tw: dropped the f bomb in Mishra's pov.
Tamin Sirket, 18, District 5
Somehow, Tamin finds himself standing at the edge of a wooden beam approximately twenty feet above the head of the tallest person on the ground.
He never thought he would fear something as minuscule as heights.
With nearly half the obstacle course left, turning around is hardly an appropriate option for the boy. It would be quicker to continue forward, balancing on the wood and the ropes and enjoying an easy climb down at the end.
He just has to make it to the end.
It frustrates him to no end how he's fighting for his life, literally, within the next few days, yet standing up on a structure this high in the air is currently eating him alive.
(He's felt this way before, in the years following his father's death. He's all too familiar with the feeling and would do anything to drop it.)
"You won't fall," a boy's voice distracts Tamin from his impending doom. He shifts his body to face the boy, who he recognizes as the boy from Nine. Tamin didn't realize anyone else was on the course with him, but he likely joined a lot later than Tamin did.
How long had Tamin been up here?
"I know," Tamin says. It's true, his harness has been secured around his abdomen and legs since the start. The rope securing him to this elevation hasn't shown any sign of weakening.
In theory, all of that should have been enough for him, and he's furious it's not.
The boy passes Tamin on an adjacent board. A handful of steps and swings later, he lands himself on the stable section.
"Just focus on me, and take it one step at a time." Tamin does just that, his focus locked in on the boy.
Mrs. Sill gave him similar advice after Tamin lost his father. He could have lost himself, even he could tell he was traveling down that path when she took him under her wing.
She can't save him now. He has to save himself.
One step at a time, that's how he overcomes this newfound fear. The encouraging words from the stranger helping him.
(Tamin's not used to being on the receiving side of such help.)
Before he knows it, he has a secure foothold at the end of the course. The only thing standing between him and the ground is a meager ladder.
And the boy from Nine.
"Thanks. I didn't catch your name," Tamin says.
"Roman. And, don't worry about it. It wasn't the heights you were scared of," he says with a confidence that only confuses Tamin. He must expect that, because his next words come too fast, "An old mentor taught me that, when we're afraid, it's usually not the action we're taking we're afraid of. It's the outcome if we fail, that's what we're afraid of. Survival instincts."
"You've lost me," Tamin says after a few moments.
"Are you afraid right now?" Roman asks. Tamin shrugs. "That's because you're not at risk of falling. If you weren't secured in a harness, you could fall, likely to your death." Roman peers over the edge as if to confirm the truth behind his statements.
"I don't see how it makes a difference," Tamin replies.
"When you're in the arena, you have to rely on your instincts to get you through it. You can't be afraid of taking action when your life is on the line." The more Roman talks, the less Tamin thinks he understands.
He should understand if he wants a chance at survival, though.
"Okay…thanks for the advice," Tamin says, both wishing to get off this platform and away from the physiological conversation. He climbs down first, Roman shortly behind him, and that's when he realizes how many people have cleared out around them. Most, if not all of the outer district kids have left, and the only few that remain are the Careers and Eleanora.
"Yeah. Sure." Roman's eyes fall around the room alongside Tamin's.
"Who was your mentor? Older brother?" Tamin isn't sure why the question escapes his lips. Maybe as the eldest himself, Roman's words feel like the same advice he'd give his siblings.
(Maybe it's advice he misses receiving from his dad.)
Roman laughs, "No. I'm the oldest. I've probably given that same speech to my siblings, for all the good it's done them." His tone is light, but Tamin can sense a subtle twinge of jealousy in his words.
"I'm sure they appreciated it, even if they aren't the best at showing it. I have…four younger siblings."
"Same." Roman's words bring Tamin back to the train itself. Watching the reaping recap, he remembers this boy as a volunteer, and he feels silly he didn't put two and two together earlier.
"You volunteered for your brother." Tamin's ask is more of a statement, and Roman nods in confirmation.
A rare sight these days. Tamin tries to visualize a scenario where Dorian is reaped, and Tamin has to watch him take the stage. Even in a completely fictitious scenario…Tamin isn't sure if he'd be able to do the same thing Roman did.
He's loyal to his brothers. He helped a stranger when he didn't have to. Tamin's brain rattles with the choice that's presented itself to him.
Opportunities don't often present themselves to Tamin Sirket.
"Would you want to ally?" The words escape as quickly as they enter Tamin's brain, and to Roman's credit, he doesn't react poorly.
