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The implications of what Shoto was suggesting settled quietly around the room. (M/N) could see the reaction playing out on people's faces. The expressions ranged from pleasure to distress, from sorrow to satisfaction.
"The majority of the workers are citizens from Two," Tenya said neutrally.
"So what?" Shoto said. "We'll never be able to trust them again."
"They should at least have a chance to surrender," the Commander said.
"Well, that's a luxury we weren't given when they firebombed Twelve, but you're all so much cosier with the Capitol here," Shoto said. By the look on the Commander's face, (M/N) was sure she was going to shoot Shoto, or at least take a swing. But her anger only seemed to infuriate Shoto and he yelled, "We watched children burn to death and there was nothing we could do!"
(M/N) had to close his eyes for a minute as the image ripped through him. It had the desired effect. He wanted everyone in the mountain dead. Was about to say so. But then... he was also a boy from District 12. Not President Nezu. He couldn't help it. He couldn't condemn someone to the death Shoto was suggesting. "Shoto," (M/N) said, taking his arm and trying to speak in a reasonable tone. "The Nut's an old mine. It'd be like causing a massive coal mining accident." Surely the words were enough to make anyone from 12 think twice about the plan.
"But not as quickly as the one that killed your father," Shoto said. "Is that everyone's problem? That our enemies might have a few hours to reflect on the fact that they're dying, instead of just being blown to bits?"
Back in the old days, when they were nothing more than a couple of kids hunting outside of 12, Shoto said things like this and worse. But then they were just words. Here, put into practice, they became deeds that could never be reversed.
"You don't know how those District Two people ended up in the Nut," (M/N) said. "They may have been coerced. They may be held against their will. Some are our own spies. Will you kill them, too?"
"I would sacrifice a few, yes, to take out the rest of them," Shoto replied. "And if I was a spy in there, I'd happily die for the cause."
(M/N) knew he was telling the truth. That Shoto would sacrifice his life in this way for the cause - no one doubted it. Perhaps they would all do the same if they were spies and given the choice. (M/N) thought he would do it. But it was a coldhearted decision to make for other people and those who loved them.
"You said we had two choices," Mashirao told him. "To trap them or to flush them out. I say we try to avalanche the mountain but leave the train tunnel alone. People can escape into the square, where we'll be waiting for them."
"Heavily armed, I hope," Shoto said. "You can be sure they'll be."
"Heavily armed. We'll take them prisoner," Mashirao agreed.
"Let's bring Thirteen into the loop now," Tenya suggested. "Let President Kaina weigh in."
"She'll want to block the tunnel," Shoto said with conviction.
"Yes, most likely. But you know, Katsuki did have a point in his propos. About the dangers of killing ourselves off. I've been playing with some numbers. Factoring in the casualties and the wounded and... I think it's at least worth a conversation," Tenya said.
Only a handful of people were invited to be part of that conversation. Shoto and (M/N) were released with the rest. (M/N) took him hunting to blow off some steam, but he wasn't talking about it. Probably too angry with (M/N) for countering him.
The call did happen, a decision was made, and by evening (M/N) was suited up in his Mockingjay outfit, with his bow slung over his shoulder and an earpiece that connected him to Shota in 13 - just in case a good opportunity for a propo popped up. They waited on the roof of the Justice Building with a clear view of their target.
Their hover planes were initially ignored by the commanders in the Nut, because in the past they had been little more trouble than flies buzzing around a honeypot. But after two rounds of bombings in the higher elevations of the mountain, the planes had their attention. By the time the Capitol's anti-aircraft weapons began to fire, it was already too late.
Shoto's plan exceeded everyone's expectations. Tenya was right about being unable to control the avalanches once they had been set in motion. The mountainsides were naturally unstable, but weakened by the explosions, they seemed almost fluid. Whole sections of the Nut collapsed before their eyes, obliterating any sign that human beings had ever set foot on the place. They stood speechless, tiny and insignificant, as waves of stone cascaded down the mountain. Burying the entrances under tons of rock. Raising a cloud of dirt and debris that blackened the sky. Turning the Nut into a tomb.
