---
The hovercraft made a quick, spiral descent onto a wide road on the outskirts of 8. Almost immediately, the door opened, the stairs slid into place, and they were spat out onto the asphalt. The moment the last person disembarked, the equipment retracted. Then the craft lifted off and vanished. (M/N) was left with a bodyguard made up of Shoto, Mashirao and two other soldiers. The TV crew consisted of a pair of burly Capitol cameramen with heavy mobile cameras encasing their bodies like insect shells, a blonde woman director named Ryuko, and her assistant, Izuku, a slim young man with dark green hair.
Mashirao hustled them off the road towards a row of warehouses as a second hovercraft came in for a landing. This one brought crates of medical supplies and a crew of six medics - (M/N) could tell by their distinctive white outfits. They all followed Mashirao down an alley that ran between two dull grey warehouses. Only the occasional access ladder to the roof interrupted the scarred metal walls. When they emerged onto the street, it was like they had entered another world.
The wounded from this morning's bombing were being brought in. On home-made stretchers, in wheelbarrows, on carts, slung across shoulders and clenched tight in arms. Bleeding, limbless, unconscious. Propelled by desperate people to a warehouse with a sloppily painted H above the doorway. It was a scene from (M/N)'s old kitchen, where his mother treated the dying, multiplied by ten, by fifty, by a hundred. He had expected bombed-out buildings but instead found himself confronted with broken human bodies.
This is where they plan on filming me? (M/N) turned to Mashirao. "This won't work," he said. "I won't be good here."
Mashirao must have seen the panic in (M/N)'s eyes, because he stopped for a moment and placed his hands on (M/N)'s shoulders. "You will. Just let them see you. That would do more for them than any doctor in the world could."
A man directing the incoming patients caught sight of them, did a sort of double take, then strode over.
"This is Commander Sasaki of Eight," Mashirao said. "Commander, Soldier (M/N) (L/N)."
"Yes, I know who he is," Sasaki said. "You're alive, then. We weren't sure." (M/N) swore he heard a note of accusation in that voice.
"I'm still not sure myself," (M/N) answered.
"Been In recovery." Mashirao tapped his head. "Bad concussion. But he insisted on coming to see your wounded."
"You think this is a good idea?" Shoto said, frowning at the hospital. "Assembling your wounded like this?"
(M/N) didn't. Any sort of contagious disease would spread through the place like wildfire.
"I think it's slightly better than leaving them to die," Sasaki said.
"That's not what I meant," Shoto told him.
"Well, currently that's my other option. But if you come up with a third and get Kaina to back it, I'm all ears." Sasaki waved (M/N) towards the door. "Come on in, Mockingjay. And by all means, bring your friends."
(M/N) glanced back at the freak show that was his crew, readied himself and followed Sasaki into the hospital. Some sort of heavy, industrial curtain hung the length of the building, forming a sizable corridor. Corpses laid side by side, curtain brushing their heads, white cloths concealing their faces.
"We've got a mass grave started a few blocks west of here, but I can't spare the manpower to move them yet," said Sasaki. He found a slit in the curtain and opened it wide.
(M/N)'s fingers wrapped around Shoto's wrist. "Don't leave my side," (M/N) said under his breath.
"I'm right here," Shoto answered quietly.
(M/N) stepped through the curtain and his senses were assaulted. His first impulse was to cover his nose to block out the stench of soiled linen, putrefying flesh, and vomit, all ripening in the heat of the warehouse. They had propped open skylights that criss-crossed the high metal roof, but any air that was managing to get in couldn't make a dent in the fog below. The thin shafts of sunlight provided the only illumination, and as (M/N)'s eyes adjusted, he could make up row upon row of wounded, in cots, on pallets, on the floor because there were so many to claim the space. The moaning of people in pain and the sobs of their attending loved ones had combined into a wrenching chorus.
They had no real hospitals in the districts. They died at home, which at the moment seemed a far more desirable alternative to what laid in front of (M/N). Then he remembered that many of these people probably lost their homes in the bombings.
Sweat began to run down his back, filling his palms. He breathed through his mouth in an attempt to diminish the smell. Black spots swam across his field of vision, and he thought there was a really good chance he would pass out. But then he caught sight of Sasaki, who was watching him closely, waiting to see what he was made of, and if any of them had been right to think they could count on him. So (M/N) let go of Shoto and forced himself to move deeper into the warehouse, to walk into the narrow strip between two rows of beds.
"(M/N)?" a voice came from his left, breaking apart from the general din. "(M/N)?" A hand reached for him out of the haze. (M/N) clung to it from support. Attached to the hand was a young woman with an injured leg. Blood had seeped through the heavy bandages, which were crawling with flies. Her face reflected her pain, but something else, too. Something that seemed completely out of sync with her situation. "Is that really you?"
