The Guardian Games: The Wrath of Five

Chapter 8: Armed and Dangerous

A recap, since it's been a while since the last update:

Merida, Hiccup, Hiro, Elsa and Ralph are hiding in District 13, a safe haven away from the tyrannical rule of the Capitol. Of course, the District has its own troubles, with Elsa still being confinement due to her powers, Merida still trapped in nightmares and Hiro has to a tight deadline to create a programme that would allow the Rebellion to watch the moves of the Capitol. Hiccup's still feeling the prejudices of the District people – with reason, since he is from the Peacekeeping District – but things have gotten better after he's been reunited with Toothless. As arranged by the Man-in-the-Moon (MiM), the mysterious, faceless leader of the Rebellion in Panem, he has since started working for the District 13's resident dragon expert, Professor Valka Vogstein, in the Dragon Sanctuary.

On the other side at the Capitol, a white-haired boy has been revived from the dead and the only reason why he knows his name is because someone told it to him. He has also developed rather interesting ability, but we'll talk more about him another time.

To the story, which happens about a month after the last chapter…

District 13

She was starting to lose track of time.

It felt as if it were just a week ago since the Games had gone, maybe three days after her last visit to jail, and just a day since the Two boy got free.

But it wasn't.

When she checked the dates on the television screen, Merida grimaced as she noted the amount of time that had passed. The world, it seemed, had done a pretty good job of moving on without her.

She knew that the doctors were no longer monitoring her as closely as they used to, which gave her room to do as she pleased – and she held back nothing. Before she noticed it, she was sitting in the back closet, pressing needles under her skin again and numbing her senses to the nightmares.

Jings Crivens. No wonder she never noticed time going by.

They more or less gave up on slotting her in for military training, since she never went for it, but that didn't mean that they didn't try to give her 'harmless' jobs – to keep her away from idle temptations, if nothing else. She had to admit that wiping down the shower rooms was exhausting and time-consuming enough to keep her from trouble, but she would still find herself walking up at the odd hours of the night shaking and sweating. The psychologist that they made her see told her every now and then that she needed to find a purpose here. Merida wasn't completely sure what that meant – she was too busy trying to decide if that distant screams rattling against her ear-drums were coming from behind her or just inside her head.

Wake up. Do menial assigned chores. Returning to compartment to slack off and sleep. Venture out and night. If possible, obtain morphling. If not, find a blank wall to stare at for a few hours. Then, she would return to the compartment and doze for another few hours, before waking again.

This was starting to become a rather tiresome game.

It was one day while mopping the corridor along a compartment block that the redhead heard a loud call. She forced herself not to jump up to it – the morphling that she took a few days back made her rather sensitive to sudden noises, and she had much rather it if the doctors hadn't discovered her relapse yet. They would take away the only thing made her life bearable.

"Dunbroch!"

Okay, that voice wasn't imaginary.

She slowly twisted her head around, red curls flowing with the movement, shifting from her back to over her shoulder. She found herself eye to eye with that soldier lady – what's her name? The blonde one that betrayed the Capitol and stuff…

The woman glared at her, before raising an armored finger and pointed at the spot before her. "Get your butt here right this instance!"

The girl groaned inwardly, sticking her mop back into the bucket. She took a moment to straighten up her dowdy uniform before walking up to the ex-Capitol soldier woman, her gait slightly crooked and her smile much alike. Putting one arm on her hip, she rolled her shoulders back without changing her expression. She waited.

The blonde woman examined her with a disgusted expression, her feelings made even more apparent by how she slapped her gloved hands together. "My, you're a piece of work."

Merida would have probably been offended, except that it was true and she was pass the point of actually caring. "Yeah…and who are you again?"

"Lieutenant Calhoun." The soldier eyed her with much revulsion, before informing her, "I have a set of orders for you." It was then something was shoved into Merida's chest, something soft and not very heavy. Still, its presence shocked her, and she stumbled back several steps.

"Get dressed," the soldier ordered. "And meet me at the foyer of the geographical department at fifteen hours. Is that clear?"

The girl squinted down at the new garment, then raised her head to gawk at the tall woman.

Lt. Calhoun frowned. "Is that clear?"

It wasn't as if there was much options in the answer. "Yes, m'am."

"Good. See you there."

As the redhead got changed into the new clothes back in her compartment, she couldn't help but notice it was rather difference from the starched, stiff uniforms. It was made of a soft fabric of dullish green colors, even with a hood that she could draw over her head. It was loose and easy on the skin, which vaguely reminded her off the clothes she would have thrown on back in District 5. That was the time before her mother started making her wear dresses and pin up her hair.

For all the time that she had spent in the underground district, Merida had no clue what the geographical department of District 13 did. She had no clue of what most people here did actually, which was odd considering that how she had seen of the place. As she stood at the foyer at the ordered time, gazing uninterestedly at the uniformed personnel carrying files and studying screens, she suddenly felt herself being grabbed by the shoulder.

The contact must have triggered something in her, for her heart suddenly began to race at a thousand paces a minute and her chest felt constricted. She whipped around, her own hands latched onto the hard military gauntlet and shoving it hard away.

