allow her hand more movement, some that were able to contain more complex programming and so on. Some nights he would leave with a triumphant grin, others he would leave with a brooding scowl. Needless to say, he was very devoted to this project that he had taken upon his shoulders, and Elsa was simply thankful that he bothered at all. Privately, Elsa wondered why he would put in so much effort for her, until it occurred to her that it was not for her as much as himself. Perhaps this was a creative escape for him, away from whatever dull labor the District gave him instead.

One day, he came in with a tray, looking more haggard than usual after a hard day's work, but his face bore a satisfied countenance. As his motorized chair moved him forward, she noted that he carried on his lap a tray covered with a fabric. This he passed to her through the small sliding door.

"Go on," he told her, a weary smile on his face as he slumped himself back on the chair.

She lifted the fabric from the tray and found that beneath it sat two elegant metallic gauntlets. They were much thinner, tailored to fit her arms width and length exactly. There was also a small triangular-ish pin set between them. She peered at this with bewilderment.

"You put it on your head." Hiro indicated, raising his two hands over his head. "Like a tiara. Cool, huh?"

Elsa had her own opinions about giving her 'tiara' for a headpiece, but she didn't have the heart to chide the boy. She could see from the rings under his eyes and how his slouched back into his chair that his day work in the District, whatever it entailed, was clearly grueling, especially to someone of his health. She didn't deserve to criticize him.

So she slipped on the two gauntlets, both comfortably pressed against her skin and only a little heavy. She pulled them up to her elbows and strapped them tight. She then set the triangular 'tiara' over her head. On his side of the glass, Hiro hit a button on the portable computer that he had with him, and this activated the gauntlets. Elsa then lifted the glass of water that he sent in next, using both hands to hold it. As she had come to train herself to do, she focused hard on the cup, telling herself to hold back the cold.

There wasn't as much as a speck of ice.

Then, changing her hold the glass again, she allowed a slow, steady frost to climb over the transparent surface, turning the liquid into solid ice but without cracking the glass.

"I think we're making excellent progress." Hiro gave her a thumbs-up, grinning.

For the first time since what felt like forever, Elsa allowed herself to smile back.

"Your neck abrasions are healing well, Hiccup. In 48.35 hours, they should disappear completely."

The auburn-headed boy blinked. It had become quite foreign to hear good news coming from the nurse robot. "Oh."

"However,-"Ah! There's the negative report "- I detect that there's still continued bruising on your leg. I suggest rest and continued medication-"

"Okay, thank you for your help, Baymax," Hiccup said, shoving the marshmallow-like robot back towards his red case. "Goodbye! We will not need you any further!"

"-Constant pressure on the limbs 3-5 weeks after prosthetic is fitted will only serve agonize the wound. I suggest that-"

"I'm satisfied with my care!"

As it was programmed to do, the nurse robot shut itself down. Air rushed out of its rubber skin as it deflated itself into the red case. The boy let out a sigh of relief as he warily kneeled himself down (by the right knee, of course. His left one was still hard to maneuvere) to shut the case. Checking that the laces on the shoe of his good foot were done up right, he hurried out his compartment, ready for a day in the District.

Receiving hostility had become almost second nature by now, and Hiccup had whole lists of sarcastic deflections prepared ("Why, of course I'm not a spy! I mean, look at this raw rebellion-ness! The Capitol wouldn't know what to do with all this!"). His snark wasn't appreciated most of the time and he got 'get down and give me twenty' more often than was good for his leg or his personal lack of stamina. But hey, what's life without patching up your stump infections and everyone hating you?

'Everyone' was perhaps an exaggeration. Ralph, the big Eleven guy who was from the Games, was kind to him in his own gruff manner. Hiro, during any of his sporadic appearances, was always civil and eager to help in anything - a result of lingering guilt that Hiccup didn't really want to hold the other boy accountable for. If all of them stuck to their Games-related grudges, all of them would go crazy like, well, a certain redheaded girl.

And then there was the figure who Hiccup dubbed the 'strange-woman-who-watches', or 'SWWW' for short.