"Yeah, it's me," (M/N) said.
Joy. That was the expression on her face. At the sound of his voice, it brightened, erasing the suffering momentarily.
"You're alive! We didn't know. People said you were, but we didn't know!" she said excitedly.
"I got pretty banged up. But I got better," (M/N) said. "Just like you will."
More people began to notice (M/N), and he heard his name rippling through the hot air, spreading out into the hospital. "(M/N)! (M/N) (L/N)!" The sounds of pain and grief began to recede, to be replaced by words of anticipation. From all sides, voices beckoned him. He began to move, clasping the hands extended to him, touching the sound parts of those unable to move their limbs, saying hello, how are you, good to meet you. Nothing of importance, no amazing words of inspiration. But it didn't matter. Mashirao was right. It was the sight of him, alive, that was the inspiration.
Despite his controversial interview with Toshinori, many asked about Katsuki, and assured (M/N) that they knew he was speaking under duress. (M/N) did his best to sound positive about their future, but people were truly devastated when they learned he had lost the baby. He wanted to come clean and tell them that it was all a hoax, a move in the game, but to present Katsuki as a liar now would not help his image. Or (M/N)'s. Or the cause.
(M/N) began to fully understand the lengths to which people had gone to protect him. What he meant to the rebels. His ongoing struggle against the Capitol, which had so often felt like a solitary journey, had not been undertaken alone. He had thousands upon thousands of people from the districts at his side. He was their Mockingjay long before he accepted the role.
A new sensation began to grow inside (M/N). But it wasn't until he was standing on a table, waving his final goodbyes to the chanting of his name, that he defined it. Power. He had a kind of power he never knew he possessed. Nezu knew it, as soon as (M/N) held out those berries. Kan knew when he rescued (M/N) from the arena. And Kaina knew it now. So much so that she had to publicly remind her people that he wasn't in control.
When they were outside again, (M/N) leaned against the warehouse, catching his breath, accepting the canteen of water from Mashirao. "You did great," he said.
Well, (M/N) didn't pass out or throw up or run away. He mostly just rode the wave of emotion rolling through the place.
"We got some nice stuff in there," Ryuko said.
"I didn't do much, really," (M/N) said.
"You have to give yourself some credit for what you've done in the past," Mashirao said.
What I've done in the past? (M/N) thought of the trail of destruction in his wake. "That's a mixed bag."
Well, you're not perfect by a long shot. But times being what they are, you'll have to do," Mashirao said.
Shoto walked up to (M/N). "I can't believe you let all those people touch you. I kept expecting you to make a break for the door."
"Shut up," (M/N) said with a laugh.
"Your mother's going to be very proud when she sees the footage," Shot said.
"My mother won't even notice me. She'll be too appalled by the conditions there." (M/N) turned to Mashirao. "Is it like this in every district?"
"Yes. Most are under attack. We're trying to get aid wherever we can, but it's not enough." He stopped a minute, distracted by something in his earpiece. (M/N) realised he hadn't heard Shota's voice once, and fiddled with his, wondering if it was broken. "We're to get to the airstrip. Immediately," Mashirao said. "There's a problem."
"What kind of problem?" Shoto asked.
"Incoming bombers," Mashirao said. He reached behind (M/N)'s neck and yanked Keigo's helmet up over his head. "Let's move!"
Unsure of what was happening, (M/N) took off running along the front of the warehouse, heading for the alley that led to the airstrip. But he didn't sense any immediate threat. The sky was an empty, cloudless blue. The street was clear except for the people hauling the wounded to the hospital. There was no enemy, no alarm. Then the sirens began to wail. Within seconds, a low-flying V-shaped formation of Capitol hover-planes appeared above them, and the bombs began to fall. (M/N) was thrown off his feet, into the front wall of the warehouse. There was a searing pain just above the back of his right knee. Something had struck his back as well, but didn't seem to have penetrated his vest. He tried to get up, but Mashirao pushed him back down, shielding (M/N)'s body with his own. The ground rippled under (M/N) as bomb after bomb dropped from the planes and detonated.
It was a horrifying sensation being pinned against the wall as the bombs rained down. It reminded (M/N) of an expression his father used for easy kills: Like shooting fish in a barrel. They were the fish, the street was the barrel.
"(M/N)!" He was startled by Shota's voice in his ear.
"What? Yes, what? I'm here!" (M/N) answered.
"Listen to me. We can't land during the bombing, but it's imperative you're not spotted," Shota said.
"So they don't know I'm here?" (M/N) assumed, as usual, it was his presence that brought on punishment.
