Hello for the last time,
This is the final chapter in the Catching Fire, a Mentor's Perspective fanfiction. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy it.
Sincerely,
Draco Ranger
Warnings, Spoilers of Catching Fire and Mockingjay
Please note, this is a work of fiction based on a fictional world. It is fiction squared and is not done for profit. Most characters are the property of Suzanne Collins and are used with implied permission (or at least without direct denial).
The Beginning of the End
The streets are eerily quiet and completely deserted for some time now. Before people were hurrying through the streets, anxious to get back inside, now there is no one. There is little activity outside, apart from some government transports and emergency vehicles. It is the same as it was yesterday and the day before that, and feels like it could go on forever. The entire world seems to be blanketed with anticipation.
All at once, a roar is heard from every window, every open door, every public display module. The end is beginning. Soon the games will be over and the Third Quarter Quell will be finished.
)()(
Almost a thousand miles away, in a secret bunker, an encoded message is intercepted. It is decoded with almost worrying ease. The world waits with bated breath, anticipating the order that will plunge humanity into chaos. Four words can be heard.
"Plan A is go."
This triggers a flurry of activity. Orders are yelled, computers are activated, and stimulants are injected or ingested.
)()(
On an island in the middle of a massive body of water, a different but similar picture begins. A group of people, young and old, men and women, scratch out a plan to commit murder while being stalked by cameras and contestants. They are blissfully unaware of their impending doom, either to be pawns in a game between two dictatorships or to be killed as asset denial. They fear death, but have encountered it before. Their death will not be a surprise.
)()(
In a mansion, a man with sores in his mouth contemplates the death of thousands, if not millions. His upbringing does not allow for introspection, and he merely looks at the thousands of dead as a minor inconvenience, one that will be replaced within two decades by increasing the food allotment to the slave states. He knows that he may lose, but does not think it is likely, the defenses he has created in his city and around himself are too powerful, and a certain Tribune has been brainwashed into obeying him. With a glance of annoyance, he responds to the only other person in the room, a courier, with a simple order.
"Kill them all."
)()(
High above the only patch of light within miles, a group of mercenaries awaits an order from their superior. They are onboard a stealth hovercraft. A more heavily armored and upgunned version of the normal hovercraft, it gains the stealth moniker by exchanging the normal huge rotors for ion charged discs and the standard ominous black for active camouflage. In effect, a stealth hovercraft is virtually silent and nearly invisible, while containing enough firepower to level most of a city as well as being accurate enough to hit the brainstem on a jumping flea. Hugely expensive, the impossible-to-detect nature and endurance of stealth hovercraft more than make up for the cost, while the destructive capabilities far exceed any price that can be paid. Inside, an auto-sentry transmits video feed to the financer through an encoded direct satellite feed to the owner, giving said hugely rich owner the control he needs over the venture.
The cabin is very quiet, apart from a humming sound from the generators and the computers. The monitors of the computers display two pictures. One is from the weapons systems and is focused on a building. The target is an unlit hospital, and while the mercs are unsure if they are going to be ordered to destroy it or take someone out of it, they are mentally ready and equipped to easily accomplish either task.
The other is of a dark hallway, feed from a helmet cam belonging to the commander. It is within the hospital. The commander just cut the power and started moving to extract the target.
Over the radio a voice is heard, "Nearing the target, hostiles are entering the room, going in hot."
)()(
Suddenly the lights went out, plunging the room into total darkness. I hear heavy footfalls and the screams of other patients and nurses. I cringe, expecting my hangover to flare up again, but it doesn't. Hurray for small pleasures. Groping underneath my bed, I pull out something no man should leave home without... his pants. Hurriedly putting them on, I hear the footsteps end outside my room.
"Pass -e th- br-chin- -arge" a muffled voice demands outside my room. Two things become strikingly clear, one, Jamaica-man Hammingfest was taken seriously and has put the entire fifth column of the resistance in danger and, two, they don't realize the door is unlocked. Bracing for the explosion, I cower behind my bed, knowing the shock will temporarily give the assaulter an advantage. Instead of the expected explosion, I hear two muffled shots, and two thuds. Great, now at least one coldblooded killer is trying to get in and is willing to commit murder to do so.