He had not really noticed her at first, for he was too busy cooking up snippy comebacks in his head ("I'm no more a snake in the grass than the person standing next to me," he had once argued. The person standing next to him happened to be named 'Viper'. It was very unfortunate) and looking over his shoulder to make sure no one 'accidentally' stabbed him or anything. But as time wore on, he began to notice the SWWW everywhere.

Sometimes, she'd be peeking through the glass of the hospital ward. Other times, she'd be watching from the corner of the waiting room. He had spotted her once or twice in the barrack canteen, seated by a table while some file in her hand, casting glances in his direction occasionally. He had tried asking Ralph who she was, but every time he so much as gestured in her general direction, the SWWW would suddenly disappear, as if she had never been there. His fellow survivor had begun to postulate that the SWWW was just a hallucination of Hiccup's and suggested he see the psychologist.

Naturally, Hiccup refused. He was quite tired of doctors and treatments. He wanted to be functional and useful to this District that was so bent on hating him, if only to prove that he was tame. It would be nice to live somewhere where people didn't see him as the harbinger of doom.

After an awful day of training - where training meant complete physical suffering, our lanky, insufferably snarky one-legged hero had retired to the common hall with his fellow survivor. Ralph, for all his prowess on fieldwork, didn't have an agreeable relationship with the written word. When he had first asked for Hiccup's help, he had implied that he had some issues with the long words. What Hiccup only realized later was that the big boy barely knew that the alphabet in order – and don't even start on grammar and punctuation. The most he knew was numbers, which were enough to guess what was printed on his schedule. Other than that, Ralph's reading ability was as blank as sheet.

Fortunately, Hiccup had nothing better to do with his time, now that he was more or less resigned that the District was hiding Toothless too well and had no intention of giving him over. There were times of the day that he would fret over it, but he reckoned that the sooner he earned the people's trust, the sooner someone would spill about the location of the Night Fury. In the meantime, he took it upon himself to be Ralph's instructor in reading. It was long-drawn process, but the big boy was an eager student, and Hiccup did not dismiss the opportunity to keep himself in someone's good books (pun completely intended), so there was not much to complain about.

During this fine night, they were in the process of browsing through District 13's provided version of Panem's history when Hiccup saw the SWWW again.

"She's staring at me. Right at me," he told his burly reading-buddy (this was a Hiccup-generated title and was kept for private-use. Ralph, already ashamed of his near-illiterate state, didn't like it).

The other boy sighed, not even looking up. "Kid, said this before and saying it again – you need a doctor. Having these kind of 'llucinations is really bad, especially if you expect someone to trust you with a M-16."

"It's not a ' 'llucination', Ralph," Hiccup insisted. He waved his hand to the pathway at the end of the canteen. "She's right -"

Then suddenly, the walkway was no longer occupied.

"Gone." He threw his arms up in frustration. "I give up."

"Great," Ralph said unsympathetically. He jabbed a pen at the page. "Now, how do you read this word?"

Hiccup leaned over from his side of the table, then answered, "It's 'con-ven-ed'."

"Urgh, words," Ralph grunted grimly, as he scribbled this pronunciation down on his book - and by scribbled, I mean that he clenched the pencil in his palm, four fingers wrapped over the shaft, and scrawled gingerly in between the lines.

The big boy from District 11 then lifted the book and with a squint and frown read off the pages, "'Morgus Mor'du then convened with his brothers in the Capitol Palace. In the presence of the council, he argued his case, pointing out to the flaws of the divided leadership and-" clamping his mouth shut as he thought hard, then "-con-se-quences that had resulted thereof. Using the model of President W. E. Disney as an -" the big guy paused as he struggled with the word "-e-zam-pale?"

"Ex-am-ple," Hiccup corrected, still looking over his shoulder for the SWWW, just in case she happened to show her face again.

"Ex-am-ple," Ralph repeated while scribbling this on the page. He let out a grunt. " 'as an example, he justified the notion of a singular rule headed by himself. This idea was rejected by his peers at once.' These books sure talk weird."