Lt. Calhourn looked at her with a raised brow as she pulled her tossed arm back to her side.

Suppressing the tingling sensation under her skin that made her feel all jittery, the redhead lifted her chin up at the soldier, nodding in the direction of the geographical department. "So you asked me here and I'm here. Now what?"

The lack of military etiquette was definitely noticed by Lt. Calhourn, but she didn't comment on it, merely telling her, "Follow me."

Well, it wasn't as if she had much planned for the day other than moping around and warding off demons.

The Lieutenant led her through the workers of the geographic department, and as she saw more of the cubicles of workers and maps and lines that she didn't understand, Merida began against her own will to panic. Could it be that she was to be assigned to work here? In this stale, boxed environment? Oh, no. No way. She was not getting a schedule. She was not going to be put under some horrible rules and be told what to do and be made to become something she didn't want to –

"Keep up, Dunbroch," she heard the blonde woman call to her. Merida hadn't realized it, but her pace had slowed as the thoughts started to overwhelm her. She was almost five feet apart from the lieutenant now, and the escapist part of her knew that if she wanted to flee, it had to be soon.

But instead of turning around to lead the way as the redhead had hoped, the Lieutenant retraced her steps, grabbed her by the shoulder and almost forcefully dragged her forward.

Well, there was an opportunity that flew out of the window. Merida's heart sank.

Eventually, they arrived at an elevator landing. Access to the elevator itself required some passcode entry, which the Lieutenant was quick to provide. An approving buzz responded to her entry and the door opened, allowing the two of them boarded. Merida winced as the gears turned and the elevator began to move, but instead of going down as most elevators here did, it went up.

The walls of the shaft were completely opaque, which kept her from seeing exactly where they were going. As she began a tired study of the moving ground below her, Merida realized that much of the carriage seemed rather worn and tired, infected with rust and jagged lines on its sides. It was nothing like the clean, cut serviceable shuttles that had been installed all over Thirteen.

When they had arrived at their destination, with the base of the carriage jiggling a good minute before the doors drew themselves open, Merida felt something cool hit her. Something that tasted like damp and soil. Something that tasted alive. Her eyes, which had been half-closed for most part of today, widened with surprised as old feelings that she had thought she had forgotten rose up in her chest. It was – excitement, familiarity and …

…security.

"This is a restricted zone. I'm afraid you have to turn around, M'am." Ahead of them was some kind of gate, sealed by a metallic wall and guarded by two armed soldiers.

Lt. Calhourn had marched forward to speak to her subordinates, but Merida's steps halted as she studied the sealed gate. Though appearance-wise it seemed impenetrable, she could feel that a breeze from the outside seeping through the cracks. Somewhere deep inside her grew a longing to see beyond the gate – to be released from this underground district that was her haven-turned-hell for the last seven months.

"Do you know who I am?" she heard Calhourn hiss and turned her head in time to watch the shorter blonde soldier glaring up at the private, who was almost shaking in his boots.

The private swallowed. "Yes, Li-lieutenant, M'am."

"Good." Calhourn drew herself back, radiating confidence and threat. "Now, open the gate."

The private glanced uneasily at his partner, who reluctantly reached for the control panel nearby. Some button-pressing and dial-turning later, Merida suddenly felt the ground below them shudder. The tooth-shaped edges of the gate door separated, but she couldn't see what was beyond it, for the light reflected of the metallic surfaces blinded her. She was not alone, for Calhourn and the two soldier also lifted their hands to protect their eyes from the brightness. The streams of air she had felt before now joined into a single gust and she realized that in being underground, she had forgotten what the wind felt like.

"Alright, Dunbroch. Today's your lucky day, but there are still rules for this," Calhoun said, tone still rather impatient, walking over to her. "First off, you have to- hey!"

The doors hadn't fully parted before she had dashed out into the wilderness. Green and brown filled her every turn. Fresh air filled her lungs and her hair. The sun beat down against her skin - a burning kiss that though slightly uncomfortable made her incredibly happy now. As she sprinted into the forestry, she shut her ears to the Lieutenant's calls and turned herself to the voices that she understood – the voices that she loved.

It was wonderful - to feel the fronds brush against her skin, to feel unevenness of the stone-studded ground below her, to feel the sweat on her skin. She didn't know when she started to smile, but she was smiling – laughing even. She took the time to feel the roughness of the bark on the oaks, and stopped to feel the coolness of the water from the stream. She stood still in the sunlight and just basked. It was funny. Back in District 5, sunlight was cheap as dirt, but now sunlight and dirt themselves were more valuable than gold in her eyes. It was as if she had awoken from horrible stifling nightmare into a warm, rosy world where the Games never happened and she merely a fence away from home.

She must have been out for at least two hours, or more, because the sun had started to set before the anyone found her. Admittedly, Merida had spent much of that two hours running away from any of the voices that had called out her name. She knew that her behavior earlier on had gotten on Calhoun's nerves, and this little running away would only strike her ire further. She wanted to stay here, balanced on a branch and recline against the stout trunk of an oak, forever. She didn't want to go back to under the ground. That place was like a box of terrors she never wanted to be trapped in ever again. If they wanted her back down there with them and their stuffy uniforms and stuffy rules, they had to drag her back screaming.