"Yeah." Roman offers Tamin a friendly smile, and despite the circumstances surrounding their alliance, Tamin feels relatively reassured.
A pair of brothers. Something about the idea reassures Tamin. Of course, it's based in an idealistic expectation for how the Games will go. One way or another, Roman would have to die for Tamin to return home to his family.
At the end of the day, he can only hope his survival instincts outmatch his allies.
Valerian Ignatia, 18, District 1
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
How hard is it to pretend to be someone else? Someone Val's known his whole life? It's easy enough for people to mistake them for one another - all he has to do is play the part.
He couldn't even do that right.
Amatus couldn't just let it go. He couldn't let go of the fact that Val-Vitali's fighting wasn't up to his standards.
(Cali was generous. Amatus was not. He was out for blood.)
The first fight and Val holds him off…decently. Any potential damage is blocked successfully by his sword.
The second one ends with a small tear in his training shirt. Fortunately for Val, it goes no deeper than that.
Don't be careless, he scolds himself. Vitali wouldn't be careless, and he's just an extension of his brother.
An inferior extension-
And it's while he's in his head that Amatus takes the moment to catch his arm with his sword.
It doesn't hurt. There's no pain. There's only fear. The blood stains his jacket and drips down his arm and it drips onto the floor and Valerian knows the cursed truth of the matter.
It won't stop.
"You should clean that up," Amatus smirks and leaves him alone at the station. He doesn't notice the shallow breaths that have grappled the boy. His other hand presses on the wound.
Blood slips through his fingers anyway.
The Careers clear out but the world is spinning around Valerian Ignatia and he doesn't know what to do. Not until a voice brings him back to reality.
His deadly reality.
"Hey, um, just ignore him. He's not worth it," their voice is soft and Valerian can't remember the last time someone spoke to him like that.
(He can, actually, but he can't think about him now. He's gone, and Valerian will be too if he doesn't do anything.)
"Help me," his words slip out of his mouth before he has the opportunity to think about the consequences of releasing those into the air.
Instead of judgment or amusement, Klara's face presents only concern.
"There's a nurses station…come on," she holds their hand out to help guide him.
He doesn't take it. He doesn't dare release the wound.
He doesn't know if it'll make a difference.
He's not sure how long he's with the nurse. It may have been shorter, had he been able to explain what was wrong with him.
The nurse simply doesn't understand what he means when he says over and over again he's not Vitali.
To Valerian's surprise, Klara makes no move to interject themselves. They even offer Valerian some privacy.
He doesn't kick her out. If he's going to die…he doesn't want to do it alone.
He's dizzy and lightheaded as multiple nurses ask him the same questions over and over again. One sews up his cut at some point, but he's not quite sure when.
He's not sure if it even matters.
Conversations happen all around him yet he's lost in his own brain, falling back on the same thought over and over again.
What would Vitali do?
A needle enters his upper arm and the shock of it brings him back to the tragic reality he's trapped in.
"This will stop the bleeding for only twelve hours. That should be enough for everything to clot properly. Take extra care for the rest of training to not reopen the wound, but come back immediately if you do," a nurse kindly explains. He thanks her an excessive amount of times.
I'm not going to die.
It doesn't raise his confidence by any means, but it allows him just enough room to breathe to get through the rest of the day.
Until his mentor, Soraya Laurent walks through the doors.
"Can you leave us?" she asks Klara. Klara's eyes fall to Val and he's unsure how to respond to them. A few long seconds pass before Klara leaves.
"I think you'll understand when I say I'm a little confused, wouldn't you?" Her words are direct, but there's no sharpness to them.
"I…yes." Val racks his brain for an explanation of any kind. None fall to his lips.
"I remember training with your brother when we were younger. We didn't fall into many of the same classes, but when we did, he always stood out to me. I remember thinking to myself, 'That boy's going into the arena, and I wouldn't be surprised if he makes it through alive.' I remember…hearing about the fire. How sorry I was for him and his family. I remember how quickly he returned. I thought that was strange, 'shouldn't a brother have more time to grieve?' But what surprised me the most was watching him train again. It was so different than what I was used to seeing from him." Soraya takes a breath and her eyes meet Valerian's and he knows what's coming before she says it. "Vitali didn't make it out of that house, did he?"