(M/N) imagined hell inside the mountain. Sirens wailing. Lights flickering into darkness. Stone dust choking the air. The shrieks of panicked, trapped beings stumbling madly for a way out, only to find the entrances, the launchpad, the ventilation shafts themselves clogged with earth and rock trying to force its way in. Live wires flung free, fires breaking out, rubble making a familiar path a maze. People slamming, shoving, scrambling like ants as the hill pressed in, threatening to crush their fragile shells.
"(M/N)?" Shota's voice reached his earpiece. He tried to answer back and found both of his hands were clamped tightly over his mouth. "(M/N)!"
On the day his father died, the sirens went off during his school lunch. No one waited for dismissal, or was expected to. The response to the mine accident was something outside the control of even the Capitol. (M/N) ran to Eri's class. He still remembered her, tiny, very pale, but sitting straight up with her hands folded on her desk. Waiting for (M/N) to come collect her as he promised he would if the sirens ever sounded. She sprang out of her seat, grabbed his coat sleeve, and they wove through streams of people pouring out onto the streets to pool at the main entrance of the mine. They found their mother clenching the rope that had been hastily strung to keep the crowd back. In retrospect, (M/N) guessed he should have known there was a problem right then. Because why were they looking for her, when the reverse should have been true?
The lifts were screeching, burning up and down their cables as they vomited smoke-blackened miners into the light of days. With each group came cries of relief, relatives diving under the rope to lead off their loved ones. (M/N) stood with his family in the freezing air as the afternoon turned overcast, a light snow dusted the earth. The lifts moved more slowly now and disgorged fewer beings. (M/N) knelt on the ground and pressed his hands into the cinders, wanting so badly to pull his father free. If there was a more helpless feeling than trying to reach someone you loved who was trapped underground, he didn't know it. The wounded. The bodies. Waiting through the night. Blankets put around their shoulders by strangers. A mug of something hot that he didn't drink. And then finally, at dawn, the grieved expression on the face of the mine captain that could only mean one thing.
What did we just do?
"(M/N)! Are you there?" Shota was probably making plans to have (M/N) fitted for a head shackle at this very moment.
(M/N) dropped his hands. "Yes."
"Get inside. Just in case the Capitol tries to retaliate with what's left of its air force," he instructed.
"Yes," (M/N) repeated. Everyone on the roof, except for the soldiers manning the machine guns, began to make their way inside. As he descended the stairs, he couldn't help brushing his fingers along the unblemished white marble walls. So cold and beautiful. Even in the Capitol, there was nothing to match the magnificence of this old building. But there was no give to the surface. Stone conquered people every time.
(M/N) sat at the base of one of the gigantic pillars in the great entrance hall. Through the doors (M/N) could see the white expanse of marble that led to the steps on the square. He remembered how sick he was the day he and Katsuki accepted congratulations there for winning the Games. Worn down by the Victory Tour, failing in his attempt to calm the districts.
Mashirao crouched down beside (M/N), his skin pale in the shadows. "We didn't bomb the train tunnel, you know. Some of them will probably get out."
"And then we'll shoot them when they show their faces?" (M/N) asked.
"Only if we have to," Mashirao answered.
"We could send in trains ourselves. Help evacuate the wounded," (M/N) said.
"No. It was decided to leave the tunnel in their hands. That way they can use all the tracks to bring people out," Mashirao said. "Besides, it will give us time to get the rest of our soldiers to the square."
A few hours ago, the square was no-man's-land, the front line of the fight between the rebels and the Peacekeepers. When Kaina gave approval for Shoto's plan, the rebels launched a heated attack and drove the Capitol forces back several blocks so that they could control the train station in the event that the Nut fell. Well, it had fallen. The reality sunk in. Any survivors would escape to the square. (M/N) could hear the gunfire starting again, as the Peacekeepers were no doubt trying to fight their way in to rescue their comrades. The rebels' own soldiers were being brought in to counter this.
