I lie awake in my bunk in the empty barracks. I have been the only resident of the "R & R" center for almost a year since Juno left last fall. The first rays of light begin to stream in from the outside, bringing some color the dreary gray interior. I realize that I haven't slept a single second the entire night. The anticipation was just too much. It is dawn on the day I have been waiting for my entire life: my birthday…my seventeenth birthday. There is a knock on the door which shocks me from my contemplative state. No mentor has ever taken that courtesy with me before. After all, until today I have been a suspect to be kept under lock and key: a possible threat to the security of the nation. I guess this is a sign of things to come.
"Come in," I say with a new found sense of confidence. The door opens to reveal the tall, burly form of Bruno Callus, my Head Mentor. He has always been very harsh, especially to me, but I know he is a fair man. He doesn't punish unless it is well deserved. I snap to my feet out of respect…and a little fear, but I can tell from the look in his eyes that he is not here to terrorize me this time.
"Relax, Ares. Sit down, please," he says with a quiet respect. This causes me to almost literally gasp. He has never, not once in the fifteen years he has been my Head Mentor, ever referred to me by my first name.
Over time, I pieced together Head Mentor Callus' story from the pieces of personal information he has let slip during his instruction. He was an orphan from District 8. His father died when he was just a young child from what the locals call "string lung." After years of breathing fabric fibers in the mills, a massive infection set in and took his life in just a few days. His mother died soon after from starvation, giving every meager food ration she had to support her two young boys. Suddenly finding himself as head of the family at age eight, he took his three year old brother to the streets before the District authorities came to put them in a worker's orphanage. Even that young, he realized that it was better to scrounge in the garbage than be forced to spend 14 hours a day weaving textiles for barely enough food to sustain life.
And so they lived for over eleven years, his beloved younger brother and him, taking whatever odd jobs they could find. When the Revolution started, both of them were some of the first to volunteer for the rebels. After the initial Capitol offensive to retake 8, his brother was killed in an airstrike. Head Mentor Callus was devastated, finally losing his only remaining family not to deprivation, but to violence. Driven forward by a desire for vengeance, he quickly climbed high in the enlisted ranks thanks to his street smarts and near suicidal courage. When the opportunity arose to join a program to "rehabilitate" the children of the former elite, he volunteered hoping for a chance to finally avenge his brother's death. However, after years of seeing hidden specks of kindness and decency peak out from under his angry exterior, I secretly believe that once he saw the scared Sixteen children standing in front of him, he couldn't put the image of his starving three-year old brother out of his mind. He then decided to "rehabilitate" us the only way he knew how: by making us strong.
I sit down carefully on my bunk, still wondering if this is some kind of ploy to really test my loyalty, but he carefully pulls a chair over and sits down directly in front of me, leaning over like a father about to give his son a treasured piece of wisdom.
"Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Never of anything more in my life, Head Mentor."
"None of the others have ever taken the path upon which you are about to embark. You will be the only one who will be able to guide you."
"I know."
"This isn't a free ride out, you know? More will be expected from you than ever before. You must become the best, the most honorable, the most tactically expert. People will look at you and see only your name. You must prove to them that you are something more."
"I understand, Head Mentor."
"Nothing against you, but I don't think you quite do yet. That's alright. You will learn as you are forced to learn. The training that you will receive will give you access to the most advanced weaponry the UDP has to offer: hovercraft, guns, bombs, missiles…but in the end they're all worthless if you don't understand one simple fact."
"What is that, Head Mentor?"
"You must become the weapon, Ares, through hard work, discipline, study, but above all honor. Never, not for one second give that up, or else you'll just be continuing on the legacy that you have worked so hard to erase."
"Yes, Head Mentor."
"Alright," he says climbing to his feet. "Get ready and meet me in front hall in one hour."
It only takes me twenty minutes to shave, brush my teeth, shower, and throw on my drab blue jumpsuit that has marked me as one of the Sixteen since my arrival here all those years ago. I slowly walk to the front hall and realize that I have half an hour alone with my thoughts. Head Mentor Callus' words roll like a wave over and over again through my mind. This man, this victim of my name has faith that I can become something better than my past. If he can forgive me, then maybe, just maybe, the rest of Panem can one day forgive me as well.
The double doors that lead to the auditorium fly open causing me to jump. It is Head Mentor Callus.
"They're ready. Come with me," is all he says. It is all he has to say. Slowly, I follow him inside. I look up the stage. The nine other mentors are all lined up, in full dress uniform, all their insignia bright and polished. In front of them is a face that I recognize only from watching the news. It is Driva Holmes, the newly elected President of the United Districts of Panem.
Head Mentor Callus leads me up to the stage before taking his place directly behind the President. She points to a spot in front of her and I march to it as boldly as I can without looking brash. I stand at rigid attention as she stares me down.
