Die for You | Catching Fire

chapter forty-four

The sight of it stirs that feeling of deja vu again. Almost as if instead of being buried deep within the earth, he's back home, deep within that mountain behind Ravenna. At the ripe age of six, the children are taken on a class field trip to learn about the alternatives to poverty in the quarries or working in the weapon manufacturers. Serving one's Capitol as a Peacekeeping grunt. They call it an honor for the brave and true.

Just like District Two, District Thirteen is home to one hell of an arsenal. There's rows upon rows of firearms, launchers, explosives and armored vehicles. According to Dalton, they house their Airborne Division elsewhere. Ptolemus would be in awe if he weren't infuriated by the growing complexity of District Thirteen. So much for being bombed to radioactive ash.

"So they've been locked and loaded in their little caves while the rest of the Districts starved and sent their children to die every year?" he asks tightly.

Dr. Fission appears insulted as he scowls, but Dalton remains patient. "They had other problems. Their focus was to be entirely self-sufficient underground so that they wouldn't run out of resources."

Ptolemus might be sympathetic if they weren't calling for Sage and the other Victors' heads. Not to mention the nasty looks they've been giving her family since her Propo where all she did was stand there.

They finally reach their destination, which appears to be an underground training facility. To the right are ranges for long-distance weapons like rifles and bows, turf in the middle with several dummies and a climbing wall, and sparring rings to the left. Ptolemus scans the room silently until he notes the soft creaking of a wheelchair spinning toward his right side. He shifts his body to lock gazes with Beetee.

"I see you found it." Another adjustment of his glasses sliding down his nose, and he gestures toward the training facility. "I've been working on developing simulation booths like the ones they used in the Quell. Perhaps then it'd be safer for you to practice some forms of combat again until your injury has healed." Then he turns his chair, gesturing for him to follow. "Come. The others are waiting."

Others?

Ptolemus awkwardly follows the man as he leads him through a series of various prototypes and weapons along some shelves. There's another room with rubber padded walls and a turf coated floor, dummies and targets propped readily. To the right is where Beetee seems to be in the process of creating a simulation booth like from The Capitol's Training Center. Ptolemus avoids his gaze as haunting whispers from that damn Quell resurface. How in the hell was that over a month ago?

The additional figures almost blend in with the practice dummies, and if it weren't for his bronze hair, Ptolemus probably wouldn't notice him. Finnick wanders around with his hands poised neatly behind his back as his dazed stare inspects everything. A woman, perhaps the same age as his mother, stands readily at attention, though she doesn't appear to be another guard. The first thing Ptolemus notices is her left eye. Veiled silver.

"Ptolemus, this is Soldier Emery," Beetee introduces. She nods curtly in his direction. "Just like you, she has monocular vision. I utilized her expertise as well as Dr. Fission's here to develop your weapon. She also has agreed to train with you to help you adapt to potential changes in the way you may need to fight."

He straightens at that and just blinks dumbly. Up in the training yard, he's treated like a nuisance by the overseeing officers, as if he were a toddler for them to babysit with all his conditions and restrictions. He's not sure who to thank first, Beetee for consciously thinking about his new limitations and adhering to them, or Soldier Emery for even being willing to train him.

Ptolemus settles for both as he nods. "Thank you."

"Finnick," Beetee calls. The other Victor stumbles out of his daze at his name. "We're ready."