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Another force to contend with. Another power player who had decided to use (M/N) as a piece in her games, although things never seemed to go according to plan. First there were the Gamemakers, making him their star and then scrambling to recover from that handful of poisonous berries. Then President Nezu, trying to use (M/N) to put out the flames of rebellion, only for his every move to become inflammatory. Next, the rebels ensnared him in the metal claw that lifted him from the arena, designating him to be their Mockingjay, and then having to recover from the shock that he might not want the wings. And now Kaina, with her fistful of precious nukes and her well-oiled machine of a district, found it was even harder to groom a Mockingjay than to catch one. But she had been the quickest to determine that (M/N) had an agenda of his own and was therefore not to be trusted. She had been the first to publicly brand him as a threat.
(M/N) ran his fingers through the thick layer of bubbles in his tub. Cleaning him up was just a preliminary step to determining his new look. His prep team had to make him look appealing and then damage, burn and scar him in a more attractive way.
The next day said prep team was there and ready to remake him. They didn't talk too much, which was a change of pace, though he couldn't blame them, after what they had been through. The preps did pretty well until they tried to address the spot on (M/N)'s arm where Neito dug out the tracker. None of the medical team was focusing on looks when they patched up the gaping hole. Now he had a large jagged scar that rippled over a space the size of an apple. Usually, his sleeve covered it, but the way Keigo's Mockingjay costume was designed, the sleeves stopped just above the elbow. It was such a concern that Kan and his assistant were called in to discuss it. Just the sight of it triggered his assistant's gag reflex. For someone who worked with a Gamemaker, she was awfully sensitive. But (M/N) guessed she was used to seeing unpleasant things only on a screen.
"Everyone knows I have a scar here," (M/N) said.
"Knowing it and seeing it are two different things," Kan's assistant said. "Kan and I will think of something during lunch."
"It'll be fine," Kan said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Maybe an armband or something."
(M/N) got dressed so he could head to the dining hall. His prep team huddled in a little group by the door.
"Are they bringing your food here?" (M/N) asked.
"No. We're supposed to go to a dining hall."
(M/N) sighed inwardly as he imagined walking into the dining hall, trailed by these three. But people always stared at him anyway. This would be more of the same. "I'll show you where it is," (M/N) said. "Come on."
The covert glances and quiet murmurs (M/N) usually evoked were nothing compared to the reaction brought on by the sight of his bizarre-looking prep team. The gaping mouths, the finger pointing, the exclamations. "Just ignore them," (M/N) told his prep team. Eyes downcast, with mechanical movements, they followed him through the line, accepting bowls of greyish fish and okra stew and cups of water.
They took their seats at (M/N)'s table, beside a group from the Seam. They showed a little more restraint than the people from 13 did, although it might have just been from embarrassment.
Shoto, who wasn't usually much of a talker during meals, made an effort to keep a conversation going, asking about the makeover. (M/N) knew it was his attempt at soothing things over. They argued after Shoto suggested (M/N) left Kaina with no choice but to counter his demand for the victors' safety with one of her own.
"(M/N), she's running this district. She can't do it if it seems like she's caving in to your will."
"You mean she can't stand any dissent, even if it's fair," (M/N) countered.
"I mean, you put her in a bad position. Making her give Katsuki and the others immunity when we don't even know what sort of damage they might cause," Shoto said.
"So I should've just gone with the programme and let the other tributes take their chances? Not that it matters, because that's what we're all doing anyway!" (M/N) slammed the door in Shoto's face. He hadn't sat with him during breakfast, and when Kan sent him down to training, (M/N) let him go without a word. (M/N) knew Shoto was only speaking out of concern, but he really needed Shoto on his side, not Kaina's. How could he not understand that?
After lunch, Shoto and (M/N) were scheduled to go down to Special Defence to meet Tenya. As they rode the lift, Shoto finally spoke. "You're still angry."
"And you're still not sorry," (M/N) replied.
"I still stand by what I said. Do you want me to lie about it?" Shoto asked.
"No, I want you to rethink it and come up with the right opinion," (M/N) told him. But that just made Shoto chuckle to himself. (M/N) had to let it go. There was no point in trying to dictate what Shoto thought. Which, to be honest, was one reason (M/N) trusted him.
The Special Defence level was situated almost as far down as the dungeons where they found the prep team. It was a beehive of rooms full of computers, labs, research equipment and testing ranges.
When they asked for Tenya, they were directed through the maze until they reached an enormous plate-glass window. Inside was the first beautiful thing (M/N) had seen in the District 13 compound; a replication of a meadow, filled with real trees and flowering plants, and alive with hummingbirds. Tenya sat motionless in a wheelchair at the centre of the meadow, watching a spring-green bird hover in mid-air as it sipped nectar from a large orange blossom. His eyes followed the bird as it darted away, and he caught sight of (M/N) and Shoto, giving a friendly wave for them to join him inside.