"How's it up there?"

She had heard that question before, while standing on a block of stones and looking down upon a bunch of children her age – all who wished to kill her. Merida reached behind her for an arrow, only to remember she had no arrows, or bow even.

Warily, she glanced down below her.

A familiar large-sized block of a boy struggled to heave himself up one of the branches, succeeding after not one, not three, but four attempts. Panting as he sat himself precariously on the bent branch, Ralph gasped, "Don't know" – gasp – "how you do this" – gasp.

"I thought you're from District 11," Merida remarked brusquely, smiling despite herself at how ridiculous the huge sized fellow appeared while balancing himself on the wiry beam. "Shouldn't you have had plenty of practice climbing trees to pick fruits and the like?"

"My jobs in District 11 were mostly to do with wrecking," Ralph answered, grimacing as he felt the branch below him groan after his full weight came up it. Placing a shaky hand against the trunk to steady himself, he looked up to the girl. "You know, Lt. Calhoun's got quite a lot of people looking for you. My squad's been out here searching for hours."

She blinked, peering down at him in surprise. "You're in a squad already?"

"Been in it for some time. Special Forces. I thought you knew." He seemed rather peeved about her reaction. "Or maybe you forgot about it after I told you."

Merida would have liked to deny it, but she knew that the hits of morphling had done another on her mind and not everything was as easy as it used to be.

Instead of addressing his accusation, she changed the topic. "You should just go back and tell the Lieutenant to leave me up here." Her eyes fell over the red-warmed leaves over her head, her arms falling back and brushing against the wood as a way of assuring herself. "I don't want to go back to District 13. It's not as if I'm useful there, anyway."

"I don't think you've got a choice, kid." Ralph shook his head, but at least he looked a little sympathetic. "It's the law of District 13, and you're a citizen of it now, whether you like it or not."

"Well, I don't want to be a citizen of District 13," Merida snapped, turning her gaze sharply away from the humongous soldier balancing precariously on the birch below. "I don't want to go back there."

"Then what do you want?"

"I want-" she was going to say 'to stay here', but then she realized it wasn't true. Merida didn't mind staying here for a while, but she wouldn't stay here forever. She knew where she really wanted to be "-to go home."

"Well, you can't, kid."

"Why not?" The notion, which had been a passing fancy a second ago, suddenly blossomed in attractive the more she thought about it "I could travel home on my own, by foot. I know how to forage and hunt. I'm a good tracker."

"You'll never get that far before the Capitol captures you. If it were that easy to escape to District 13, there'd be way more refugees in the place." Ralph's rough voice cut through her fantasies brutally. "Anyway, even if you don't get caught, I don't think you're in any state to go travelling on your own."

Merida shot a fierce look at him. "You don't think I can look after myself?"

"Right now, kid, I don't even think you can walk in a straight line," he answered bluntly, gesturing at her with a large hand. "Look – can you even hold your hands still?"

She made a loud 'phhffff' through pursed lips, almost laughing. "Of course, I can! How else do you think I'm such a good sho-" she then looked down at her hands. Both were trembling, as if they were just a column of bones dangling in the wind.

"It's the morphling. It makes the body really weird," Ralph told her as she continued to stare incredulously at her shaking fingers. "I know, because soldiers who have to go on it during treatment aren't allowed to use range-weapons till the effect wears off. Most of them don't take it half as often as you do, though."

She gave him a withering look. He simply returned it with equal force.

Merida clenched her shaking hands and leaned back into the tree. She supposed he was right. With her body still muddled with the morphling and her lack of weaponry, she wouldn't make a day out here on her own. Still, this didn't make return back to District 13 any more appealing.

Seeing that she wasn't going to reply, Ralph then put in, "You know, I overheard the Lieutenant talk about you, actually – about how they want to make some kind of deal with your or something."

The girl perked up at the word, but skepticism tapered her reaction. "What kind of deal?"

"Something to do with letting you come out here from time to time," the District 11 boy elucidated. "In exchange for that, you'll train."

Merida's eyes narrowed. "Like you?"

"Yes."

The girl made a face. "Why on Earth would they want me to train with you guys?"

"They've watched your footage of the Games, kid. They know you've got a good shot. We need talent on the team. With some training-" the boy shrugged "-you could be the best sharp shooter District 13 has ever seen – maybe the Capitol, even."

"I'm not killing anyone for this District." The girl gritted her teeth together, voice rising to a crescendo. "I'm not killing anyone at all. I'd never hold a gun anyway." Toying with a leaf that had fallen from above onto her lap, she muttered, "Guns are for peacekeepers."

"Hey, I'm sure they'd work out something for you if you train hard enough. But for the killing part…" Ralph went silent for a good while, before speaking up again in a much softer tone, "Look, kid, it's not an easy thing, but it needs to be done."

"Didn't you have enough of killing in the Games, Ralph? Or was smashing Turbo's head in not bloody enough for you?" It was a low blow, and Merida knew it even as she said it. Pride however, kept her from taking it back.