Lies spread from Valerian's brain to his tongue, but he can't force them into the air. What's the point? Everything he hoped to avoid is actively culminating around him, and there's nothing he can do to stop the fire from spreading.
"No," is the only word Val can muster up the energy to say.
"Vitali Ignatia died, and Valerian survived," Soraya says. Val isn't sure if she's asking or telling, so he just nods. Her next question shouldn't have caught him as off guard as it does.
"Why lie?"
Why?
Because I had to.
Because I killed him, and he deserved to live.
(So did I.)
Because if I didn't, no one would.
(No one had to.)
"My parents…still wanted Vitali to win. So…I have to win," Valerian's words are as strong as his fragile blood and he knows Soraya can see straight through him. To her credit, she hasn't walked out or completely disowned him yet. He would expect that to come soon enough.
"That's not what you want," she says. Val motions to disagree, but silence replaces his words.
(The last person who asked him what he wanted was Vitali, and Vitali is dead.
And Valerian will join him soon enough if he continues down this path of carelessness.)
Bazooka Wildbrand, 17, District 3
Bazooka has been tinkering with the fake bomb all afternoon. Despite the trainer reaffirming time and time again that it's "perfect" and "marvelous" and whatever other fake words he tries to use to get Bazooka to leave the station, none of it dissuades her.
It only ignites the fire in her further.
With that also comes the unfortunate side effect of intense frustration. Here in the Capitol, where supplies and materials should be both endless and excellent, the invention she's crafted in her mind should easily transfer over into real life.
She's missing something. The station is missing a critical component.
What the hell is she missing?
Her eyes dart around the room, around the clusters of faceless people that she's supposedly been surrounded by for the two days. Other than Mishra, she can hardly put a name to any of their faces.
Mishra, and the strange girl that joined her that morning. What was her name?
Never mind her, Bazooka has more important problems to solve.
Where did she even go? Another glance around the room proves fruitless, yet reveals another strange and likely irrelevant observation; Mishra is nowhere to be seen.
He might be able to help her. Despite the little she knows about him, she does know he comes from a highly prestigious program for the brightest minds in Three.
Maybe he can help her put the final touches on her device.
She knows the Peacekeepers back home are still searching for the creator of the bomb that left a mark so large it'll be talked about for years to come. She knows that the device in front of her has the potential to be so much bigger, that she's not even afraid of the connection it'll draw back to her. They'll finally get their answer on who the perpetrator was back in Three while the rest of the world marvels at her crafting prowess.
If she can overcome this hurdle.
Where's the other girl? And why can't she remember her name? She showed a keen interest in Bazooka's efforts. In those moments the girl was alongside her, Bazooka didn't recognize nor appreciate that. She's unsure of the girl's specialties or talents, but they may prove more useful than Bazooka may have initially believed.
Bazooka stands up for the first time in a few hours, her joints screaming in relief at the change in position. As the blood flow returns, her eyes continue to wander for Mishra or the young girl. Beth? No, it wasn't Beth.
Becca! That's her name!
Bazooka floats towards the crowds, hoping she can pull her face out of the crowd. Plus, pulling her eyes away from the station will allow her to come back with a fresh mind, almost a reset slate.
(That same logic is what compelled her to volunteer, after all. By submitting herself to the Hunger Games, she could go in with a fresh slate. No one knows what the strange girl from Three has to offer, but they soon will, and once they do, they won't ever forget her.)
Becca! Bazooka spots her alone by the rock wall. Sweat drips down her face as Bazooka approaches her.
"You should help me," Bazooka's words fly out so fast that Becca nearly jumps at her arrival.
"What the hell?" Becca takes a step back as if Bazooka's arrival is a threat to her.
It's quite the opposite! Bazooka smiles.
"You were curious about what I've been creating, yes? Well, I've hit a road bump. Come back to the station, and we can work it together." Bazooka points at the station, a million ideas and possibilities already running through her mind.
If she could just get a hand-
"No," the girl's tone is firm and it leaves Bazooka confused. No? How does this not excite her?
Does she not want to be a part of history?
"Okay. That's okay." It's not quite okay but Bazooka doesn't want to scare away a potential assistant.
She glances around again for her district partner, the only other person that she may have a chance at recruiting, but again he's nowhere to be found. Maybe she can ask a trainer. Which trainer, though? She hasn't kept an eye on Mishra since training began.
