They had bought a television because Armin wanted to watch the games. He wanted to prepare. She would see him entranced by the glow late at night, watching the victors, watching the survivors, learning how to cheat, how to kill, how to win. Mikasa watched it for a different reason. She watched it for the President.
On the screen, Eren was smiling even though the host hadn't said anything amusing. He was thin, very thin, and his hair fell to his collarbone. His white suit was rumpled and creased. His eyes were blue today, like the bodies of suffocated coal miners. He leaned forward. His hands strangled each other.
"You know I can't divulge anything about the next Games," Eren said. He had dramatic makeup on. So did Jean, the host. Eren's looked like neon leopard spots scattered around his eyes.
"You have to give us something," Jean pleaded.
"What I can say," Eren said, pausing. "is that we're pulling out all the stops for this one." He showed his teeth.
Jean laughed. "How exciting!"
"There are going to be some changes too. You know how it was when we were young; I remember the reapings. I remember standing, waiting for them to say my name. I'm from twelve. Some days, we had dust storms. On days like that, the dust clouds blotted out the sun. You couldn't see much during my reaping. I was nine. I couldn't see over people's heads. But I remember the kids whose names were called. I remember their faces, too."
"I bet some of them are watching right now," Jean said.
"Most of them aren't," Eren said.
"I always forget you grew up in the districts! You're so well-adjusted."
"So do I," Eren said. "They don't let me forget it for long, though." Jean laughed and swatted Eren's knee as if they were old friends.
"Now, Eren," Jean said. "Tell me- because I've heard the rumors- that you have a special someone in your life now?"
Mikasa leaned forward.
"There is no one," Eren said.
"Come on," Jean said.
"What about the special someone in your life, Jean?" Eren asked. "Marco Bodt, I think his name was. The boy from the Capitol. One of our own."
Eren's makeup glittered in the camera lights. Jean sat back. Eren stared at his hands.
"There's something else I remember from the those days. You could never get the dust out, no matter how many times you washed it. Your clothes turned this dull red. My mom, she would make me wear colored clothes when I went out on dust days. Now-" Eren spread his hands, revealing his stark white suit, punctured only by the bloom of a red carnation at his breast pocket. "I wear whatever I want."
Armin came down the stairs. Mikasa switched off the television but not before he saw what she was watching.
"I thought you were going to take me hunting," he said.
"I am," Mikasa said. "Get your stuff."
The woods were still. Mikasa checked her snares, found nothing. "I don't know what you see in him," Armin said in the quiet. They could speak freely now.
"He's from twelve," Mikasa said. "Like us." Birds cried in the distance.
"No he's not. That's a story fabricated to make it seem like status and a position of power is attainable for the victors. If the President is a poor underfed boy from the districts, then that means anyone can make something out of themselves. He's a mutt; bred and designed by the Capitol."
"Doesn't that make him more like us?"
"I suppose," Armin said curtly. "Although his cause of death will be an overdose while ours will be from starvation."
"Not if we catch something," Mikasa said.
"With me tagging along? I doubt it," Armin said.
"You do make a lot of noise," Mikasa said. She was gratified to see him smile.
When Mikasa checked the last snare, she found a rabbit that was still alive. Its neck was bent, but its limbs were twitching. Armin's eyes were very wide. He couldn't look away. Mikasa couldn't kill it in front of Armin. She made him walk twenty paces away. A snag of wire, flanks heaving, eyes fevered with pain.
###
The first time Eren appeared on the White Tiger, he was sixteen and a victor. Mikasa watched the old tapes of the show.
"Eren Yeager! The boy from twelve!" Jean said as Eren walked on stage. The audience cheered. "Welcome to the White Tiger, Eren. You've certainly earned your stripes."
Eren sat down in the chair opposite from Jean. He scrubbed his hands on his pants. His suit jacket had heavy padding in the shoulders to make Eren look older. He wore minimal makeup.
"It's good to be here." Eren looked around as if in a daze.
"And- wow, I'm sorry, I can't focus," Jean said, peering at Eren. "Your eyes! Are those contacts? Where did you get them?"
Eren tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. "From my mom."
The audience cooed. Jean was delighted. "They really are breathtaking. Natural too."
"Now, Eren," Jean said. "How does it feel to be a victor?"
"It feels like I don't deserve it," Eren said.
"So modest," Jean said.
"Well, one of us has to be," Eren said. He was rewarded by the audience's laughter. It did something to him, changed something about his face.
Jean waited for the audience to quiet before speaking. "I take it your mother was a big source of motivation during the games?"
"She's the reason I won," Eren said. "She taught me everything I know."
"Is she waiting back home?"
"She's dead," Eren said.
"I'm sorry to hear it," Jean said. "You say she taught you everything. Tell me more about that."
Eren smiled. "She taught me how to dance."