Ralph's brows furrowed together, the frown lines on his forehead deepening. "Merida, I'm tired of trying to cover up for you every time you mess up. I get it that you're going through some hard stuff– but guess what? Everyone in this District is! But we can't let this stuff stop us from moving forward. If we want to put an end to Capitol, we have to push forward, no matter what. Even if it makes us uncomfortable. Even if it upsets us." His voice dropped several decibels. "Even if it means us living through nightmare after nightmare so that other people won't need to do it."

She heard the rustling of leaves under her and she peered down. Ralph had begun climbing down to the ground, careful not to snap the branches as he did. "Think about it, kid," he called to her. "The only way you're going to get home is if this war ends."

His words rang in her mind. A few minutes after he had vanished from her view point, Merida scowled at the sunset. She knew he was right.

With much regret, she began to descend the birch, glancing longing one last time at the sunset before scaling down. It was going to be a while before she saw it again.

The lights from the screen were starting to get to him.

The boy hunched over the messy work space sighed, running an exhausted hand through the spiky tufts that was hair. He felt cool streams of sweat running down the sides of his face, dripping off his chin and landing inelegantly on the large holo-computer before him. The screen buzzed in annoyance, and red circle appeared on its six by two feet long screen, highlighting the interference with unneeded urgency.

Hiro rolled his eyes as he pulled up the front of his uniform, stuck his hand under it and used the fabric to dry the liquid off. The screen finally ceased its incessant buzzing and he felt his shoulder slump back.

He had maybe two work hours more to go before he finally finished the job – the job that had bought him four lives and his own. The job that would supposedly be the key to turning the tide to the favor of the rebellion.

His deadline – well, technically fourth deadline that he had had after three requests for extension – was next week, so he was running ahead of schedule. He noted with odd detachment that his vision was starting to blur and his apathy towards his task was increasing. Yep, he could definitely do with a break.

He rolled his chair away from the holo-computer, swerving it around slowly with his shaky hands towards an adjacent work trolley. Upon the trolley was his masterpiece, freshly assembled from the 3D printer just yesterday. It had taken hours of experimentation, designing and refinement, but he had not minded. He had enjoyed the process almost as much as he hated the real job that he was supposed to complete, to be honest. He really did miss being a craftsman.

Hiro smiled at himself as he mulled over the thought. He had never thought himself as an artist before, and it was certainly a pleasant notion. If this was art and art was emotion, it was no wonder building the suit was such a joy for him.

"Might as well," he murmured to himself lightly as he touched the screen that the suit was connected to, adjusting the appropriate switches. The metal-like pieces on the trolley began glow as the programmed data flowed into them through the wires they were hooked too. Hiro found himself shaking as he reclined into the chair once again, but why should he be? His masterpiece was on the verge of completion, and he couldn't wait to show it off.

Once the screen read that the upload had been successful, he rolled himself nearer to the trolley and began removing all the wires. The glow in the pieces when he did that, but a simple nudge from him made them light up again, proving that they were ready for use.

He was actually planning to show her tomorrow, but heck, he wasn't going to do anymore work at two in the morning.

Hiro rolled his chair forward, controlling the movements of the wheels such that the back of his chair was facing the front of the trolley. He then twisted himself around to hook the trolley to the wheelchair, making sure the binds were nice and secure before sitting back front again.

He let out a long breath, then placed both of his hands on the wheel. His fingers met the rubber and he began his arduous journey out of his work office.

"Are you done yet?"

Elsa was not surprised to have a visit at that this unholy hour. She had come to look forward to these visits after hours upon hours of isolation in her insulated compartment, but she had not expected Hiro rolling in with a trolley latched to his chair, as if he was playing trains. His eyes had been oddly bright as he explained the contraption that he had behind him. Of course, he had said it all really quickly and she didn't even catch half of it, but her previous experience told her to just take the contraptions, put them on and try out her powers.

There were many parts to Hiro's creation, and considering that the door from which they could exchange things was frightfully narrow, they had to pass one object through at a time, and in a strategic manner. First came the headband, which she slipped hurried as soon as she received it.

As Hiro had programmed, the neurotransmitter signals that the band sent through her brains helped to muffled her powers enough for her to slip on the metallic braces over her arms. The design had improved tremendously, with the gloves slipping over almost like a second skin. It had also been adjusted to feel a great deal lighter and move moldable to her movements. She then took up the boots that he had made and removed her ice-shoes to slip them over. She had to admit that she was not as used to weight on her feet as she did for the gloves, but Hiro assured her that the footwear was programmed to adapt itself to best fit her comfort over time.

The other large pieces that were supposed to cover her back, chest, abdomen and so forth required her to remove her clothes before wearing them, so she brought the pieces back to her private backroom out of sight from the meeting counter and stripped. Though he had taken care to add cushioned pads into the pieces, the new layer over her skin still felt unnatural and she found herself tugging at the metallic contraptions with a dubious expression. When she fit place the last of the pieces, her eyes flitted to one of her room walls that she had covered in shimmering crystal. The reflection that she saw looking back made her stumble back in shock. The suit really covered every inch of her except her head, with each of its blocks crafted to fit her form perfectly. She twirled around as she examined the metallic skin that she now wore over her own, and felt that 'skin' was not quite the right way to describe it. It looked more like … armor.