She hasn't kept an eye on anyone but herself.
Regret and fear start poking at the barrier that Bazooka has perfected, a constant shield of protection from the dangers living in her district. Although there's no fear of those feelings getting through, she can't help but hate the fact they're there trying.
"I'm sorry," Bazooka mumbles to herself as she slinks back to her invention.
A blank slate. That's what she is hoping to return to as she gets reacclimated to the space.
That's what she hopes to get out of this entire experience. A fresh start for Bazooka Wildbrand. A newfound glory for her to make strides in her inventions.
Instead, all she gets is a dud and continued solitude.
Chaffinch Canasto, 13, District 11
Chaffinch doesn't understand the purpose of training.
He tries, too. He flocks around the bigger kids, watching their movements from the shadows of the room. He watches them hit each other with swords and climb obstacles and build shelters.
He doesn't quite understand why.
He especially doesn't understand why some of the stations are even offered. Doesn't everyone know how to make a comfortable sleeping spot from straw? Or how to climb trees?
Or are they all like the woman who brought him food? Living their lives in a house, secluded from the world?
He didn't really care to figure it out. He enjoys the organized chaos of it all. The fights between the large group of kids, the fire starting from the duo of smaller kids, and the scavenging and building from the tall scrawny girl who too has kept to herself.
Except for the boy who calls himself Vetiver. He's caught Chaffinch's eye.
Chaffinch didn't expect to find anyone here that interesting. When the boy initially approached him, he almost fled.
Yet there was something about his scent that compelled Chaffinch to stay—the familiarity of the trees and animals that travel alongside him.
He wasn't from home, Chaffinch knows. The numbers on their shirts differ, and there's just enough of a difference between the smell of the trees engulfing him compared to the trees Chaffinch is used to.
Still, he's the only one here that brings that comfort with him.
A comfort missing since the old maid stopped visiting.
Chaffinch isn't sure what's next for all of them. He doesn't know what they're all preparing for, with this training. He just knows what he's doing next.
He hopes it's as satisfying as he intends.
Behind the table with the berries and leaves and whatever else rests a small brown bag. Chaffinch noticed the lady at the table walk in with it across her body and set it down shortly after. The day has almost ended and she hasn't reached for it yet.
Which means she won't miss it if it's not there for a few minutes.
Luckily for him, she's been preoccupied with a trio of smaller kids for her to notice it moves. Even so, her bag has nothing in it except a few small containers of a weird liquid, and Chaffinch's bag now contains many handfuls of straw. That clearly makes them different bags.
The ordeal takes Chaffinch no more than a few minutes and ends with him in the elevator rising to the tenth floor. He assumes that's where the boy will be later.
He's not sure how long later is, but he hopes it's enough time to get started.
There's no one else on the floor, and fortunately for Chaffinch, it's the same layout as floor eleven, where he and Reagan stay at night.
So he finds the boy's room in no time. Like Chaffinch's room, it's relatively put together.
Unlike Chaffinch's room, the bed looks slept in. Chaffinch hasn't touched his bed once since his arrival. It's too uncomfortable, too suffocating.
With the bag open, Chaffinch gets to work at his creation just like he practiced downstairs. He compacts the straw together, methodically working as the minutes pass.
It does take longer than his previous work, as this boy will need additional straw because of his height.
Still, Chaffinch finishes building the straw nest with plenty of time to spare. A smirk forms on his face.
I just hope he likes it.
He realizes he'll find out soon enough, as the distinct sound of a human voice echoes down the hall.
A female's voice, but a voice nonetheless.
Chaffinch refuses to get caught like this. Without giving it a second thought, he scurries up the front of the dresser and lays down in a curled-up ball at the top. The space between him and the ceiling is small but not uncomfortable. And that's where he waits as he watches Vetiver enter the room.
To his credit, he doesn't overreact or panic. He takes in the creation, resting just off to the side of the room, and glances around for any signs of the perpetrator. It takes all Chaffinch can manage not to chuckle.
"I recognize the craftsmanship," he says as he checks under the bed, behind the bed, and starts to check the bathroom. "It's very well made."
Chaffinch smiles. He knows it's well made.
"Thank you…for creating it for me. It's lovely." He runs his fingers through the edges of his hair, confused to the location of the small boy. Chaffinch doesn't mean to release the tiny laugh, but the sight of the boy perplexed standing in front of a hand-crafted nest is too much for him to take seriously.