I hear a click and the door opens, revealing a bulky form wearing tactical gear. I raise my hands to indicate I'm unarmed. The soldier crosses over to me and forces my hands behind my back, which he restrains, before leading me out of the room. He keeps me in front of him the entire way, a large assault rifle moving back and forth, covering all angles and protecting against any ambush.
His paranoia is merited as a gunshot rings out and a hiding peacekeeper aims for a second shot. The soldier quickly reacts and unleashes a sustained burst on the peacekeeper. There is little left except mush. Gagging, I am forced onward and upwards, entering a stairwell. Here, the soldier drops a smoke grenade down and throws one onto one of the upper floors.
Shouts ring out, "Grenade!" and thuds are heard as people forcibly exit the stairwell from above and below. Taking advantage of the confusion, the soldier quickly drags me into the forming smoke cloud, up towards the roof. I desperately try to think of what could be the final destination. I'm hoping that there is going to be a hovercraft, but decades of cynical thinking forces the conclusion that we are going to escape through some horribly contrived method that will lead to the deaths of numerous innocents. Thankfully, we are in the Capitol, so there arn't enough innocents for us to kill a significant number of them.
The commando appears to be thinking along similar lines as he continues to move up the stairs, using the smoke as cover. Rapidly, I find out that the smoke has an irritant contained within it. Soon I start coughing, and am choked off as the commando strangles me. He shoves me against a wall as gunfire is aimed at the point where I coughed. It dies out and the soldier forces me up the stairs. He fires into the smoke, evicting a few yells. Apparently he has supervision.
As we near the top of the hospital, we only have one corridor left to traverse before reaching the helipad. Delighted at being so close to escaping I start to move faster than the commando anticipates. As soon as I pass by an intersection I am jumped by two peacekeepers. If that isnt a metaphor for my life I don't know what is. Just as I am about to reach freedom, I am assaulted by two sweaty men about the kill the sh#t out of me, the freedom representing my ability to not be f#cked over by the Capitol and the two sweaty men representing the Capitol, or my repressed memories, either works.
While I am composing this internal monologue, the commando double taps each of the men, killing them instantly. I am showered in blood and bone fragments, just like my 16th birthday! Apparently, my brain is not processing good because of the stress. Shucks... SH*T!
Ignoring my obvious distress, the soldier continues moving forward, grabbing me by the shirt and forcing me into a lurching run. The smoke in the stairwell is fading and we are receiving fire from that location. Elevator doors ping open and more peacekeepers are pouring out into the hallway. The commando slows momentarily to toss a smoke grenade and then redoubles his efforts to get me outside. Bullets are flying all around us and the commando is using his body to protect me. He groans a few times, the first sound he has made without a weapon, but continues to move forward.
By this point we have reached the end of the hallway, and are stuck at the door to the hover-pad. The commando tests the door and finds that it is locked. He turns to me and pulls out a knife. I shirk away, terrified that he is going to kill me. He doesn't alleviate my fears by grabbing my arm and turning me around, facing towards the smoke cloud. I close my eyes, praying to any deity that might exist. Instead of a close shave, I feel a tugging on my arms. It seems that he is cutting my bindings. Surprised, I jerk away, and am rewarded with a shallow slice along my hand. The soldier ignores this and cuts away the rest of my bindings.
I celebrate my freedom momentarily, until a better aimed bullet whistles over my head. Then I duck. The commando motions me to hide with him behind a large pot filled with soil. The dirt is taking the energy out of the bullets and is acting as good cover.
The commando then grabs me and forces something into my hand, shortly thereafter giving me his assault rifle. He states in a voice muffled by his headgear, "It's dangerous to fight without a gun, take this," before turning to the lock and taking out some square blocks and metal cylinders.