"I will ask one last time, is this your final decision?"
"Yes, Madam President!"
"Do you understand that once you take this oath, that it is binding and for life? If you violate it, you will be labeled as a traitor and punished according to the laws of this nation?"
"Yes, Madam President!"
"Very well, raise your right hand and repeat after me:"
I, Ares Snow, having been appointed an officer in the Defense Forces of the United Districts of Panem, do solemnly swear to uphold and defend the Constitution of this Nation against all enemies. That I will dedicate my life to serving my fellow countrymen and women in honor and fidelity, and that if asked, I will willingly lay down my life to defend their rights, safety, and freedom with Fate as my judge.
I repeat every word with pride. Before I realize it, it is over. She holds out her hand.
"Congratulations." I mindlessly reach out and shake it. There it is. I am no longer an enemy of the state. Now, I am its guardian.
One by one, all the mentors come forward, shake my hand, and give me their words of encouragement, but only one man's really counts to me right now. Head Mentor Callus is the last to come up. He offers a sharp salute, which I humbly return.
"Congratulations, Sir," he says grabbing my hand. "Remember my advice."
Tonight, I do.
The full moon brightly shines down on the island, illuminating everything in ghostly pale white. Guards pace nervously along the compound walls, staring out into the black jungle with their night vision glasses. Every flutter of birds' wings or cry of an animal in the blackness draws their worried attention. They nervously grip their rifles in hands that sweat through their gloves. The two corner watch towers blast their powerful searchlights through the trees scanning back and forth, but see nothing. Ohm doesn't dare step foot on the balcony overlooking the courtyard again. He won't risk a second encounter with one of my bullets.
In his place, stand another twenty armed hunters. I can only assume he has barricaded himself in the control room, standing guard next to my wife as the last few inches of air are pushed from the tube by the rising water. It is not enough to simply use his own men as human shields, but now he needs her for protection as well.
Nothing has been left to chance anymore. Extra ammunition has been issued. Shoulder launched anti-armor rockets have been assigned to everyone. All available hands have been put on watch, but even in their impregnable fortress that rests behind the three feet of reinforced concrete wall buried into the side of solid volcanic rock, no one feels safe. They all know that the final battle of this day is close at hand, but after seeing the fate of their comrades, they just don't know if they'll survive it.
Suddenly, one guard above the gate hears a distant roar from deep within the jungle. He looks forward, scanning the darkness with his night-vision glasses. He doesn't see anything at first and wonders if it's his mind playing tricks on him. No, it can't be in his head. The roar is definitely out there…and it is coming closer.
He clicks on his radio and yells into his headset. The guards and hunters spring into action. They all bring their weapons to the ready as the towers point their lights directly down the road. The roar grows louder and louder until the sound of grinding tracks joins in. The tank is coming…straight at them. The shouting begins. Orders are thrown in a hundred different directions. Finally someone takes control of the chaos and organizes the defense. They form a firing line at the front wall, anti-armor rockets armed and waiting.
Out of the darkness, Tracks appears. The order is given to wait until Snow is in range. The shots must count. They wait for the inevitable firing of the tank's main gun, but it does not come. This confuses them at first. Maybe the firing controls were destroyed when he took over Tracks. Maybe he just doesn't know how to work them by himself. It doesn't matter. He is speeding now, building up a huge head of steam and barreling straight for the compound.
"Fire!" Ten rockets launch simultaneously, barreling straight toward the tank, but they miss. He is coming in too fast, impossibly fast…and getting faster! "Reload, Reload!" The machine guns open up now, but their rounds bounce harmlessly off the tank's thick steel skin. More rockets, a few hit and cause some minor damage, but the tank is still coming. It will not stop.
"How is he not slowing down?" The guards begin to ask in their minds. "There is no way Snow can keep it under control and still stop unless…He's going to ram the gate!" The flash of realization hits them all at the same moment, but it is too late for most. Tracks continues at break-neck speed straight toward the front gate of the compound until finally…
"CRASH!" Tracks slams into the heavy steel gate without slowing. The steel gives way under the punishing momentum of the behemoth. The gates fly off their hinges and into the middle of the courtyard, taking a good section of the front concrete wall with it. Helpless guards fly through the air only to be crushed by falling debris or the impact of their fall.
Tracks as well is now mortally wounded. The front end is pulverized by the impact and smoke starts pouring from the engine. It slides straight forward another hundred feet, doing incredible damage as it destroys vehicles, crushes shipping containers, and sends fuel and ammunition flying until…
"BOOM!" The fuel and ammunition explode into a brilliant fireball that shoots five hundred feet into the air. The remaining survivors dive for cover, but quickly climb back up when they realize that the tank has come to a halt almost directly into the center of the courtyard, completely immobilized.