His eyes rise to the top of the dresser and Chaffinch just smiles. Somehow, it makes Vetiver smile too.
"You're…alone now, aren't you?" he asks. Chaffinch stays perched on the dresser, his head tilting in wonder.
(He's been alone since he was a lot smaller. Since he saw the maid disappear inside the house for the very last time.)
"You can join me. If you want. I…have an alliance, I guess. But if you wanted to join…" His voice trails off and it only adds to the confusion in Chaffinch's mind.
He climbs down from the top of the dresser and lands with his wingspan ever so slightly extended. A slight nod of the head from Chaffinch, and Vetiver smiles back.
It doesn't give Chaffinch a lot of indication of what's coming next, but it does make him relieved that he's not going at it alone anymore.
(Something he has been doing since the last night he saw the maid.)
(He just hopes that this boy won't abandon him like she did.)
Aizen Miura, 12, District 12
"So, you want to ally with her because she performed first aid on a mannequin?" Grey asks softly.
(When Aizen was questioned about his father's whereabouts, the voices were just as soft. When his body was found, that quality vanished.)
Aizen might've recognized a potential pattern if his head weren't lost in the stars.
"They said it wasn't possible, but, but she did it anyway. It's impressive. She's also really sweet." Aizen's eyes fall on Mori with every word that escapes his breath. Whether he's seeking affirmation or approval, he's not sure.
(She's been so stoic since the morning, and Aizen can't place why.)
"Ah. Thank you for explaining," Grey says, his eyes falling back and forth between his two strange volunteers.
(Aizen needs to know why. Did he do something again? He's trying so hard to improve her chances to win.)
"Is that okay?" he asks quietly.
"Oh, yes, I think another ally is great for the two of you. Considering some of the theatrics coming from some other kids, I think she was a smart decision." His smile does little to reassure Aizen as his anxieties have already grabbed ahold of him and threaten to suffocate him if he's not careful.
He looks at Mori for reassurance as he's done time and time again since he met her. Despite her never faltering face, he's always felt like he has a good understanding of her feelings.
(He wonders why lately that hasn't been the case. Was he mistaken all this time? Did he never truly understand Moriko Ostrya?
Or has he always misinterpreted her?)
He doesn't think Grey is waiting for a response from his district partner.
From his friend.
"She might be the only one, I think. I don't know." Aizen's eyes plead to Mori and yet she still doesn't gift him that.
She's mad at me. I've messed it all up. Tears threaten to fall and Aizen doesn't think there's anything he can do to stop them.
"That's…okay. A group of three is solid. You can remain open to allies tomorrow if you want. Her district partner may be inclined if you trust him too. Either way, I'm proud of you both." Grey's smile breaks the weak façade that's holding the small boy together, and by the time Mori has vanished from the room, his eyes are blurry with tears.
Aizen thinks he hears Grey ask what the issue is. He might ask a few questions of the sort, Aizen's not fully sure.
She's mad at me. She hates me. I'm alone. I've doomed us both. I've doomed Exa. I should tell her. She shouldn't have to die with us.
"Talk to me," Grey's voice breaks through the noise and Aizen realizes how ridiculous he must look in front of his mentor.
"It's okay…" her voice pulls Aizen out of the path he was traveling down, and into a flicker of hope he hopes never extinguishes.
(Aizen knows by now that the people around him will never perceive him as he truly is, and it seems that everyone who does dies. First, it was Iwao Miura. Next, it'll be Moriko. Then…him.
For once, Aizen just wants to do something right, something good with his life. He can't have the stars remember him as someone who failed.)
"I'm scared," Aizen admits. A secret he's sure everyone around him is privy to, something about giving the words life makes it all real.
(He is scared. He is going into the Hunger Games and he knows he won't come out.)
"I think rest might suit you both well," Grey suggests. Mori is the first to get up from the table and sink into the darkness that covers the twelfth floor. Aizen moves to follow her but doesn't go anywhere with Grey's hand falling on his arm. The mentor waits until a door shuts in the distance before speaking
"You really care for her, don't you?" Grey asks, expecting the nod Aizen manages.
"She's been there for me when…no one was." If Aizen closes his eyes, he can picture the day he met her as if it were yesterday. He remembers how brave she looked to him. That bravery, that carries her even now while he sobs himself into oblivion. "I don't want to lose her."