"What do you mean?" his slightly distracted companion said.

"No one in real life talks like that," Ralph complained. "Do they really need to squeeze all those long words in a sentence?"

"It's because they're annoying old pricks. They make convoluted statements in order to make themselves sound smarter than they are."

The appearance of the third person in their company was so unexpected that Hiccup immediately did a double take. When it registered in his mind who this person was, his sensibilities were in no way settled.

"H'allo, lads," the redhead greeted them, her both hands tucked in the pockets of her uniform. " 'See that you've got your heads buried in history. Not a big favorite of mine." Her blue eyes fell onto Hiccup, who was trying not to make it to obvious that he wanted to jump up and run for it - well, run as far as the bruises that his stump would let him run. "Oh, stop looking like you're chicken at the slaughter. I'm not going to hit you."

"That's what I thought the last time," the smaller boy muttered under his breath, inching himself away along the bench.

Ralph frowned hard the girl, crossing his arms, "What you doing here, Merida?"

"Ruining your life, running amuck." She shrugged, then turned to Hiccup, who was still trying to subtly make his escape. "Oh, would you stop that! I'm under medication. See!" She thrust her arm in his face, which made him hurriedly cover his head with his own arms. Upon discovering that a blow had not yet struck him, Hiccup peeked at the wrist stuck out on display. He saw that in addition to the 'mentally disorientated', she now wore a black band with a red light on it.

"It reminds me when to go to the infirmary to get my medicine," Merida explained to him as she dropped her arm. "There's a nurse there that watches me take it. They also force me to talk to a psychologist every time I'm there. I'm getting better." She eyed the wristband distastefully. "Or so they tell me. They're probably lying."

Hiccup heard Ralph let a long sigh, one that full of exhausted patience and defeated expectations. "Kid, can you promise that you're going to behave?"

"Soldier's honor, Ralph. I'll be a model patient," was her flippant reply as she plopped herself down on the bench. Hiccup carefully edged himself out of her lunging range while mentally plotting escape routes. He took note of where she placed her arms, how much she hunched herself forward and the contours of her countenance, awaiting imminent danger signs.

"What's this one about?" The girl then crooked her head towards the book laid before Ralph. Without waiting for permission, she snatched it from him, earning an indignant cry from the big boy (of course, Ralph was could make any complaint he liked. He was too big for her to beat up.)

Flipping through the pages, Merida let out a scratchy chuckle, one that made the hair on Hiccup's arm stand. "Phhff! You're reading this? At your age? These are the bedtime stories my mum used to tell me."

"It's history." Ralph frowned, folding his arms. He did not like his object of study being derided.

"They're legends," Merida drawled, with a roll of her eyes. "It's so easy I could tell the whole thing in five minutes." At that moment, she happened to be facing to Hiccup, who postulated informing her that the point of Ralph's reading was not so much history education as learning the words in them, but could not think of diplomatic way of phrasing it. Mistaking his hesitation for scorn, she declared determinedly, "Don't believe me? Fine! I'll show you."

She slid down the bench slightly, reaching out for the chess set that had been left behind by other soldiers who had been playing it earlier on. These fellows had already retired for the night and forgot to claim their belongings, which left the girl free to do what she willed with it.

Merida swept all the pieces of the board, before picking up one of the king pieces and showing it to the two boys. "Once there was a great president who founded Panem. He was a great man called-" she scrunched up her face as she thought "- what was he called again?"

Ralph, taking the opportunity to practice his reading again, flipped the pages of the book. Slowly, he read aloud, "W.E. Disney."

"Walt Elias Disney. Thank you, laddie." Merida beamed at him as she fingered with the King piece. "Now, under his leadership, Panem prospered. Everyone was happy and equal and whatever. But then, oh no." She dropped the King piece, letting it clatter and roll off the table. "President Disney dies. Lucky for us, he had already chosen his successor - pardon me, successors. Four of his closest council, sometimes called the 'Four Brothers'."

From the pile of pieces, she picked out the four rooks, standing one black rook first. "The first was Morgus Mor'du the Strong. He controlled the military and security. He was known to be rather tall."

