AN: God I'm so sorry this was about a week late. Whoops. Get over it please. Also if anyone wants to write a chapter or interlude for this which I doubt that'd be cool shoot me a PM and we can talk and I can set you up with some cool canon

Title: Neural Networks

Words: 1086

Written by: Gloss

Summary: Kept in the dark his whole life, an angsty character is thrown into the past and introduced to a group of bloodthirsty, genre-savvy (but in terms of the humor side of this), terrorists who don't know what to do with him. Sorry, they prefer the term 'rebels'. Dystopian AU. Time Travel.

Chapter Three: Finish Your Statements Already

That's why I'm a Mary Sue.

-Syd

You know, being starved really isn't that fun. I really don't have any other comparisons except that one singular occasion that I'm speaking of here. I mean, it's still not nice but I'm sure it could be worse.

My first actual night with actual, natural sleep… was bad. I slept on the floor, in shackles. This was uncomfortable even without it being chilly and wind blowing into the hut. The guards didn't seem to mind, but then they had on actual seasonal clothing. Sweaters. Long pants.

I'd traveled from the springtime, almost summer. Late May, in the Gregorian calendar. I was wearing shorts and a tee-shirt. I had had a few things in my pockets, but they were taken almost immediately after being taken here. It was little things. A notebook of the dead I carried around that had the names of those close to me. A little pencil.

You're really not supposed to get close to anybody. I mean, in terms of human nature and biology, I guess you are, but we really don't encourage it back home. You mourn for the dead, and then you move on in a few days and use their memory to fuel the rest of life. There's not a single person alive who wasn't working on repenting, fixing humanity, trying to help. You can't stay lost in the past, mostly because the people in the past are mostly dead by now.

I think I also had a few credits. But nothing metal, just the Plexiglas type. I'm not allowed to carry around metal. The machine and all that. My dad was especially a hard-ass about that rule, and one he died, mom kept it obsessively.

Anyway, the point is that I had a fitful sleep. I need to stop getting so off topic.

I might have dreamed, but if I did, I can't remember it. It probably would have been disturbing and some level of fucked up that I really don't care to find out. Like most of my dreams. In the afternoon, I was almost given lunch. A granola bar.

"You need food, right?" the guard asked. "Whatever, here's a crappy raisin thing." She was about to toss a shiny (SPARKLY) wrapped object until a new person came in, and tapped her on the shoulder quickly.

"Cheese!"

"WHO SUMMONED- I mean, you rang?"

They whispered for a minute, bickering, and left looking distinctly agitated. My stomach growled. The other guard looked at me with an apologetic smile.

"Um," I mumbled, figuring such a nice looking lady might actually be nice and answer a question of mine, "Do you have the date? And year?"

"Uh, I'm not supposed to talk to prisoners, but I figure this can't hurt… It's the 13th of August. Year Fifty T-"

"Willa-mine! The limos are pretty much totaled, we need help asap! I'll take over, go!"

It was a pretty, sort of blonde, sort of brunette girl. I'm not certain how, but the color of her hair seemed to constantly be shifting.

"I'm Sydney. I'm sure you've heard of me." Her voice was confident. I was scared. Maybe a little attracted, actually. I just- damn.

"Uh?" I spewed intelligently. Classic. Glad to know I'm so coherent. She was very beautiful, striking even, but one thing stood out to me that wasn't actually her face: she was wearing a golden little pin, with a bird on it. It flashed in the sunlight from outside.

"Sydney? Sydney Everdeen? The Mockingjay?" Those terms sounded familiar, but I couldn't…

"I don't- I've did not- fuck!- I've never heard of you." Wow, who here is impressed? Nobody. Nobody is who. Damn it, now I've embarrassed myself...

My cheeks reddened.

She laughed. "Sure you haven't, kid."

The blush fell, and my eyebrows furrowed. Nobody was a kid past 13, in my opinion, and I'd passed that boundary about three years ago… Besides, the times made everybody mature quickly.

"I haven't, though. What's a mockingjay, anyway?"

"What's a- how dare-" she sounded pretty sarcastic, but walked out in anger. Fake anger? But she didn't come back. Nobody did.

"Hello~?" I shouted, for about the trillionth time. Again, no answer. Great. I'd just die of starvation…

One of my previous guards, stormed in and grabbed me by the collar. "Shut the fuck up, kid. Now is really not the time. Get a hint and keep to yourself for the next few hours, you goddamn idiot? Are you so stupid that you can't even- you know what, I'm not gonna waste my breath here. Just- stay quiet." Their face sobered. Something bad just happened.

I wondered what it was. Once the guard shoved their body out of the hut, that is. I wasn't about to embarrass myself by spacing out while they were still in the hut- well. I wasn't trying to embarrass myself, anyway.

What could it possibly be? A casualty or something? This kind of utter ghost town couldn't possibly do this. Comrades were mourned quietly, and quickly, then you moved on. You couldn't just dwell on the past.

What were these terrorists even trying to do? Were they correct, in the moral right? Were they just hell-bent on destruction?

"IT'S REBELS." the paper bag laying abandoned and dirty on the floor seemed to shout at me. Great, hunger delusions… I was so weak.

You know what? Fuck it. I was gonna talk to the delusion. Things really couldn't get worse, could they?

"Hey," I mumbled at the paper bag. "Wanna be my friend."

The paper bag swayed a little. "HELLO MORTAL. YOU COULD HEAR ME?"

"Um, do I have to answer that…"

"NO. THAT WAS A SUFFICIENT RESPONSE, YOUNG MORTAL. TELL ME, WHAT ARE YOU CALLED?"

"Since you're my delusion, shouldn't you already know?"

"HUMOR ME."

"It's Ascian."

"YOU MAY CALL ME YOUR HIGHNESS, GOD, O HOLY ONE, BLESSED PAPER BAG…"

"Of course I can. Of course. This is normal." I muttered to myself. "Why is this even happening. Why."

"ANYWAY MORTAL." The god damned paper bag broke through my bubble of self pity. "THE IMMORTALS AND THEIR MORTAL FRIENDS AND LOVERS WHO RESIDE HERE DISLIKE THE TERM TERRORIST. YOU WOULD DO BEST NOT TO DAMN YOURSELF NEAR THEM."

"You would do well to use your inside voice, to be honest."

"SHUT UP. ANYWAY I DOUBT YOU'LL SURVIVE WITHOUT ME. AND AFTER THEY RELEASE YOU, I WILL POSSESS YOUR MORTAL BODY TO GET MY REVENGE-! THEY SHALL SUFFER, AND THE SCREAMS OF THE FALLEN WILL AMUSE ME!"