"Intelligence thinks no. That this raid was already scheduled," Shota said.
Now Kan's voice came up, calm but forceful. The voice of a Head Gamemaker used to calling the shots under pressure. "There's a light blue warehouse three down from you. It has a bunker in the far north corner. Can you get there?"
"We'll do our best," Mashirao said. Kan must have been in everyone's ear, because his bodyguards and crew were getting up. (M/N)'s eye instinctively searched for Shoto and found him on his feet, apparently unharmed.
"You've got maybe forty-five seconds to the next wave," Kan said.
(M/N) gave a grunt of pain as his right leg took the weight of his body, but he kept moving. No time to examine the injury. Better not to look, anyway. Fortunately, he had on shoes that Keigo designed. They gripped the asphalt on contact and sprung free of it on release. (M/N) would be hopeless in that ill-fitting pair that 13 assigned to him. Mashirao had the lead, but no one else passed (M/N). Instead they matched his pace, protecting his sides, his back. (M/N) forced himself into a sprint as the seconds ticked away. They passed the second grey warehouse and ran along a dirt brown building. Up ahead, he saw a faded blue facade. Home of the bunker. They had just reached another alley, needed only to cross it to arrive at the door, when the next wave of bombs began. (M/N) instinctively dove into the alley and rolled towards the blue wall. This time it was Shoto who threw himself over (M/N) to provide one more layer of protection from the bombing. It seemed to go on longer this time, but they were further away.
(M/N) shifted on to his side and found himself looking directly into Shoto's eyes. For an instant the world receded and there was just his flushed face, his lips parted as he tried to catch his breath.
"You all right?" Shoto asked, his words nearly drowned out by an explosion.
"Yeah. I don't think they've seen me," (M/N) answered. "I mean, they're not following us."
"No, they've targeted something else," Shoto said.
"I know, but there's nothing back there but-" The realisation hit them both at the same time.
"The hospital." Instantly, Shoto was up and shouting to the others. "They're targeting the hospital!"
"Not your problem," Kan said firmly. "Get to the bunker."
"But there's nothing there but the wounded!" (M/N) said.
"(M/N)." (M/N) heard the warning note in Shota's voice and knew what was coming. "Don't you even think about-!" He yanked the earpiece free and let it hang from its wire. With that distraction gone, he heard another sound. Machine-gun fire coming from the roof of the dirt brown warehouse across the alley. Someone was returning fire. Before anyone could stop him, (M/N) made a dash for an access ladder and began scaling it. Climbing. One of the things he did best.
"Don't stop!" He heard Shoto's voice behind him. Then there was the sound of his boot on someone's face. If it belonged to Mashirao, Shoto was going to pay for it dearly later on. (M/N) made it to the roof and dragged himself on to the tar. He stopped long enough to pull Shoto up beside him, and then they took off for the row of machine-gun nests on the street side of the warehouse. Each looked to be manned by a few rebels. They skidded into a nest with a pair of soldiers, haunching down behind the barrier.
"Mashirao know you're up here?" To his left (M/N) saw Sasaki behind one of the guns looking at them quizzically.
(M/N) tried to be evasive without flat out lying. "He knows where we are, all right."
Sasaki huffed in amusement. "I bet he does. You been trained in these?" He slapped the stock of his gun.
"I have. In Thirteen," Shoto said. "But I'd rather use my own weapons."
"Yes, we've got our bows." (M/N) held up his, then realised how decorative it must have seemed. "It's more deadly than it looks."
"It would have to be," Sasaki said. "All right. We expect at least three more waves. They have to drop their sight shields before they release the bombs. That's our chance. Stay low!" (M/N) positioned himself to shoot from one knee.
"Better start with fire," Shoto said.
(M/N) nodded and pulled an arrow from his right sheath. If they missed their targets, these arrows would land somewhere - probably the warehouses across the street. A fire could be put out, but the damage an explosive could do might be irreparable.
Suddenly, they appeared in the sky, two blocks down, maybe a hundred metres above them. Seven small bombers in a V formation. (M/N) got the far side of the V, Shoto took the near, and they alternated shots at the front bird. (M/N) estimated the lead time on the hover planes and let his arrow fly. He caught the inside wing of one, causing it to burst into flames. Shoto just missed the point plane. A fire bloomed on an empty warehouse roof across from them. He swore under his breath.
The hover plane (M/N) hit swerved out of formation, but still released its bombs. It didn't disappear, though. Neither did one other he assumed was hit by gunfire. The damage must have prevented the sight shield from reactivating.
"Good shot," Shoto said.
"I wasn't even aiming for that one," (M/N) muttered. He had set his sights on the plane in front of it. "They're faster than we think."