She stood the other black rook on the table. "Robert Callaghan the Wise. He was in charge of scientific development and advancement." A small grin appeared on her face as she added, "Heard that our resident kid genius is quite a fan of his work. "

Merida set one white rook across the two black ones. "Mendelssohn, or as his friends called him, 'Manny' Lunar the Just. He wrote many laws that were supposed to be good, but most of the books holding them have been destroyed after the War, so lucky us."

"And finally, our favorite-" her smile was sardonic as she pressed the last rook onto the table "- Hugo Bernstein Lotso, the... Compassionate."

"Lotso? As in President Lotso?" Ralph pulled a face of disbelief as he browsed the book to check this. "And how do you spell 'compassionate', by the way?"

Hiccup took the pencil and wrote the word out for him on one of the page corners procured, while Merida answered wryly, "They say that before the Great War, he was a very different man. Anyway,-" she lay the square board over the four rook pieces, adjusting it such that each piece supported one corner "-these men were supposed to lead the nation now. However, Mor'du the Strong was ambitious. He thought his brothers incompetent and had a vision that his rule - as in his rule only - would be better. His brothers refused this proposal, so he defied them, taking with him his armies to District 13." She snatched away the black rook, making the board slide and tumble over. "Peace collapsed and war began."

She retrieved the three rooks under the board and set them upright together. "At first, the remaining three brothers tried to work together to maintain the Capitol's hold over the Districts. They had the bulk of the resources, but Mor'du had the latest inventions of war in his possessions – muttations. His men were trained to use them against the forces that the three brothers sent out. True to his name, his armies were strong. In fear of the beasts he had, the Districts 10, 11 and 12 all surrendered themselves to him and swapped sides first." The girl made a grim smile. "That's why they're the poorest Districts now - punishment for inciting betrayal."

"Lotso placed himself in charge of his trio of brothers." She took one of the white rooks from the trio, and stacked it over a black and white rook. "One of his enactments was carrying out defensive research in hopes to find a way to fight the muttations of District 13. Lotso also created the Peacekeepers, white guards that were loyal only to him." She picked white pawns pieces from the pile, placing them in a circle surrounding the trio of rooks.

"He started doing all kinds of things that would hopefully forward his victory against Mor'du - not all of them good. Lunar the Just disagreed with many of these choices, and it was said that it was because of that, Lunar betrayed Lotso and joined Mor'du." Merida removed the white rook from the trio stack over to join the lone rook. "Some said that he intended to usurp Mor'du's position and take over the rebellion."

"That's not in the book," Ralph said, checking the furiously. Hiccup, who had been quiet for now, found himself listening the story with much surprise and interest. He had heard and read the Capitol's version of the tale, but when the redhead told it, it was like hearing a whole new story. Perhaps it was the way she told it – with changes in pace, in volume. Perhaps it was how she seemed almost – well, almost only – normal.

"Possibly my mother's embellishment," Merida added while examining one of the white pawn pieces. "Anyway, Lunar was very popular with the people at the time, so all the remaining Districts followed his suit and rebelled against the Capitol. Lotso snapped. He couldn't take this much defiance. He went a little crazy and had Lunar assassinated. So goodbye, Manny." She knocked away the black rook with her pawn, and threw them both into the pile where the unused pieces lay.

"Later on, conflict between Lotso and Callaghan rose – probably due to some political showdown - that led to Callaghan being sentence to life imprisonment, where he died." This black rook was taken up and thrown in the pile.

"Meanwhile, Mor'du continued his experiment with muttations and eventually began experimenting on himself. In the course of that, he turned himself into a huge bear as strong as ten men. He became the first mutant ever." Both Ralph and Hiccup were staring at her. "What?"

"I definitely never heard of this part," the smaller boy said with a skeptical look, forgetting just that second that he was supposed to be frightened of her.

"How much 'embellishment' did your mum add?" Ralph was turning the pages of the book, frowning. "I may suck at words, but I'm pretty sure that's not written in here."