Nervously looking at the gun, I see that it has a magazine in the stock of the gun and a thermal sight. This is probably how he managed to kill the guards at the top of the stairs. Mentally pulling up everything I know about guns (the opening points away and pull the little metal thingy to shoot), I turn down the smoke-filled hallway and pull the gun into a natural position. This lines up the sight with my eye and reveals the position of all the guards. Huh, smart.
The sight reveals a cool blue corridor with flat pink people and red hearts. I move the little x into the middle of one the people and pull the trigger. The gun jumps into my shoulder, immediately bruising it. Blinking off the pain, I look back into the sight and see two people over the guy I just shot. Pulling the gun into my shoulder, I fire again. This time it doesn't hurt and I am rewarded with the two I was aiming at clutching at their armor... and they shrug off the shots. The person on the ground I must have hit somewhere without armor. I start to fire more shots, hoping to hit a place that will kill one of them. Time slows down, I am entering the zone. I level the rifle at one of their heads and pull the trigger. -Click- Out of ammo.
Ohhh, sh####t... Hearing the click, the peacekeepers start to charge. Desperately fumbling to extract the clip, I realize that the commando shoved a grenade into my hand along with the rifle. I pull the pin and throw it towards the peacekeepers. Strangely, it doesn't go off immediately, and one of the peacekeepers yells out "We're not going to be fooled by another smoke bomb!"
I am momentarily worried and start to cower behind the pot, waiting to die. My life begins to flash before my eyes... I see- BOOM! The grenade I threw just detonated, obliterating the passage in all directions. When the smoke clears, I look in appreciation at the new coat of red paint on the walls, floor and ceiling. I am a little turned off by the piles of liquefied humans and bone fragments, but overall, I like the décor. The pot is epically nice now that it is completely destroyed and shattered, demonstrating the decay of humanity and its ability to weather a high explosive blast. As it has saved my life several times over, I give into a little sentimental feeling and take a shard for a remembrance.
By this time the commando had finished setting the breaching charge and detonated it without consulting my, which led me to reflexively pull the trigger of his gun in his direction. He also reacted on reflex and twisted the gun out of my arms, breaking two fingers, and spraining my wrist.
Looking at his feet guiltily (I'm assuming, he is still completely covered in armor and gear), the commando gruffly says "Sorry," and reloads the gun. As soon as the new clip clicks in, the soldier kicks the door open, and checks the area. He calls "Clear," perhaps thinking I can do something with my handicapped hands or from reflex, then throws down a flare. It lights up the roof, making us a prime target for snipers.
A few seconds later, I see a huge hovercraft a few meters above my head, neither hearing nor otherwise detecting it a moment earlier. The commando says, with a grin in his voice, "Here's our ride."
A door opens in the bottom of the hovercraft, disgorges a squad of special operations troops, and then lowers to touch down. The squad provides cover, while the commando walks towards the hovercraft. He indicates that I should follow. Once inside he points me to a bunk, which makes me realize I am completely exhausted. I fall onto the bunk and am asleep within minutes.
)()(
After an indeterminate period, I eventually wake up. The sun is streaming through the gun ports and armored windows of the hovercraft, but I am unsure when or where I am. Unsteadily I rise to my feet and look around for the first time. I am apparently in a converted bomb bay as there is a sealed crack running along the length of the floor. The interior of the craft has intelligence items and computers competing with rifles and ammo boxes. The intel features indicate a headquarters while the sheer amount of bullets almost demand that this be a troop transport. As I am puzzling over this simple quandary, I slowly walk over to one of the windows. I gaze out over an endless expanse of sea, which is RIGHT BELOW ME! It is literally 5 feet under me; the windows are actually spotted by the sea salt. Suddenly terrified of death at sea, I back away from the window and accidently bump into someone.
"AHH! oh. Sorry about that." I quickly apologize to the bumpee. The sudden rush of terror caused by the ocean to a person who has never learned to swim or been in a decent size lake is rather overpowering.