"Positions!" Sasaki shouted. The next wave of hover planes was appearing already.
"Fire's no good," Shoto said. (M/N) nodded and they both loaded explosive-tipped arrows. Those warehouses across the way looked deserted anyway.
As the planes swept silently in, (M/N) made another decision. "I'm standing!" he shouted to Shoto, and rose to his feet. This was the position he got the best accuracy from. He led earlier and scored a direct hit on the point plane, blasting a hole in its belly. Shoto blew the tail off a second. It flipped and crashed into the street, setting off a series of explosions as its cargo went off.
Without warning, a third V formation unveiled. This time, Shoto squarely hit the point plane. (M/N) took the wing off the second bomber, causing it to spin into the one behind it. Together they collided into the roof of the warehouse across from the hospital. Fourth went down from gunfire.
"All right, that's it," Sasaki said.
Flames and heavy black smoke from the wreckage obscured their view. "Did they hit the hospital?"
"Must have," he said grimly.
As (M/N) hurried towards the ladders at the far end of the warehouse, the sight of Izuku and one of the insects emerging from behind an air duct surprised (M/N). He thought they would have still been hunkered down in the alley.
"They're growing on me," Shoto said.
(M/N) scrambled down a ladder. When his feet hit the ground, he found a bodyguard, Ryuko, and the other insect waiting. He expected resistance, but Ryuko just waved him towards the hospital. She was yelling, "I don't care, Kan! Just give me five more minutes!" Not one to question a free pass, (M/N) took off into the street.
"Oh, no," he whispered as he caught sight of the hospital. What used to be the hospital. He moved past the wounded, past the burning plane wrecks, fixated on the disaster ahead of him. People screaming, running about frantically, but unable to help. The bombs had collapsed the hospital roof and set the building on fire, effectively trapping the patients within. A group of rescuers had assembled, trying to clear a path to the inside. But (M/N) already knew what they would find. If the crushing debris and the flames didn't get them, the smoke did.
Shoto was by his shoulder. The fact he did nothing only confirmed (M/N)'s suspicions. Miners didn't abandon an accident until it was hopeless.
"Come on, (M/N). Shota says they can get a hovercraft in for us now," Shoto said. But (M/N) couldn't seem to move.
"Why would they do that? Why would they target people who were already dying?" (M/N) asked him.
"Scare others off. Prevent the wounded from seeking help," Shoto said. "Those people you met, they were expendable. To Nezu, anyway. If the Capitol wins, what would it do with a bunch of damaged slaves?"
(M/N) remembered all those years in the woods, listening to Shoto rant against the Capitol. (M/N), not paying attention. Wondering why Shoto even bothered to dissect its motives. When thinking like their enemy would ever matter. Clearly, it could have mattered today. When Shoto questioned the existence of the hospital, he was not thinking of disease, but this. Because he never underestimated the cruelty of those they faced.
(M/N) slowly turned his back to the hospital and found Ryuko, flanked by the insects, standing a couple of metres in front of him. Her manner was unrattled. Cool even.
"(M/N)," she said. "President Nezu just had them air the bombing live. Then he made an appearance to say that this was his way of sending a message to the rebels. What about you? Would you like to tell the rebels anything?"
"Yes," (M/N) whispered. The red blinking light on one of the cameras caught his eye. He knew he was being recorded. "Yes," he said more forcefully. Everyone was drawing away from him - Shoto, Ryuko, the insects - giving him the stage. But he stayed focused on the red light. "I want to tell the rebels that I am alive. That I'm right here in District Eight, where the Capitol has just bombed a hospital full of unarmed men, women and children. There will be no survivors." The shock he had been feeling began to give way to fury. "I want to tell people that if you think for one second the Capitol will treat us fairly if there's a ceasefire, you're deluding yourself. Because you know who they are and what they do." His hands went out automatically, as if to indicate the whole horror around him. "This is what they do! And we must fight back!"
He was moving in towards the camera now, carried forward by his rage. "President Nezu says he's sending us a message? Well, I have one for him. You can torture us and bomb us and burn our districts to the ground, but do you see that?" One of the cameras followed as (M/N) pointed to the planes burning on the roof of the warehouse across from them. The Capitol seal on a wing glowed clearly through the flames. "Fire is catching!" He was shouting now, determined that Nezu would not miss a word. "And if we burn, you burn with us!"
(M/N)'s last words hung in the air. He felt suspended in time. Held aloft in a cloud of heat that generated not from his surroundings, but his own being.
"Cut!" Ryuko's voice snapped him back to reality, extinguished him. She gave him a nod of approval. "That's a wrap."
---