Ohm's last forces open fire immediately, pulverizing the tank with an unending hail of bullets, machine gun fire, and rockets until Tracks finally explodes into a second fireball that briefly illuminates the island war zone. The survivors stare on in disbelief.
"It couldn't have been that easy, but it was…I guess he just finally couldn't take it anymore and made one last suicidal charge for victory. However, we made it. We survived and won…"
It is not difficult to rig the throttle on a tank to accelerate. What's a lot harder is figuring out a way to keep it driving straight forward. Luckily, the last stretch of road before the compound was idiotically straight. A few minor adjustments to the springs on the steering yolk took care of that problem. Finally, all that was left was to set the computer on a countdown to engine start-up and then slip quietly into the jungle. Tracks' empty shell was enough to draw the attention of all Ohm's sensor nets directly to the road, allowing me to sneak up right to the wall. Next, the commotion and noise of the explosions gave me just enough time to scale the left guard tower and reach the top.
Tonight, I am the weapon.
The guards are all still distracted by the burning mess down in the courtyard. The pair of tower machine gunners I find quickly fall as silent victims under my hunting knife as I slash their throats from behind. Without breaking my stride, I un-sling the rocket launcher from my back and take aim at the second tower. I pull the trigger and watch it explode into a million pieces. This sends the remaining guards into a panic. My hands find the charging handle of the machine gun and I go to work.
The hunters on the balcony are the first to fall. I slice them down in a single hail of bullets. Most land right where they stood, but an unlucky few fall screaming into the flames below. The last few wall guards are next. Some try to futilely return fire from below, but the ramparts of the tower harmlessly deflect their rounds before they too fall against my onslaught. The rest who try to run don't last long.
With my remaining rounds, I take aim at all the equipment that is left in the courtyard. I will leave nothing standing in this place. Everything is destroyed under my tidal wave of burning steel bullets. At last, the machine gun runs out of ammunition and abruptly sputters to halt, its barrels glowing bright red. The only sound left is the burning of the fires. The moonlight has been replaced by a bright orange glow.
There are no survivors out here. I have done my work. Slowly, I make my way down from the tower and into the courtyard. I walk slowly, purposefully. Ohm can see me coming, but I want him to see me coming. I want him to see the sight of his own death approaching like justice personified.
I'm about to walk inside his mountain fortress when his loud voice begins to echo from what's left of the wall.
"Welcome, God of War!"
"Rikard, I'm giving you one last chance to surrender…"
"Please, we both know that we're past that formality now. Only one of us will be breathing when the sun rises, My Dear Colonel."
"Fine, have it your way then…" Suddenly, I freeze as fifteen workers from inside the mountain come screaming outside in terror. I bring my rifle up, ready to fire, but they all run straight past me, through the flames, and out toward the shattered front wall.
"Run for your life! It's out, it's out!"
"We gotta get out of here!"
Whatever they're running from, they'd rather take their slim chances in the jungle than face whatever is in their fortress. Now, I start to feel fear creeping up inside me again. Ohm's voice returns.
"I never did show you my most prized possession, Colonel?" He says followed by a maniacal laugh. Just after I led the rebels to your grandfather's final hiding place, I found something on the floor of his green house. Surely, you remember the handkerchief he carried in his pocket to wipe the blood from his diseased mouth, don't you? Well, I've kept it all these years, and I'm happy to say that Snow's blood has finally found a good use…"
"Rikard, what have you done!" I scream at the top of my lungs. I don't have to wait long for an answer. Another technician comes screaming from the inside but doesn't make it far. He disappears in a rose-colored flash fast as lightning as a massive set of jaws flies from inside the mountain, grabs him and pulls him back inside. There are a few moments of dreadful silence, followed by a deafening rattle.
"There are many things I remember about old Coriolanus, My Dear Colonel, but two stand out in my mind the most. The first was his everlasting love of roses, and the second was his piercing snake-like eyes. I merely had to combine the two to make a brilliantly poetic living weapon. Your wife and….well, I guess I should say just I will enjoy watching you die."
I have never seen a muttation in real life…until tonight. The UDP banned them as being crimes against humanity. Now, I see why. From inside the mountain crawls a massive rattlesnake, over fifty feet long and at least three feet wide. It slithers toward me with a sickening sound and its scales are colored a hideous rose-pink. As it sees my face, the target that it was born to kill, it rears back and towers into the air. The snake's mouth opens wide to reveal its two- foot long fangs dripping with deadly poison. It lets out a long, violent hiss and its gigantic tail rattles with delight.
I instantly recognize the beast's eyes. I've seen them all my life in films, posters, pictures, on my old punching bag in the Spym…but most of all, in my nightmares. They are the eyes of my grandfather, President Coriolanus Snow.