(He doesn't want to lose himself, either.)
"I shouldn't tell you this now, but I think you deserve it. Do you see this?" Grey holds up the large leather-bound book he's had with him since the reaping. Aizen nods, and he continues, "It holds stories of the tributes I've gotten to know over the years. I started with some of the tributes from my Games…and I've never stopped. I intend to capture your story as well, the both of you, regardless of the outcome of the arena. Maybe you can tell me more about her?"
Aizen would want nothing more. Maybe the way his face lights up answers the question.
(He may not be able to change their fate, but he can give them something better: the truth. The real story of Moriko Ostrya.)
(Grey may be giving them something Aizen will never be able to repay.)
Mishra Erfinder, 17, District 3
Like everything else in Mishra's life, he isn't quite sure how he ended up in this situation.
Everything that should be so simple always ends up more complicated than he intended. Hell, it's such a trend that Mishra starts to wonder if he's to blame.
The Academy. His brother. Filo. On paper, all present simple problems. In practice…
He's still trying to put the pieces in place. And now he has an extra hand he didn't quite ask for, nor has he decided if it's a decision he'll regret.
(Another trend plaguing Mishra: regret. If he could only learn the truth…)
Filo types the code they…acquired into the computer. Mishra is given the task to watch out for guards, but the only thing he can watch is the screen Filo manipulates.
"Hurry, hurry," Mishra's whispered tone captures every ounce of his anxiety.
"I'm trying," Filo's tone is direct, and that does nothing but instill more fear into the boy. His eyes flicker around the files Filo clicks around in, desperate to land on something.
(The Mishra part in him wants Filo to find something that proves them right. The sane part of him wants anything but that.)
Minutes tick on and the odds of someone passing by and catching them rise by the tick. For fear of being caught, Mishra is about to call off the entire search.
(For fear of Filo finding exactly what he's looking for, more like it.)
"Wait-wait-wait-what's that?" Mishra's eyes dart past a folder hidden deep within the root of the drive. A folder so inconspicuous he only drew attention towards it assuming it's nothing.
How wrong he was, yet how right it felt being…right.
Where has being right gotten him? Standing beside someone he met less than a day ago, stalking through the dark halls certainly filled to the brim with cameras into a series of Peacekeepers and Avoxes and mentors and other tributes who would have no problem cutting out his tongue.
He can't tell Panem the truth if he can't speak.
(That's assuming there's any truth to it anyway.)
"What are we looking for?" Ozzy's voice cuts through the static, echoing off the hollow walls that surround them. Mishra isn't even sure what part of the training center they've wandered into. A back staircase down into a dark corridor, a few nonsensical turns later, and they're in an old record room of sorts.
Minus the records, of course. Mishra and Ozzy stand in a desiccated room filled with collapsing metal shelves and an army of cobwebs.
"This isn't some elaborate plan to murder me, is it? There's plenty of time for that…" Ozzy stays by the door.
"Fuck," Mishra mutters to himself. Not only is he living on limited time, but he's also dragging someone else into his mess who otherwise would have no threat looming over his head.
"If you explained a little more to me, maybe I could help you search-" Ozzy starts before Mishra grips his arm, silencing him instantly.
"Shh!" Mishra's voice dropping out leaves nothing in the air, leaving the noise he hears to echo around the hollow room.
Footsteps. Both Mishra and Ozzy find their eyes following the sound above them, watching the dust subtly displace from the ceiling.
'We should go,' Ozzy mouths to the paranoid boy. With no reason to argue, he backtracks through the abandoned records room, back down the hallways, and through the maze of staircases that brought them here initially.
In fact, the duo makes it to the edge of the training center quickly, far enough for Mishra to drop his guard.
Amateur mistake. If he hadn't, maybe the mentor's arrival wouldn't have startled him as much.
"You two have ten seconds to explain this to me." In the dark and scared shitless, Mishra doesn't recognize Aleida Edevane right away.
"Is it illegal to find an alliance? To train together?" Ozzy gestures to the dark and empty training room that surrounds them, as convincing as Mishra must look.
We're going to get Avoxed. All of this was for nothing.
Aleida grabs both boys by their arms and drags them over to the main elevator. With a slam of the button, the contraption whirrs to life and Mishra can see it approaching them.