"Elsa?" She heard Hiro call. "You okay in there?"

She glanced down at her discarded ice garment and pondered over whether she should wear them over the armor. But the colorless shift that she had thoughtlessly crafted before sleeping did not fit in with the armor. This armor gave her body a sleek, streamlined appearance that was attractive in its elegance. The band over her forehead granted an aura of control and authority. The flicker of patterns running along the polished plates, which she had assumed were for some practical purpose, now were clearly to seen to be solely for the sake of making her look sophisticated and deadly.

She looked like a warrior.

It would be an insult to Hiro's craft if she covered up his armor with a fabric of her own, but she was uncomfortable in showing herself in nothing but the suit. Years of carefully dressing thanks to her powers had imbued in her a sense of modesty and it took her a while to figure out a compromise.

"Give me a moment," Elsa called to the boy, as she tentatively lifted her right hand towards herself. Her breath was tight as she allowed herself to form an image in her mind. With an exhale, she let her powers go.

White light burst from her hands in spirals and specks of snow, weaving over her shoulders and down the shoulder blades, rushing around till fabric came into being. The cloak that now fell behind her was could be pulled over herself when she felt a need to cover herself and pushed behind her when she needed it out of the way. It was a fashionable solution to her dilemma, and she felt a little proud for solving this problem herself. Elsa glanced admiring at the metal contraption that fit her so well and felt respect for the young engineer swelling in her heart.

"I'm coming out now," she called out to prepare him, unable to really repress the giggle that followed after. She hadn't giggled in ages, but the euphoria bubbling within her could not be contained. As she stepped towards the opening with her metal-weight feet, she felt as if she was walking on air.

When she emerged from her private chambers, back into the meeting room. She opened her mouth to announce herself, fully intending to step forward and show off the boy's invention to himself. But Hiro was not looking at her. He was staring blankly at wall, blinking occasionally while bearing a dazed expression.

She moved up towards the glass barrier that separated them, sitting herself at the table and clicking on the microphone. "Hiro?"

He did not move, only blinking again at that invisible picture that he was examining in the blank wall.

She spoke with great force, "Hiro."

The boy's head sharply jerked towards her and his brown eyes fell on her. But the look was unfocused and when he parted his lips, no words came out. Just the shallowed sound of breathing.

Before she could say anything else, the boy suddenly tipped to his right, his weight dragging him down with gravity and flopping him out of his chair, onto the ground.

"Hiro!" The blonde girl flew off her seat, climbing up onto the table to get a better look at the boy who had disappeared out her vision. Through the frosted glass, she could see that his small form sprawled on the ground, trembling slightly but without sign of him getting up.

She slammed her metal-lined palm on the glass. "Hiro!"

He did not respond.

Elsa slid herself off the table, trying not to trip over the cloak she had just made. She was cursing it now as she hurried over to the voice intercom that she had installed in her room. She used it once in a blue moon to request for small items, like notebooks or pens, and the person on the receiving end would have someone else to bring it down.

But no matter how hard she jabbed the button now, there was no one picking it up.

"Please, please answer," she pleaded under her breath, but there was none to hear it. At this unholy hour, there was no one stationed to receive her calls.

After finally giving up on that, Elsa darted back to the glass and latched herself to the surface, checking on him once again. She had rather hoped that he would suddenly sit up, laugh and taunt her for falling for his prank, but he did no such thing. He lay helplessly on the floor and she was trapped helplessly behind in her containment cell.

Then, she peered at the frost – her own frost – creeping along the glass surface.

Perhaps being 'trapped' was not true.

She planted her both palms against the glass surface, sucking in the air as she channeled all of her energy to the plan she had in her mind. Ice started spreading rapidly across both sides of the glass, complex vines woven over one another like tapestry, flying faster than an eagle across the surface. She watched as the glass under hands became an opaque blue and when she felt fragments moving under her palms. She was afraid, very much afraid, but her worry had no influence over her powers. The band around her forehead subdued her emotion while the rational part of her mind instructed cold to pour out of her plated hands. When the weight of the ice was too great for the glass to bear, large fissures tore themselves from inside of the glass to out.

The glass before her exploded into fragments.

Elsa stood there stunned for a moment, quite unable to comprehend was had just occurred. She examined at the wreckage she had just made, then down to her hands, then out at the other end of the meeting room. She climbed over the ledge with an apprehensive expression, landing uneasily on the ground.

It had been seven months since her arrival to District 13, and this was her first time stepping out of the enclosure.

But she could not stop to savor the moment, or do anything with moment, actually, because she remembered her goal. Elsa stepped on the glass and snow fragments as she moved towards the boy on the ground. Brushing the debris off him, her heart sank when she found that his eyes were still closed and his breathing still unnatural.