Eren and Jean performed a popular dance from District Twelve for the roaring audience. It was a joke to them but Mikasa recognized the artistry in it, in the way Eren preened, the creaking of his long limbs, the longing captured in his gray eyes. All of Panem was falling for him.
Mikasa popped out the tape and the screen turned black. She inserted another one. Eren was older and more gaunt. She could see the bones in his face. His hair hung at his jaw. He had red spikes under his eyes like icicles reflecting a bloody sunset. Jean and Eren were talking about the newest trend at parties.
"I feel like people just do things because others say it feels good. But it doesn't actually feel good. Everyone just pretends that it does," Eren said.
"I thought that way too. I really did," Jean said. "Then I tried it and let me tell you-" Jean leaned in conspiratorially. "-I have never tasted so much delicious food in one night! Right?" He looked to the audience for support. "Am I right folks?"
Eren frowned. "My mother used it as medicine when you ate something bad and needed to throw it up."
"Then she wasn't using it correctly," Jean stage-whispered.
"I'll give it a try," Eren conceded.
Mikasa switched tapes. Eren grew older, his hair shooting down past his chin. He wore more makeup, white foundation with bold blue wings spreading from his eyes and orange contour on his face and nose. Fake moles dotted his cheek and chin. His brows were bleached white. He was somehow even thinner.
"What's this I hear about you announcing your candidacy for president?" Jean was saying.
Eren folded his hands in his lap. His foot bounced. "I believe I can provide what we all want. Entertainment."
"Yes, your campaign is entirely based around the Games, is it not?"
Eren nodded. "They've gotten stale. They need to be revitalized. We need people to watch."
"And, as someone who experienced the Games, you're the best man for the job," Jean said.
"That's right."
"And as someone from the Districts, you have no qualms about upping the- let's say- intensity of the Hunger Games?"
"Why would I?" Eren looked directly at the camera. He flashed a smile. White like a photo negative. Mikasa switched off the TV.
###
The reaping was in two days. Mikasa sawed off another lock of her hair. She had a blanket over her lap to catch the hair. The television was going. Armin was in the kitchen preparing dinner. They lived with only each other. There used to be Armin's grandfather and Mikasa's parents but they belonged to the earth now.
"You're going short, huh?" Armin said.
"I like it short," Mikasa said.
The television flickered. A symbol of a bird and laurels flashed. The anthem played. Eren was sitting with one leg crossed over the other. His eyes were green now. His hair was up in a spry bun. He had smoky eyeshadow on, fashioned after the paint that soldiers would use in the dark days during the old wars.
"Good evening," Eren said. "I have an announcement to make. In honor of the 50th annual Hunger Games, the remaining victor will receive a special prize."
He smiled; his foundation cracked from the lines in his face. His eyes were bloodshot, the pupils blown wide. His leg wouldn't stop bouncing. He was high, Mikasa realized.
"You want to know what you'll get if you win?" Eren asked. He stood, paced. The camera followed him warily. "You're going to fucking love this," he muttered, shaking his head, "love it. I LOVE IT."
His foot caught the step up to the stage. He went down. His hair fell from his bun, shrouding his face. Armin stopped cooking to watch from the kitchen. Mikasa set her knife down on the table. Eren climbed to his feet and adjusted his suit jacket.
"My hand in marriage," Eren said. "You get to marry me if you win. That's- that's it. That's the big surprise."
Armin had his hands over his mouth. "He can't do that."
Eren stumbled off to the corner of the room. He ducked his head. When he came up in side profile, Mikasa saw his throat bob once. The camera swiveled to the ground. The sound cut out. The sound suddenly came back.
"-keep that camera rolling or your family's going in the next games." Eren was speaking. He came into view. He smiled at the audience, sharp and honest.
"Play to win and my heart is yours," Eren said. He shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe you'll be the next president-"
The Capitol symbol replaced the image. A long beep blared from the TV. Mikasa shut it off.
"Everyone's going to volunteer," Armin said.
"That just means we have better odds," Mikasa said.
She picked up the blade and finished her hair. She was right. The stakes didn't matter. Her heart already belonged to the boy who had no future.
###
Armin came out of the room wearing her father's clothes. It reminded Mikasa of days long lost, days where her parents would read to her before bed and when the day lilies would grow sweet along the trail to their house. She thought of a time when her class took a field trip to the coal mines to learn about their eventual profession. She remembered the darkness like oil seeping into your skin.
"How do I look?" Armin said.
He looked young. Mikasa stepped forward and adjusted his suspenders. She fixed his collar.
"Handsome," Mikasa said.
"You look beautiful," Armin said. Mikasa was wearing her mother's dress. They were both playing pretend. They kept up the act on the way to the reaping, holding hands. The day was bright and the light settled on everything like a fine dust.
They walked to the square, where Armin and Mikasa had to separate because he was a year younger than her.