"You know what, you're not my problem. Go to your floors and bother your own mentors," Aleida says just before the elevator doors open. Ozzy boards first, pressing the button to likely his floor. He doesn't bother to hold the door, he must've assumed Mishra would quickly follow.
He doesn't. Mishra waits for the doors to close behind him before he pleads to the mentor standing in front of him.
"I need your help." Mishra isn't sure what compels him to try his luck a second time. He knows little about Aleida, but what he does know is he's resourceful, and he's been in the Capitol long enough to have more connections than Mishra could ever dream of.
He explains what he's looking for. He explains what he and Filo found that day, hidden deep within the program's files. He explains it all so quickly that Aleida can't stop him from talking, even if he wants to.
(Lethal weaponry. That's all they were contributing to. Not the good of Panem, certainly not to change lives. Their world-class inventions were being used for destruction.)
At some point during his rapid explanation, Aleida calls the elevator for the second time. It opens just as Mishra finishes his plea for help, his plea to find any information about what this weaponry is actually being used for.
Most importantly, who it's being used against.
Aleida slams the button to take Mishra back to his floor, all while remaining silent, processing the words Mishra just dumped on him.
"Go," Aleida says with a gentle shove. As the elevator doors shut him away, Mishra can only hope he convinced the mentor to help him find the truth.
If the truth is good…Mishra is good. Everything he's done, none of it would be in vain.
(Aadin would be wrong about him, and the Capitol would see how dedicated Mishra is to them and their program.)
He doesn't know what he'll do if his weapons are being used in any other way.
In the depths of District Five.
Tatiana thought she knew hunger.
She's been through the Hunger Games. She survived. Very few can say the same.
It's been days since Samson last visited, and with each passing hour, she becomes more and more certain she'll never see him again.
He was supposed to secure a transfer for her. She needs to get out of the District. With Conrad running around unchecked on the surface, she needs to put as much distance between the two of them as she can.
Yet her time may have run out all the same.
Curled up in the corner of the bunker. That's where she lies as something approaches her. Between sleep deprivation and hunger, her initial instinct is to lash out at whatever it is.
Her second instinct is to cook the meat attached to the animal's bones.
It takes multiple words from the man for her to stop slashing.
It takes a few more for her to recognize him.
"Do you have food?" The sound of her own voice almost makes her jump. She didn't expect it to be so raspy, so hollow.
Hardly like the one she's known her entire life.
"Here." He pulls plastic-wrapped sandwiches out of his bag and Tati doesn't care what they contain, she could swallow them in one bite, plastic and all.
"We're not staying. Grab whatever you can," he says no sooner than Tati can finish one full sandwich. She's unwrapped the second when his words settle.
"Where are we going?" Possibilities scatter through Tati's mind, yet none take hold as the entirety of her concentration is on the sandwich.
"I think we can get you into Eight from here," Samson's words are sensical, but despite days without food, Tati's survival instincts never fade.
He's afraid. The subtle tone gives him away.
"Don't lie to me," Tati says as she grabs the small satchel she's had prepared for this exact moment.
"District Five is on lockdown. Communication is being severely restricted and what is coming through is heavily monitored. I think they know you're near." Another series of words Tatiana Emery has spent the last decade of her life preparing for.
That doesn't make it any easier to swallow.
"Then you should've come sooner." She's not sure how much of her tone is fueled by persistent hunger despite her recent consumption.
Samson doesn't respond. The pair move quickly through the bunker. Tati's knife has found its way to her grasp, in case those searching for her have already sniffed her out.
In case Samson himself had something to do with all of this.
The possibility doesn't settle well with her. The idea that the man who has always been ever so reliable could flip. As it would be, this is hardly the most danger the pair have found themselves in.
(The difference in the past is Conrad was here to strategize alongside them.)
Conrad. The timing of it all is too convenient for him to have nothing to do with it. Like she feared, moving to above-ground hiding would present nothing but issues for him and her. He's put her in unacceptable danger.
Two can play that game, then.
"Samson." Tati's tone stops the man in his tracks.
And as she instructs him on what to do next, a smirk falls over her.
Good luck above ground now, Conrad.
wahoo! this is poorly edited so sorry if it doesn't make sense.
uhh this is when in theory I should have the list of the next set of povs but I would like to review them first so the next set will be a surprise!
(ill likely announce it on discord when I figure it out if you're not on discord hmu in DMs and ill tell u there)
~moose