With tense muscles, she scooped the lad's limp form in her arms, shaking him gently. "Hiro." No response. Harder shake -"Hiro!"

He showed no signs of waking and she didn't know what to do.

Wait, no, she did.

The boy was not that heavy, actually, and she was able to slid her arms over his knees and his back, lifting him up. His head rested against her chest as she pushed her way out of the door, teeth clenched as she struggled to control her anxiousness and think clearly. Elsa gazed out at the long tunnels that stretched in front and behind her, and she didn't know where to go.

Fortunately, there were signs marked out on the walls, so she adjusted the wiry body in her arms and darted down where she presumed was the exit. Occasional individuals whom she passed gawked at her in astonishment and under different circumstances, she supposed she would have balked at it. But now, her attention was split to its seams between trying to figure out where to go and praying that the boy was alright. She found herself passing lots of empty cubicles before stopping at some kind of lift landing.

"Where's the infirmary?" the blonde girl shot the question at two uniformed soldiers standing guard there. Both of them gazed at her stupefied, the guns in their hands going slack. Elsa let out a huff of irritation. Hiro didn't have time for this! "Well? Where's it?"

Finally, one of them answered, "You'll need to go down three levels." Now it was Elsa's turn to look confused. The soldier beckoned her. "C'mon."

He waved her into the elevator and hit the button inside the carriage before stepping out. Elsa tapped her feet impatiently as she felt the lift going down, biting her lips as she peered down at the poor lad in her arms. His face was pale and his lips blue. He was shivering and she feel his weak breaths against her chin. A surge of worry rose from within her and she had to crush all thoughts of smashing the lift panel, lest her powers actually fulfil that desire.

When the doors whipped open, she grabbed the first person she saw and all but yelled the question. The surprised and slightly perturbed attendant pointed the directions to her and she swung herself around accordingly, cloak flying behind her. Her legs burned under exertion and it occurred to her that it had been ages since she had used them to walk such a distance, not to mention run. And running did not bring back good memories.

Quite by accident, she found herself stumbling into a dim lit hall where occupied by people in white-coloured uniforms. Elsa saw the trolleys of medicine, the rows of beds and beeping machines hooked to the patients and knew that she was in the right place. Lifting the limp figure in her arms towards them, a whisper was all that escaped her throat, "Help him. Please."

The nurses came approached at her without question, though they did remark in alarm at the sight of the pale boy in her arms. Someone brought over a rolleable bed for her to lay him down on and they pushed him away, strapping machines to him to check for vital signs and examining him with stern expressions.

Elsa allowed herself to relax now that the task was over, rubbing her arms over the metallic plating while breathing deeply. She watched as the bed drifted out of sight, with her anxiety for the boy lessening, but not by much.

And then she realized that everyone in the hospital ward was staring at her. The young man lying on the patient bed with a broken arm had his gaze fixed on her. The old woman sitting on a chair with tubes stuck in her veins had her eyes glued to her. The attendant was recording something into case notes kept lifting his head towards her, then dropped it down, then lifted it up again.

"You." It took her a while to place the voice, and when she did, she realized that she was looking at a young boy with brown chocolate hair. He couldn't be more than ten, but there were specks of scars dribbled from his forehead to him chin, long swathes wrapped around his abdomen and one of his legs raised up in a cast. There was a sad quietness in him that indicated that he had seen sorrow past his years, but the hopeful innocence in his tone struck her straight to the core. "You…you're the Snow Queen, aren't you?"

The girl did not know quite how to reply. Most of the memories that she had associated with that name was with the Games, which was never a pleasant recollection. But when he said it, it was a title of awe and respect.

What made even less sense was that when she peered at the others in the hospital ward, their expressions were much the same.

"Soldier Arendelle."

Elsa spun around at the unfamiliar title and discovered that a tall, broad-shoulder woman in a uniform staring intently at her. She had seen the woman before, and knew roughly that she had been part of the extraction of Five of them during the Games, but had only seen her once from the inside of her thermostatic enclosure.

And then it occurred to her – she had essentially destroyed the thermostatic enclosure. Where would they hold her now?

The soldier standing at the entrance of the infirmary jerked her head towards her right. "Talk. Now."

"He built you a suit that can contain your powers?"

"Yes, sir. He separated the link between my emotions and my powers. I can control my powers better with my mind now."

District 13's uppermost council all gazed across the table at the girl in the silver suit. Though she stood up straight with her chin lifted high, her hands were entwined tightly together in nervousness.

There was some discussion amongst the council, before one of its members asked, "What is Soldier Hamada's diagnosis?"

"Syncope, as a result of stress, poor dietary habits and emotional unbalance," another member read from the screen on her side of the table, flickering a finger against the surface to scroll down. "It may or may not be related to post-traumatic experiences and Soldier Hamada's previous injury. The assigned doctor has ordered additional investigation."

"Is he conscious now?" spoke the head of the council. His steely eyes seemed to pierce right through the girl that people called the Snow Queen, and she shuddered involuntarily.