The bumpee waves off my apology and asks to see my hand. I hold out my hand and see that it is bandaged. Right, I broke two fingers... Forgot about that...
He examines the hand and quickly comes to a conclusion. In the standard doctor tone he states, "Your hand will recover shortly" before walking off. Apparently, the military discourages overly talkative doctors. Already, they are my favorite medical provider.
Surprised by his quick dismissal, I start to follow him to ask more questions. As I do, the hovercraft banks by 30 degrees to the left and at least 45 up, instantly toppling me and reinjuring my hand. The medic somehow remains on his feet and sighs.
He turns around and helps me to my feet before taking out a shard injector and blasting me with something. I feel the pain in my fingers and wrist drop from being my primary concern to unnoticeable, while also feeling partially paralyzed. The medic resets my fingers by the simple expedient of pulling the joints out of their sockets and shoving them into place, an event, which, while it doesn't hurt, causes by brain to project pain from seeing my body abused in such a way. I then feel a rush of happiness as the shards force my brain to release endorphins to deal with the injury.
The medic then helps me up and puts away the shard gun. Shard guns are the military's response to easily breakable hypodermic needles. The medicine is converted into a low melting metallic crystal, which lines up when exposed to a magnetic field. The crystal's design allows for points sharper than scalpels, and the gun simply projects a magnetic field forward to inject it. It is a descendent of the gauss cannon and is much easier to use than needles in combat. The downside is that the needles hurt like a b#tch and can increase the chance of infection. An antipathogenic and an endorphin booster remedy this.
The medic says to me "The Commander wants to speak with you." You can hear the capitalization in his voice. "Now." Well, I'm off to see the commander.
)()(
Eventually, after several more falls and a near decapitation, I end up at the bridge of the hovercraft. There is a seven foot tall 250 lbs. (110 kg.)-of-pure-muscle man at the central column. I cross over to him and ask if he is the commander. I will never forget his response.
"Ohhh, nooo," he thrilled. Christ, I found Effie in male form. "Hees right over thereee." He finishes with what can only be described as a finger pirouette. I resist my gag reflex and turn to where his finger eventually ended up.
And I see Commander Lee. For the first time that we have met, I am not drunk or otherwise intoxicated. I can finally describe him in terms that actually make sense. He is fairly tall, about 6 feet, always wears a beret, and looks like a stereotypical sergeant, with a better uniform. On second thought, sobriety does not make my powers of description any better.
Lee quickly fills me in "We have reached the island where the Tribunes are being held. We are going to extract them. You will calm down Katniss as she tends to act irrationally in bad circumstances, and prevent her from attacking anyone. We will then go to the other side of the world and drop you off at District 13 (the one that is rebelling and I am working with), we will then fly back towards the Capitol and begin the war against the peacekeepers. Any questions?"
"Why did you rescue me, alert the Capitol, who has hovercrafts stationed everywhere at the games, fly into the middle of the Pacific over several hours, plan on saving people who could have been killed within seconds of my disappearance or Hammingfest's idiotic letter, then fly all the way back to the other side of the world, with a potentially unstable murderer on board?" I ask.
Commander Lee smiles and says "For the same reason that the Capitol is sending all their hovercraft to bomb District 12, but will not attack any of the other Districts in the same way."
"Politics and damage control?" I respond.
"Yes" He finishes. He then says "You should probably go below, we'll be fighting the Capitol hovercraft in a few minutes."
I reply, "I would prefer to stay."
He states "I meant it as a nonaggressive order. Major Richards, please remove Mr. Abernathy to below decks."
"Yes sir," is all I hear before being forcibly ejected from the room and escorted down to the entrance level. Now, I wait.
)()(
Explosions, cannon fire, everything in the Stealth hovercraft's arsenal is shoved into obliterating everything that the Capitol holds dear. We are successful at destroying the majority of the enemy craft, but a few escape with Tribunes on board. Pity, they will act as pawns in a game that is far bigger than the know and far smaller than they expect. We recover most of the Tribunes that are friendly to us, a few enemies for propaganda purposes, and Katniss.