"He did turn himself into bear," the redhead insisted, shaking her wild curls emphatically. "And then word reached Lotso about what happened, except that they thought Mor'du turned his entire army into scary mutant bears. So Lotso nuked District 13, made sure that Bear Mor'du was killed-" she chucked the last rook back in the pile "-and punished the Districts for rebelling with the Hunger Games. The end. Lotso wins."

Merida eyed the last standing white rook with contempt, before grabbing the chessboard and pummeling it over the piece with great vindictiveness, screeching as she did. She did this for about a full minute or so before she realized that the two lads looking at her peculiarly.

Merida paused, holding up the board mid-air. After a moment of contemplation, she said slowly, "I think I better go." She suddenly turned toward Hiccup, tossing the wooden board at him. "Catch!"

Fortunately, he was on high alert. Hiccup did catch it in time between his two palms, one corner just inches from stabbing his nose. Panting in shock, he watched the girl hop up from the bench and speed away down the common hall, disappearing through the exit.

Ralph let out an exhale and shut his book with a thump. "I better go after her before she does something stupid and goes back to jail."

"O-kay." Though he said nothing of it, Hiccup did think the elder boy fussed over the girl too much. This had not been the first time that Ralph had gone after her during her odd little swings of temper. She didn't seem like she needed the company, and when she sought it, it was only to find an audience for her tantrums. If you asked him, it seemed as Merida might not be trying all that hard to recover from her 'illness' – if her strange and dangerous behavior could really be blamed on it.

There must have been something in his expression that said as much, for then Ralph, probably feeling obliged to explain himself further, spoke in a rather awkwardly determined tone, "She was allies with Vanellope. She never really said so, but they were really close. When the kid died, it broke something in her."

Hiccup did think the mentioned name odd, but it was hardly the first time he had heard of it. In his mind, the scene played out in full-color, where the girl from District 5 was fully prepared to take his life until the elder boy intervened. Ralph had used that name then.

"Vane-Vanelle-" giving up on trying to pronounce the name "-she was from your District?" Hiccup ventured a guess. "The girl from your side?"

The board shoulders of his fellow survivor drooped in a way that the younger boy had never expected. Ralph nodded solemnly, his expression full of sorrow. "She was the best friend I'd ever had, but come the Games-" his countenance turned darker, his head hung low "-I should have been there with her - should have protected her. Like your friend protected you."

The 'friend' that Ralph referred to was, Hiccup supposed, Astrid. As much as he'd have to like to point out that his own District mate only switched her protective instincts on under the belief that two of the same District could share a victory, he knew that wouldn't be of any comfort to the other boy. It just showed how well the Capitol could turn them against people they were supposed to care about.

He glanced at the path that the redhead had hastily fled down. He thought of the bruises on collarbone that was supposed to heal in 48.5 hours, left her strong hands. He thought of how he had been shaking like a leaf in her presence, as if she wasn't just as fragile and lost as he.

Yes, the Capitol had messed them up good.

"I didn't look after Vanellope," Ralph went on with regretful longing. "The least I can do is look after her." He nodded toward the doorway. "It's, well, it's what the kid would have wanted me to do, I figure."

Hiccup nodded, and his gesture must have been satisfactory, for Ralph then took his leave with more repose. The younger boy tapped his metal foot thoughtfully against the floorboard, feeling a now too familiar sting running up his thigh.

He admitted with a grim smile that Merida wasn't the only struggling with recuperation. He hasn't exactly been the most receptive with recovery advice so far. Perhaps they all needed to admit that they were broken and in desperate need of some physical and emotional glue. Maybe it will come from finding purpose in this strange new environment. Maybe it will be come from each other.

As he rose from the bench to go and find the rest that Baymax had been prescribing him all week, he heard a loud call, "Soldier Haddock!"

He jerked his head towards the source of the voice, nearly tumbling backwards over the bench. At the end of the hall, an imposing figure manifested itself, glaring down at him.