The air was cool and breathable, not humid and muggy. From all sides came the whirr of tiny wings, which (M/N) used to confuse with the sound of insects in their woods at home. He had to wonder what sort of fluke allowed such a pleasing place to be built here.
Tenya still had the pallor of someone who was recovering, but behind those glasses, his eyes were alight with excitement. "Aren't they magnificent? Thirteen has been studying their aerodynamics here for years. Forward and backwards flight, and speeds up to a hundred kilometres per hour. If only I could build you wings like these, (M/N)!"
"Doubt I could manage them, Tenya," (M/N) laughed.
"Here one second, gone the next. Can you bring a hummingbird down with an arrow?" Tenya asked.
"I've never tried. Not much meat on them," (M/N) answered.
"No. And you're not one to kill for sport," Tenya said. "I bet they'd be hard to shoot, though."
"You could snare them maybe," Shoto said. His face took on that distant look he had when he was working something out. "Take a net with a very fine mesh. Enclose the area and leave a mouth of a square metre. Bait the inside with nectar flowers. While they're feeding, snap the mouth shut. They'd fly away from the noise but only encounter the far side of the net."
"Would that work?" Tenya asked.
"I don't know. Just an idea," Shoto said. "They might outsmart it."
"They might. But you're playing on their natural instincts to flee danger. Thinking like your prey... that's where you find their vulnerabilities," Tenya said.
(M/N) remembered something he didn't like to think about. In preparation for the Quell, he saw a tape where Tenya, who was still a boy, connected two wires that electrocuted a pack of kids who were hunting him. The convulsing bodies, the grotesque expressions. Tenya, in the moments that led up to his victory in those long-ago Hunger Games, watched the others die. Not his fault. Only self-defence. They were all acting only in self-defence...
(M/N) wanted to leave the hummingbird room before somebody started setting up a snare. "Tenya, Kan said you had something for me."
"Right. I do. Your new bow." He pressed a hand control on the arm of the chair and wheeled out of the room. As they followed him through the twists and turns of Special Defence, he explained about the chair. "I can walk a little now. It's just that I tire so quickly. It's easier for me to get around this way. How's Denki doing?"
"He's... he's having concentration problems," (M/N) answered. He didn't want to say the blonde had a complete mental meltdown.
"Concentration problems, huh?" Tenya smiled grimly. "If you knew what Denki's been through the last few years, you'd know how remarkable it is he's still with us at all. Tell him I've been working on a new trident for him, though, will you? Something to distract him a little." Distraction seemed like the last thing Denki needed, but (M/N) promised to pass on the message.
Four soldiers guarded the entrance to the hall marked 'SPECIAL WEAPONRY'. Checking the schedules printed on their forearms was just a preliminary step. They also had finger-print, retinal, and DNA scans, and had to step through special metal detectors. Tenya had to leave his wheelchair outside, although they provided him with another once they were through security. (M/N) found the whole thing bizarre because he couldn't imagine anyone raised in District 13 being a threat the government would have to guard against. Had these precautions been put in place because of the recent influx of immigrants?
At the door of the armoury, they encountered a second round of identification checks - as if (M/N)'s DNA might have changed in the time it took to walk twenty metres down the hallway - and were finally allowed to enter the weapons collection. The arsenal was quite impressive. Row upon row of firearms, launchers, explosives, armoured vehicles. "Of course, the Airborne Division is housed separately," Tenya told them.
"Of course," (M/N) said, as if it would be self-evident. He didn't know where a simple bow and arrow could possibly find a place among all the high-tech equipment, but then they came upon a wall of deadly archery weapons. (M/N) had played with a lot of the Capitol's weapons in training, but none designed for military combat. He focused his attention on a lethal-looking bow so loaded down with scopes and gadgetry, he was certain he couldn't even lift it, let alone shoot it.
"Shoto, maybe you'd like to try out a few of these," Tenya said.
"Really?" Shoto asked.
"You'll be issued a gun eventually for battle, of course. But if you appear as part of (M/N)'s team in the propos, one of these would look a little showier. I thought you might like to find one that suits you," Tenya said.
"Yeah, I would." Shoto's hand closed around the very bow that caught (M/N)'s attention a moment ago, and he hefted it onto his shoulder. He pointed it around the room, peering through the scope.
"That doesn't seem very fair to the deer," (M/N) said.
"Wouldn't be using it on a deer, would I?" Shoto answered.