Mikasa hugged him tightly. "I'll find you afterwards," she promised.
"Okay," Armin said into her shoulder.
She took her place with the other eighteen-year-olds. Armin sunk into the crowd. His suspenders were twisted again. On the stage the glass balls filled with names shimmered, looking removed from reality. The announcer delivered the same speech as all the years before. Eren was not here, even though he was supposedly the only victor from twelve. He was never here.
It was time to pull the first name.
The announcer pulled out a slip of paper and his lips moved.
Mikasa watched the announcer's lips move again but the words did not make sense. She wasn't there anymore. She was back in the coal mines as a child, with the stony walls rushing by as the elevator descended. The kids from her class jostled her. They were all packed together. The elevator shook and several kids cried out. Their teacher shushed them. They reached the bottom and the kids shuffled out. The endless tunnels spilled in every direction like black rivers. Filthy miners wielding pickaxes worked along the rails.
Mikasa stayed near the elevator, trying to get her breathing under control. The earth shuddered like a waking beast. She couldn't breathe. Maybe there was bad air down here. She had learned about it in class. Maybe the same air that had filled her father's lungs was circulating in her system now.
Suddenly, a faint whistle came from one of the lesser tunnels. It sounded like the sharp cry of a bird. What was a bird doing so deep underground? It came again, long and reedy, like wind filtering through a wooden flute. The high note broke halfway through into a low one. Mikasa went over to the tunnel and listened. It came again. It sounded sad. It sounded like longing. It sounded like home.
"Dad?" Mikasa spoke into the tunnel. There was no reply. Mikasa entered the tunnel. Shadows from the torch light stalked her. The whistle came again, closer this time. She picked up the pace. The tunnel narrowed. Her throat closed with the tunnel. The bird sang again and Mikasa froze. It was coming from right behind her.
The torch went out, plunging her into darkness. The darkness was cold. It soaked into her heart. She shivered uncontrollably. She felt she would never be warm again.
"Mikasa Ackerman," the announcer said again. Mikasa couldn't move. She was in the dark. The Peacekeepers surged forward and that's when her legs started working again. She walked onto the stage. Armin was in the crowd with no color in his face. His mouth was moving but nothing was coming out.
"Excellent," the announcer said. He had makeup like Eren's. "Now for the boy." He drew a name and crisply spoke into the microphone. "Armin Arlert."
Mikasa closed her eyes.
"I volunteer."
Mikasa opened her eyes. A blonde boy pushed his way through the crowd. He held his head high. He looked like the shining eagle in the Capitol's symbol, proud and polished. The perfect tribute. "I volunteer," he said again with a rumble in his voice like distant thunder.
"Oh! We have a brave one!" said the announcer, excited. "And what is your name, young man?"
"Reiner Braun," the boy said.
They stand on the stage. Mikasa caught Armin's wild panicked eyes and tried to convey a single message to him: comply. He had the same look on his face as when they found that rabbit in the snare.
Reiner and Mikasa shook hands like they were supposed to. There was no applause. They were swept inside the Justice Building by Peacekeepers. When it came time for families to say goodbye to the tributes, Armin threw his arms around Mikasa.
"I can't lose you," he said.
"You won't," Mikasa said.
"You have to survive. Kill as many as you can," Armin said. His eyes brimmed with tears. "I don't care what you have to do. Just survive. You're strong. You can do it."
"I'll try," Mikasa said. She wanted to tell him that he had to survive too, that he had to hunt and eat, that he had to take care of himself. Then the Peacekeepers came. They moved to take Armin away but he walked out himself. Not looking back. That was the way it had to be. Reiner was saying goodbye to a younger sister or cousin and a mother.
Mikasa was back in the mines. Darkness enveloped her. It was a living thing, the way it coiled around her, filling her lungs, clogging openings, sealing airways. She began to cry. There was no escape. She couldn't find her way back without light. She was entombed in the earth. She would die in here alone, just like her father.
She sensed a presence. She heard the whistle again, soft and low this time, right next to her. Mikasa turned but she still couldn't make anything out. A hand slipped into hers. Mikasa flinched at first but the hand was so warm she found herself squeezing it, trying to get some of the warmth for herself. The fear ebbed like waves breaking on a shore. The hand squeezed back, letting her know that she was okay, that everything was going to be okay. She found herself believing this. The hand was small, like a child's. Like hers. She felt at the jump of a pulse.
She stood like this for a long time, not talking, just breathing and siphoning off heat. It was like cupping a tiny fuming candle, praying that it doesn't go out.
The hand gently unwound from hers. The presence was gone. The teacher found her alone in the tunnel, tear stains running through the mask of coal dust on her face.
"Why?" Mikasa asked Reiner as they boarded the train.
"I'm going to kill him," Reiner said, heedless of the cameras. "The President."