By this time, the extremely painful military training taught him how to straighten himself and salute to his superiors upon command. So with smarting stump, jittery disposition and all, he sprinted before the lieutenant and raised his fingers to his forehead. "Reporting for duty, m'am!"

"At ease, Soldier," was the command he received, to which Hiccup was glad to for. He probably landed a bit too heavily on the bad-foot. Yep, he should probably see the prosthetist again. If the crazy redhead could go to the psychologist, he supposed he could spare some time with a doctor too.

He let his arms falls slack by his body, but kept his posture straight and his head bent slightly in respect. "Thank you, m'am."

The woman gazed down at him, her lip twisted in a cold frown. Inwardly, he ran over all the things he had done today and the day before, trying to figure what offense he could have committed - besides merely existing, that was.

Finally, she said, unsmiling as ever, "I need you to follow me."

Hiccup, as a defier of rules, would have loved to question the order, or perhaps at least bring up the pains in his leg, but District 13 didn't like him much at the moment, so insubordination and smart-mouthing was not a good plan. Having no other choice, he obeyed.

The walk was a sullen, silent one. Reflection time started at 22:00 precisely and ended half-an-hour, also quite precisely, this period was ending soon, most had returned to their compartments and prepared for 22:30 - Lights Out, leaving Hiccup quite alone with his superior officer in the corridor. It seemed that however with the Lieutenant still clad in livery, leading him with brisk steps, it might not yet be 'Lights Out' for him (unless it was the kind of 'Lights Out' that involved dying, which would be very, very unfortunate).

It was perhaps a good five minutes of crossing, twisting and turning through corridors that the Lt. Calhourn spoke to him, "Do you know who I am, Soldier Haddock?"

"I do, m'am," he answered. He did know who she was, even without Ralph telling him.

Sergeant Calhourn, as she used to be known, had been most notorious in the Capitol. Hiccup had seen her once or twice in person in his childhood, for she had visited District 2 during her time as a Head Peacekeeper in the Capitol. More than that, he knew the story behind her rise to power in the Capitol. It was said that she had been a simple, low-ranking Peacekeeper guarding the Presidential Palace when she single-handedly intercepted an assassin from taking Lotso's life (sadly for the rest of them, and probably for District 13 now). The President had commended her personally, slapping on her medals and riches. In just one night, Tamora Calhourn had become one of the most powerful people in the Capitol. She had been known move in various social circles and positions as she'd pleased, so it hadn't been all that much a surprise for her to take a role of Head Trainer of the tributes of the 74th Hunger Games. The surprise part was that she had chosen to leave all that opportunity, positions and prosperity for District 13.

What Ralph did tell him was that she had played a vital role in Hiro's plan of getting them out of the Capitol, so in a way, they owed her their lives. All the same, Hiccup found this whole affair quite quizzical and still held quite an air of disbelief about it. Was it a conscience-prick that drove her to the opposition? Or was this some elaborate double-crossing? But he concluded that any suspicions attached to the promoted Sergeant could to be similarly attached to him.

"If you have heard about me from your father, you would know that I'm a person of firm beliefs and radical action," Lt. Calhourn told him in a crisp, no-nonsense tone. "I regard myself with the highest standard and judge anyone under my power in a similar manner. Cross me, and I'll have you put through the worse stretches and crunches you've ever been, till you're punching yourself and crying for your mother and mercy, of which you will receive neither. Do I make myself clear?"

Hiccup found himself rather taken aback at the odd phrasing. "Yes, m'am?"

The soldier matched on smartly while the boy scrambled anxiously after her, trying not to hiss with every step he took.

"What you're about to hear must be heard in confidence," she instructed him omniously. "You will not talk about it with peers, colleagues, platoon-mates, or anyone - even me - without permission. Under severe interrogation, you are not to repeat what you have heard and what has been said to you. Can I have your word on this matter? That even if you're being beaten into a pulp of sludgy red flesh with bits of your brain leaking out, with your entrails being yanked out and your limbs torn from their sockets, that you will uphold this confidence?"

The graphic imagery was not at all appealing, and the queasy sensation building in Hiccup's stomach made him wonder if - whatever this was, was worth that amount of pain.