"You're cold," Mashirao said. "I'll see if I can find a blanket." He left before (M/N) could protest. He didn't want a blanket, even if the marble continued to leech his body heat.
"(M/N)," Shota said in his ear.
"Still here," (M/N) answered.
"Interesting turn of events with Katsuki this afternoon. Thought you'd want to know," he said. Interesting wasn't good. It wasn't better. But (M/N) didn't really have any choice but to listen. "We showed him that clip of you singing 'The Hanging Tree'. It was never aired, so the Capitol couldn't use it when he was being hijacked. He says he recognised the song."
For a moment, (M/N)'s heart skipped a beat. Then he realised it was just more tracker jacker serum confusion. "He couldn't, Shota. He never heard me sing that song."
"Not you. Your father. He heard him singing it one day when he came to trade at the bakery. Katsuki was young, but he remembered it because he was specially listening to see if the birds stopped singing," Shota said. "Guess they did."
"Was I there, too?" (M/N) asked.
"Don't think so. No mention of you anyway. But it's the first connection to you that hasn't triggered some mental meltdown," Shota said. "It's something, at least, (M/N)."
(M/N)'s father seemed to be everywhere today. Dying in the mine. Singing his way into Katsuki's muddled consciousness. Flickering in the look Mashirao gave him as he wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. (M/N) missed him so badly it hurt.
The gunfire was really picking up outside. Shoto hurried by with a group of rebels, eagerly headed for the battle. (M/N) didn't petition to join the fighters, not that they would let him. He had no stomach for it anyway, no heat in his blood. He wished Katsuki was here - the old Katsuki - because he would be able to articulate why it was so wrong to be exchanging fire when people, any people, were trying to claw their way out of the mountain. Or is it (M/N)'s own history making him too sensitive? Weren't they at war? Wasn't this just another way to kill their enemies?
Night fell quickly. Huge, bright spotlights were turned on, illuminating the square. Every bulb must have been burning at full wattage inside the train station as well. Even from his position across the square, he could see clearly through the plate-glass front of the long, narrow building. It would be impossible to miss the arrival of a train, or even a single person. But hours passed and no one came. With each minute, it became harder to imagine that anyone survived the assault on the Nut.
It was well after midnight when Ryuko came to attach a special microphone to (M/N)'s costume. "What's this for?" he asked.
Shota's voice came on to explain. "I know you're not going to like this, but we need you to make a speech."
"A speech?" (M/N) immediately felt queasy.
"I'll feed it to you, line by line," Shota assured him. "You'll just have to repeat what I say. Look, there's no sign of life from that mountain. We've won, but the fighting's continuing. So we thought if you went out on the steps of the Justice Building and laid it out - told everybody that the Nut's defeated, that the Capitol's presence in District Two is finished - you might be able to get the rest of their forces to surrender."
(M/N) peered at the darkness beyond the square. "I can't even see their forces."
"That's what the mic's for," Shota said. "You'll be broadcast, both your voice through their emergency audio system, and your image wherever people have access to a screen."
(M/N) knew there were a couple of huge screens here on the square. He saw them on the Victory Tour. It could work, if he were good at this sort of thing. Which he wasn't. They tried to feed him lines in those early experiments with the propos, too, and it was a flop.
"You could save a lot of lives, (M/N)," Shota said.
"All right. I'll give it a try," (M/N) told him.
It was strange standing outside at the top of the stairs, fully costumed, brightly lit, but with no visible audience to deliver his speech to. Like he was doing a show for the moon.
"Let's make this quick," Shota said. "You're too exposed."
(M/N)'s television crew, positioned out in the square with special cameras, indicated that they were ready. (M/N) told Shota to go ahead, and clicked on the mic and listened carefully to the first line of the speech. A huge image of him lit up on one of the screens over the square as he began. "People of District Two, this is (M/N) (L/N) speaking to you from the steps of your Justice Building, where-"
The pair of trains came screeching into the train station side by side. As the doors slid open, people tumbled out in a cloud of smoke they brought from the Nut. They must have had at least an inkling of what would await them at the square, because they were trying to act evasively. Most of them flattened on the floor, and a spray of bullets inside the station took out the lights. They came armed, as Shoto predicted, but they were wounded as well.