"No. He was briefly for a few minutes, before falling asleep," the council lady answered as she scanned through the information

"Soldier Hamada knew that his deadline is in a week," the President's voice sliced right through the woman's, making her shroud back. The large, dark man did not notice it, or if he did he did not care. "He knew that he had obligations to fulfil, yet he used his time to pursue unimportant matters."

The girl in the metal suit cringed in embarrassment, taking a step back self-consciously.

"When he awakes, have the necessary tools brought to him to finish his work. Set up computers in the infirmary if needs be. It would be unwise not to catch onto the fire of rebellion whilst they grow."

"Mr. President," a kind, yet firm voice interjected at the uneasy silence that followed his declaration, "Soldier Hamada's condition was caused precisely because of the stress of his workload. Plopping it down on his shoulders at this point could kill him."

"So be it, as long as he finishes the program before that," intoned the Chief of State coldly as he wrapped his cloak, a black, shimmering thing, more tightly over himself. "All victories must have sacrifices, but one as irresponsible as Hamada could be hardly counted as a loss." The calloused features formed a grimace. "A waste of talent indeed. A waste of incredible talent."

It could be felt that the statement was also said in reference to the young girl, who stood shaking at the end of the table.

The meeting was adjourned eventually. Calhoun, like the rest of the members of the council, rose to her feet and prepared to make her way out of the room when she heard her name being called.

She paused her steps and flattened herself against the wall, allowing the other members to pass her by and make their exit. The blonde soldier then went up to the door and pulled them shut. She then made her way over to where the President was, just in time to note him drawing out various holoscreens in front of him. She halted three feet away and saluted her commander-in-chief. "Mr. President."

"At ease, Lieutenant-" his raspy voice was barely louder than a whisper, yet there was still something chilling about it, "-and take a seat."

The woman nodded in acknowledgement and followed as he had directed. She watched as he moved his hands over the interface, bringing out an array of videos. A few of them showed were the broadcast clips from the Capitol, but most was actually footage of District people marching with their fists held high and their voices calling out. The large muscular man did not speak to his subordinate for a while, just watching the videos. Her extensive military training back in the Capitol however had gave Calhoun great patience with her superiors, and she didn't even blink while waiting for him.

Finally, he said to her, "Do you think the mutant can be controlled?"

It took the Lieutenant a while to understand him. "The District 12 girl, sir?"

"They called her 'The Snow Queen', didn't they?" He stroked his chin thoughtfully while still gazing at the series of footage. "Do you think she can be controlled?"

Calhoun allowed herself a moment to think on how to phrase her answer. "I do believe that we can persuade her to join our cause."

"I am not talking just about loyalty – the gods know she's too spineless to fight against us." The man snorted derisively. "I ask – do you think her power can be harnessed?"

"With Hamada's technology, sir, I do think we stand a good chance," she replied evenly, her blank face revealing her inner thoughts.

The great man nodded, not in agreement as much as acknowledgement. He frowned at the images of violence that the Peacekeepers brought upon the protestors, with bullets flying in the air and people screaming everywhere. "The people are angry, but the flame of courage that anger provides will die out if not fanned well. The rebellion is still scattered and weak, clearly due to the lack of effort on out mutual friend's part." He said 'friend' as if it were curse.

Calhoun did not comment on this, nor did she defend the one that he spoke about.

"The people need a unifying symbol – a face that they can get behind," the President went on in a brooding manner. "Creating one out of the blue would be difficult, but building on something historic – on something already monumental – that would be more effective."

He moved his hand, zooming into one of the video panels that displayed not footage of incensed protesting, but of the 74th Hunger Games itself. The soldier was quite unaffected by the gory images it showed, for her time in service of the Capitol had hardened her like stone, but she couldn't help but feel a stirring in her chest as the images moved to the softer scenes, like when the Haddock boy spared Hiro during the Feast, or when the Dunbroch girl lay flowers around the body of her young friend, or when the District 12 girl wept over the body of her fallen, frozen ally.

"I ask you, Lieutenant, and I hope that you can speak frankly." The President drew himself back, eyes seeming to glitter in the dim light. "Do you think our … Snow Queen is up to the task?"

With a show of measure that she rarely displayed elsewhere, Calhoun allowed herself a minute or so to think, before finally voicing her thought, "Mr. President, the girl has just been released from captivity a few hours ago. She barely knows what District 13 looks like and I doubt she's ready to represent the rebellion at this stage. It wouldn't be wise to set all hopes on her at this point." She pursed her lips together as she thought how nervous the girl was when she appeared before the council. How on earth would she do anything in front of throngs of soldiers? Or weeping citizens? Or even more so, the enemy? "At least, not until she falls in with the system and is assessed to mentally fit. I think her current psychological records are less than encouraging."

The President considered her words, his right hand clenched in front of him on the table. He pressed, "But it is not impossible, then."

"Certainly not, sir," she answered crisply, "but she must be managed delicately. She has to be given time to heal. The idea of being an icon has to be carefully introduced. She's a girl. As much as I hate to say it, she needs guidance and support."

By his expression, her commander-in-chief did not fully agree with her opinion. But it didn't mean that he dismissed them completely either. "Can I count on it that you to see that she receives what she needs then?"