"I'll be right back," Tenya said. He pressed a code into a panel and a small doorway opened. (M/N) watched until he disappeared and the door shut.
"So, it'd be easy for you? Using that on people?" (M/N) asked.
"I didn't say that." Shoto dropped the bow to his side. "But if I'd had a weapon that could've stopped what I saw happen in Twelve... if I'd had a weapon that could have kept you out of the arena... I'd have used it."
"Me too," (M/N) admitted. But he didn't know what to tell Shoto about the aftermath of killing a person. About how they never left him.
Tenya wheeled back in with a tall, black rectangular case awkwardly positioned between his footrest and his shoulder. He came to a halt and tilted it towards (M/N). "For you."
(M/N) set the case on the floor and undid the latches along one side. The top opened on silent hinges. Inside the case, on a bed of crushed maroon velvet, laid a stunning black bow. "Wow," (M/N) whispered in admiration. He lifted it carefully into the air to admire the exquisite balance, the elegant design and the curve of the limbs that somehow suggested the wings of a bird extended in flight. There was something else. He had to hold very still to make sure he wasn't imagining it. No, the bow was alive in his hands. He pressed it against his cheek and felt the slight hum travel through the bones of his face. "What's it doing?" (M/N) asked.
"Saying hello," Tenya explained with a grin. "It heard your voice."
"It recognizes my voice?" (M/N) asked.
"Only your voice," Tenya said. "You see, they wanted me to design a bow based purely on looks. As part of your costume, you know? But I kept thinking, What a waste. I mean, what if you do need it sometime? As more than a fashion accessory? So I left the outside simple, and left the inside to my imagination. Best explained in practice, though. Want to try those out?"
They did. A target range had been prepared for them. The arrows that Tenya designed were no less remarkable than the bow. Between the two, (M/N) could shoot with accuracy over one hundred metres. The variety of arrows - razor sharp, incendiary, explosive - turned the bow into a multipurpose weapon. Each one was recognizable by a distinctive coloured shaft. He had the option of voice override at any time, but he had no idea why he would use it. To deactivate the bow's special properties, he only needed to tell it "Goodnight". Then it went to sleep until the sound of his voice woke it again.
(M/N) was in good spirits by the time he got back to the prep team, leaving Tenya and Shoto behind. He sat patiently through the rest of the paint job and donned his costume, which now included a bloody bandage over the scar on his arm to indicate he had been in recent combat. His mockingjay pin was situated over his heart.
(M/N) took up his bow and the sheath of normal arrows that Tenya made, knowing they would never let him walk around with the loaded ones. Then they were out on the soundstage, where he seemed to stand for hours while they adjusted his make-up and lighting and smoke levels. Eventually, the commands coming via intercom from the invisible people in the mysterious glassed booth became fewer and fewer. Kan and his assistant spent more time studying and less time adjusting (M/N). Finally, there was quiet on set. For a full five minutes (M/N) was simply observed. Then Kan said, "I think that does it."
(M/N) was beckoned over to a monitor. They played back the last few minutes of taping and he watched a man on the screen. His body seemed larger in stature, more imposing than (M/N)'s own. Wisps of smoke - suggesting he had either been extinguished or was about to burst into flames - rose from his clothes. (M/N) didn't know who this person was.
Denki, who had been wandering around the set for a few hours, came up behind (M/N) and said with a hint of his old humour, "They'll either want to kill you, kiss you, or be you."
Everyone was so excited, so pleased with their work. It was nearly time to break for dinner, but they insisted on continuing. Tomorrow they would focus on speeches and interviews and have (M/N) pretend to be in rebel battles. Today they wanted just one slogan, just one line that they could work into a short propo to show to Kaina.
"People of Panem, we fight, we dare, we end our hunger for justice!" That was the line. (M/N) could tell by the way they presented it that they had spent months, maybe years, working it out and were really proud of it. It seemed like a mouthful to him, though. And stiff. He couldn't imagine actually saying it in real life - unless he was using a Capitol accent and making fun of it. Like when he and Shoto used to imitate "May the odds be ever in your favour!" But Kan's assistant was right in his face, describing a battle he had just been in, and how his comrades-in-arms were all lying dead around him, and how, to rally the living, he had to return to the camera and shout out the line.
(M/N) was hustled back to his place, and the smoke machine kicked in. Someone called for quiet, the cameras started rolling and he heard "Action!" So (M/N) held his bow over his head and yelled with all the anger he could muster, "People of Panem, we fight, we dare, we end our hunger for justice!"
There was dead silence on the set. It went on. And on.
Finally, the intercom crackled and Shota's laugh filled the studio. He contained himself just long enough to say, "And that, my friends, is how a revolution dies."
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