Someone killed the lights on the stairs, leaving (M/N) in the protection of shadow. A flame bloomed inside the station - one of the trains must have been on fire - and a thick, black smoke billowed against the windows. Left with no choice, the people began to push out into the square, choking but defiantly waving their guns. (M/N)'s eyes darted around the rooftops that surrounded the square. Every one of them had been fortified with rebel-manned machine-gun nests. Moonlight reflected off oiled barrels.
A young man staggered out from the station, one hand pressed against a bloody cloth at his cheek, the other dragging a gun. When he tripped and fell on his face, (M/N) saw the scorch marks down the back of his shirt, the red flesh beneath. And suddenly, he was just another burn victim from a mine accident.
(M/N)'s feet flew down the steps and he took off running for him. "Stop!" he yelled at the rebels. "Hold your fire!" The words echoed around the square and beyond as the mic amplified his voice. "Stop!" He was nearing the man, reaching down to help him, when he dragged himself up to his knees and trained his gun on (M/N)'s head.
(M/N) instinctively backed up a few steps, raised his bow over his head to show his intention was harmless.
"Freeze," Shota's voice whispered in (M/N)'s ear. (M/N) followed his order, realising this was what all of District 2, all of Panem maybe, must have been seeing at the moment. The Mockingjay at the mercy of a man with nothing to lose.
"Give me one reason I shouldn't shoot you," the man said.
The rest of the world receded. There was only (M/N) looking into the eyes of the man from the Nut who asked for one reason. Surely he would be able to come up with thousands. But the words that made it to his lips were "I can't."
Logically, the next thing that should have happened was the man pulling the trigger. But he was perplexed, trying to make sense of (M/N)'s words. (M/N) experienced his own confusion as he realised what he said was entirely true, and the noble impulse that carried him across the square was replaced by despair. "I can't. That's the problem isn't it?" He lowered his bow. "We blew up your mine. You burned my district to the ground. We've got every reason to kill each other. So do it. Make the Capitol happy. I'm done killing their slaves for them." He dropped his bow to the ground and gave it a nudge with his boot. It slid across the stone and came to rest at the man's knees.
"I'm not their slave," the man muttered.
"I am," (M/N) said. "That's why I killed Nejire and Mirio... and he killed Shoji... and he killed Toga... and she tried to kill me. It just goes around and around, and who wins? Not us. Not the districts. Always the Capitol. But I'm tired of being a piece in their Games."
Katsuki. On the rooftop the night before their first Hunger Games. He understood it all before they had even set foot in the arena. (M/N) hoped he was watching now, that he remembered that night as it happened, and maybe forgave (M/N) when he died.
"Keep talking. Tell them about watching the mountain go down," Shota insisted.
"When I saw that mountain fall tonight, I thought... they've done it again. Got me to kill you - the people in the districts. But why do it? District Twelve and District Two have no fight except the one the Capitol gave us." The man blinked at (M/N) uncomprehendingly. (M/N) sank to his knees before him, his voice low and urgent. "And why are you fighting with the rebels on the rooftops? With people who were your neighbours, maybe even your family?"
"I don't know," the man said. But he didn't take his gun off (M/N).
(M/N) rose and turned slowly in a circle, addressing the machine guns. "And you up there? I come from a mining town. Since when do miners condemn other miners to that kind of death, and then stand by to kill whoever manages to crawl from the rubble?"
"Who is the enemy?" Shota whispered.
"These people" - (M/N) indicated the wounded bodies on the square - "are not your enemy!" He whipped back around to the train station. "The rebels are not your enemy! We all have one enemy, and it's the Capitol! This is our chance to put an end to their power, but we need every district person to do it!"
The cameras were tight on him as he reached out his hands to the man, to the wounded, to the reluctant rebels across Panem. "Please! Join us!"
His words hung in the air. He looked to the screen, hoping to see them recording some wave of reconciliation going through the crowd.
Instead he watched himself get shot on television.
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