I recommend that we hold Katniss under sedation until we reach District 13. I am voted down. Most think her injuries are enough to prevent her from waking up. I and other fifth columnists from the Capitol begin our attempts to organize what's left of the resistance. While District 13 has the power and capability to do this, they do not have the contacts nor the communication satellites of Maximillian, so we are forced to relay between the generals at District 13 and the rebel commanders on the ground. It is difficult and tenuous, but it works.
Hours pass...
)()(
I'm attempting to comfort Finnick, one of the tribunes that we picked up. His girlfriend is currently under the Capitol's power. It's rather surprising that he hasn't killed himself yet. He just proposed that we attack the Capitol and free her before she is killed.
I tell him, "Don't be stupid, That's the worst thing you could do. Get her killed for sure. As long as you're alive, they'll keep her alive for bait.
Upon uttering this, Katniss, finally appears to have woken up, bursts through the door and is attempting to go on a murderous rampage, armed with nothing but a syringe, which she brandishes at us. She has not recovered in the slightest and must have woken up minutes ago. Expecting her to be in a homicidal rage, I react quickly to her entry.
"Done knocking yourself out, sweetheart?" I ask in reference to her unstable and questionable condition. She begins to charge, I catch her, jarring my fingers and wrists. "So it's you and a syringe against the Capitol? See, this is why nobody lets you make the plans." She does not react. I order, "Drop it." Still, no reaction. I increase pressure on her wrist until she complies.
The ex-head of the Hunger Games, Plutarch Heavensbee, is also discussing recent events with us. He tries being nice by asking Katniss in a kind tone of voice "Eat,"
With Katniss occupied by eating, I begin to summarize the games, District 13, and the Capitol. Basically, there was a giant conspiracy that put the different Tribunes into a lot of danger and was unnecessary because the person in charge of the games was a rebel and everybody hates the Capitol and we're banding everyone together to fight against the injustices of the Capitol. As the ancient philosopher Terry Pratchett put it, "Remember-The-Atrocity-Committed-Against-Us-Last-Time-That-Will-Excuse-The-Atrocity-That-We're-About-To-Commit-Today! And So On! Hurrah!" However, I say this in approved pro-rebel fashion, so it's ok.
Katniss seems pissed that we hid secrets from her, one of the most videotaped and observed people in the world, whose every movement has been monitored by the Capitol. She thinks we were mean to keep the destruction of everything that she has ever hated and feared from her, because it hurts her feelings. I disagree slightly.
She eventually gets around to asking about Peeta, her lover/boyfriend/worst enemy. "Where is Peeta?" She asks softly.
"He was picked up by the Capitol along with Johanna and Enobaria," I reply. I keep eye contact, secure in the knowledge that Peeta is irreverent. The only objective is President Snow. Katniss disagrees.
Rising from the table with a howl, Katniss attacks me. She attempts to shred my face with her fingernails, perhaps thinking of revenge on someone tenuously related to the current events that hurt her, perhaps releasing anger, or perhaps thinking that being the mockingjay, the figurehead of the rebellion, I will be unable to hurt her. She is wrong. I hit her in the throat.
"Katniss, remember this. You are a visible head of the rebellion, but you do not know how to lead or how to attack. You are a useful morale tool but you will work equally well as such if you died at the "hands of the Capitol". Do not think for an instant you are irreplaceable." With that, I exit. And for the first time since becoming a mentor, I actually don't want a drink.
Thank you for reading,
I hope you enjoyed my first fanfiction. I'll admit that I messed up in a few places, but this certainly was a learning experience. Thank you Audrey and Beth for reading, thank you reviewers for reviewing, and thank you everybody else for choosing to dignify this heap of words with your time.
moonlight goose- thank you once again for reviewing, I hope you like how this turned out.
Sincerely,
Draco Ranger
P.S. Please review, it helps me know what I'm doing right and what I'm doing wrong.
...and this is the end.