But Lt. Calhourn was dead serious about, even stopping her march to glare at him.

Hiccup stammered, "Y-y-y-yes, m'am."

She peered at him down her nose, before tapping the open button on one of the doors along the corridor. She jerked her head towards it. "Get in."

Still limping uncertainly, he did as she said, entering the empty meeting room. It was still completely dark.

Then he heard the door shut behind him, closing with an eerie 'boom'.

Oh, gods! They were going to kill him!

He spun around, groping in the dark. He anxiously tugged against the door, but it wouldn't budge. Why, oh, why was he stupid enough to follow the Lieutenant?

Then suddenly, the darkness dissipated. The holographic screens lit up around him, immersing the room in deep ultramarine. A metallic, mechanical voice came from behind him, "Hello, Hiccup."

Slowly, the boy turned around. There was no one else in the room, just him. Well, him and the glowing blue holographs screens. The largest screen before him displayed a white circle, and from it, the voice was heard.

"Don't be frightened," the robotic voice told him, "I'm not going to hurt you. Won't you sit down?"

Trying to still his quaking limbs, the boy hobbled over to the sole chair set in front of the screen, staring up at the white circle in bewilderment. "W-who-" he licked his lips, "-who are you?"

He could almost imagine the white circle to be smiling indulgently at him. "Well, my identity is a closely-kept secret that I cannot divulge. But if it comforts you in any way, I am known as the Man-in-the-Moon."

Hiccup absorbed this for a moment, then said, "No, actually. That doesn't comfort me at all. Seriously, who are you?"

S/N:

The song 'Frozen Heart' from Frozen. This is not the first time this song has appeared in this story.

JACK'S BACK!

The heart operation is probably not very realistic, but mutant boys with frozen hearts aren't either. FYI, the District 12 healer that was mentioned is Pabbie (see Chapter 4) and the 'girl' mentioned in during the operation parts is Anna.

Iron Argonite is obviously a fictional substance. Note that it's described as 'Black Sand' and if you want to have some fun, check out the chemical name of Iron Argonite.

Elsa has new gloves now, and a tiara! Fashion by Hiro Hamada - Come On Down!

The history of Panem here is a less pro-Lotso version compared to the one in the Prologue, and it is inspired heavily by the Brave short, Legend of Mor'du, where the Four Brothers were described to be Strong, Wise, Just and Compassionate. Merida's method of telling it is based on her mother's telling of it in the movie (complete with chessboard).

As a recap, in case you missed it:

Strong: Morgus Mor'du (from Brave)

Wise: Robert Callaghan (from Big Hero 6)

Just: Mendelssohn 'Manny' Lunar (Manny/Man-in-The-Moon from ROTG)

Compassionate: Hugo Bernstein Lotso (Lots-o'-Huggin' Bear/Lotso from Toy Story 3)

The Founder of Panem: Walt. E. Disney a.k.a the Founder of Disney Animation, which produced the guys who founded both Pixar and Dreamworks. (You have to know this guy at least)

Note that Mor'du mentioned in the history here is not the same muttation bear (Demon Bear) that chased Merida in The Odds of Five. I just used 'Mor'du' as the 'Strong' brother because he's an expendable character. After all, he's already dead.

Up Next: The Man-In-The-Moon? Dun-dun-dun!

A/N: Hello, all! I'm back from vacation. I hope you'd enjoyed this chapter.

skyline10: I'm a sucker to sweet, softer scenes in this story too. Bonnie and Astrid's playtime is such a contrast about lost innocence, so I really love that part. Will there be more of this particular bonding? Maybe, maybe not. Rapunzel teaming up with Pitch is more like Rapunzel enslavement by him, but eh, same diffs. Hope you like the little Hiro and Elsa bonding here, though it's not much.

Recently I've been a bit down with some changes in my life, so my inspiration for writing has been drooping like a daisy in a thunderstorm. I would really love some reviews if you could drop them.

Till the next time I update!

Reviews. Ask Questions. Critique.