Years ago, Calhoun would have scorned being a 'babysitter' of all things to some frightened twit from District 12, but age and circumstance had given her a new perspective about the tasks she was given. If the hope of the rebellion required her careful watch, she would gladly volunteer – not that she would admit so out loud. It was still not a very desirable job. "Yes, sir."

"Good." The President dropped his gaze from her, interest in her presence abruptly vanished. "You're dismissed."

After Calhoun's departure, the President of District 13 lifted a hand over his interface and banished the depressing footage, changing over to general surveillance screens for the happenings over District 13. The monitoring network in the underground city was by no means as extensive as the ones in the Capitol, but it was decent enough to show him all that was going at the moment. From the infirmary, he saw that Hamada was still unconscious and being watched by the nurse automaton. At the training centre, he watched as the younger soldiers trained against their superiors, cringing at the blows and wincing at the ragging. At the barracks canteen, he watched as attendant gathered together to prepare meals for the coming hour, flustered all about. Everything was in order for the District for the time being, but he was not fooled that it could last forever. They needed to move, and soon, lest the war be lost before they could even fight for it.

A small window appeared on his holo-projector and he eyed it with unsurprised distaste. Grunting, he indicated on the interface to put through the call.

"Good Evening, President. I trust that you have been well since we last spoke," was the greeting he had come to despise, spoken through the irritating filter that too irked him to no end.

The man only replied, undisguised dislike in his tone, "Is there a purpose behind your call, MiM?"

"I merely want to see check on the progress of your District with regards to freeing our nation from the wretched claws of Hugo Bernstein Lotso," The Man-in-the-Moon answered with too much emotion. "Also, it has come to my attention that one of the five children rescued from the Games has undergone a rather interesting … event, for lack of better words, which has increased her value in serving our cause."

The man narrowed his brows together, his soft voice raised slightly. "And why would that matter to you?"

"I would like to remind you that those children are under my authority and my protection."

"They are citizens of this District. They will be judged and treated according to our laws," came his stiff reply.

The monotone voice sounded remarkably assertive. "And that doesn't change the fact that you have made me responsible for them – and completely on your own accord. In other words, they're my people, and I take care of my people."

"What is the point of all this rambling, MiM?" the President demanded, folding his arm over his chest.

"I have ears in Thirteen, Mr. President, and I do not take lightly the threats made against my people lightly. If at any point I discover that you have abused my people, I will take swift and immediate action." The words from the computer generated voice were unmistakably harsh. "The girl is not one of your mutts that you can beat and train till submission, nor is the boy - or any of them, in a matter of fact. I understand the urgency of the war and I agree that certain steps must be taken for the greater good, but do not forget that we are striving to build a better nation. Otherwise, we might as well surrender our arms to Lotso and forego to this painful endeavor."

"I do not need a faceless coward to remind me of our purpose," the blocky man growled at the intercom.

"Who is the greater coward, Drago? The one who hides his face to protect his men, or the one who hides in the safety of his District while others burst into flame?" came the blunt rebuttal. There was a pause, before MiM said in calmer manner, "We have our own methods, President Bludvist, but we are on the same side. As long as you don't overstep your authority, I won't overstep mine."

And without waiting for a dismissal, the holo-call was ended. The President scowled, but there was none to see the blue light reflecting off the dark creases of his scarred face. He gazed up at the dozen screens, before his hollowed eyes narrowed to the one of the dragon sanctuary. He moved his right palm over the interface, allowing him to zoom into it. He was treated to a view of the laboratory built into the side of the cavern wall. He watched as the professor and her most recently acquired assistant, the Haddock boy, cooed and cawed over some reptilian mutt that they were studying.

He frowned pointedly as the right hand clasped itself over its titanium double under his cloak.

S/N:

Tada! The identity of the President of District 13 is finally revealed! Ladies and Gentlemen, I present, Drago Bludvist of HTTYYD 2! I've been saving this villain.

The part where Merida goes above the ground to the woods is supposed to be like how Katniss in the books/movies was allowed to go out of District 13 as part of the terms of being the Mockingjay.

Oh, Hiro's sick. Poor guy. And Elsa's got some armor. Dun-dun-dun!

A/N: Hey there!

This chapter was only edited by me, because my beta is currently unavailable. I apologize for grammar errors.

Now, I'm sure some of you would have noticed that I haven't updated this story in a while (almost five months). The reason for this is that I've kind of hit a writer's block with this story. I know the end of the story and I know somethings that need to happen, but I'm still in the process of working out how to get there. As for why I've been continuing to upload some of my other stories, it's because I've bucket-loads of inspiration for them. It's not very fair, and I miss I could get the same inspiration for all my stories, but I don't. So… yeah. Also, every since college started, it's been harder for me to upload.

Nonetheless, I really hope that I don't abandon this story. Reviews from you guys have really encouraged me to keep trying to churn out ideas and continuing trying to write, so I really appreciate all this you've done. I can't promise a new chapter according to a regular schedule anymore, but I'll continue to plan this story further so that I can hopefully someday end it of satisfactorily.

Till next time people.

Review. Ask Question. Critique.