26, DISTRICT ONE {COMPLETE}

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“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - steinbeck

26, DISTRICT ONE {COMPLETE} Nov 11, 2013 18:25:31 GMT -5

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Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Nov 11, 2013 18:25:31 GMT -5

[atrb=cellSpacing,20,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 10px 0px 0px 0px; background-image: url(http://i.imgur.com/htIqitQ.jpg); background-repeat: no-repeat, padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 35px; bTable]

2 6

"A rather sweet boy, he was
raised in the Detention
Center by Peacekeepers.
His mother was a detainee
that was pregnant with him and
his twin brother. She ended
up giving birth in her cell. His
brother was first out and sent
back to District One. None of the
Peacekeepers knew that she had
Heteropaternal superfecundation
twins! He works very hard to
please all his parents, and is
a rather cheerful boy, despite
not having seen much of the
outside world."

N a m e : 26
A g e : EIGHTEEN
G e n d e r : MALE
L o c a t i o n : DISTRICT ONE
F a c e c l a i m : YOON SHI YOON
J o b : PEACEKEEPER IN TRAINING
S o n g : --
P l o t : NONE
C o d e w o r d : odair

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Last Edit: Nov 16, 2013 17:37:55 GMT -5 by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

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✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ
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5,831 POSTS
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last seen Apr 17, 2024 14:37:45 GMT -5

“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - steinbeck

26, DISTRICT ONE {COMPLETE} Nov 12, 2013 7:44:39 GMT -5

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Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Nov 12, 2013 7:44:39 GMT -5

I was raised underground, beneath a stark, grey ceiling, and inside four, stark, grey walls. I remember colouring books, a retinue of faces, twenty-two fathers, and seventeen mothers. The first time I raised my arms to one of them and happily chirped, "Mommy," they cooed and tickled me until I was breathless with giggles. All of my fathers were proud of me when I took my first steps, and there are at least seventeen videos of me out there singing songs and running through these

(you guessed it) stark, grey halls. My childhood was fairly normal, apart from the distant, and sometimes not so distant screams I could hear all the time. My mothers still made me eat my vegetables and clean my room, my various fathers still taught me how to properly punch a guy without hurting my thumb, and how to cook a steak.

I guess though, that in comparison to some others, it wasn't all that normal. I mean, I was raised in a cell about twenty feet underground and trained to kill with my hands by the time I was ten years old. I was also taught how to play an instrument. (One of my mothers thought that was important, Deidra, I think) Another decided it was important I learn how to cook, and a father decided that I shouldn't do any of that, I should learn how to cut a body to pieces with a sword instead. With thirty-nine people raising you, one gets a lot of mixed reviews on what's right and whats not. So it was easier to cut it down to the main father, and the main mother, the two at the top of my food chain. The two who decided to raise me when they found me crying and alone, swaddled in an old blanket in cell twenty-six.

DETENTION CENTER INTAKE FORM.

NAME>> n/a
AGE>> 1-3 hours.
EYE COLOUR>> Black
HAIR COLOUR>> Dark brown
DISTRICT OF ORIGIN>> Mother's/D1
CRIME>> Son of an anarchist
CONDITION>> Newborn.
CELL NUMBER>> 26

Apparently, they just didn't know what to do with me. I wasn't meant to be there, the cell had been cleaned out in a hurry, no one had noticed the tiny pile of blankets, thrown in the corner. Now that I think about it, and try to figure it all out, I guess someone must have put me there to keep me comfortable while they dealt with whoever gave birth to me. I suppose that they just forgot me. Dad always says I was a real quiet baby, they wouldn't have found me if I hadn't started crying out of hunger. I don't really remember being rescued from that cell, that's because I wasn't. When they found me there, in cell block G, room 26, they left me there.

If I was in that cell, it meant I was a criminal. Or, whoever my biological mom was, was a criminal. They weren't one hundred percent sure or not if that extended to me or not. So that cell became my home. Sure, they brought me colouring books so I wouldn't die of boredom, and it's not like they locked the door or anything. I could leave whenever I wanted. Sometimes I'd find a lap to crawl onto and push their paperwork away so they could read to me instead. Sometimes I sat on the floating vacuum thing in the office and went for rides. There would be cell blocks that I wasn't allowed in, that were locked just so I couldn't get through. Sometimes I'd stand outside the door and hear screaming.

Dad, (The one who smelled like leather) was always beckoning me into his office so he could show me anatomy charts and teach me where to throw knives at a person to hurt them. I don't know why he liked teaching me so much, but one time I heard him say, "I'm going to make him into the most ruthless, efficient, Peacekeeper out there." That sentence always stuck with me. Who makes a Peacekeeper ruthless? I thought peace meant calm, and if you put it with keeper, it means protector of calm and good. I still don't get it. Still, every time he wanted to teach me something, I listened attentively. I've always aimed to please. With so many parents, you have to work hard.

So when another Dad, (The one with perpetual five o'clock shadow) started to train my body physically, I worked really hard. I wanted them all to be proud of me. Even when you have thirty-nine parents, you might not be a favourite son. For example, there was Mom (who wore snake skin) and dad (with a weird mustache) who didn't even like looking at me for more than a few seconds. They came from some place called the Capitol, and they sniffed when they saw me. I don't know, I still loved them sort of. It's like loving broccoli after a time because it reminds you of Mom number ten. Anyway, when five o'clock shadow dad decided to get me up at five in the morning to make me run laps and do things like push ups, I did it with gusto.

I'm pretty easily molded I guess. All you really have to do is tell me that if I do the thing you're asking, it'll make you really happy. To be honest, I just want to help. I like it when my parents are happy, so if all I have to do is run laps and learn how to immobilize people, I guess that's alright. As I grew, more of my parents gave input, the Dad who always smelled of smoke was intent on teaching me sword fighting, the Mom who liked to knit me hats taught me about poison darts, and the one with the cool beard taught me about outdoor survival. I was always learning things, and yet there was so much I didn't know.

My home held few books, mostly just manuals and old things that were confiscated because they held too much fiction about the past. I liked the story about a boy named Pudge and a girl named Alaska best, but Sherlock Holmes was alright too. I didn't really care much for Pride an Prejudice or whatever. There was a lot of crap in it about this guy who looked down on people who were poor. He reminded me too much about the dad with the mustache happening to his face.

My life has been a jumble of childhoods all in one. It all depended on who nabbed me out of the hallways first in the mornings for who I would have breakfast with. Lunch and dinner were much the same. The Mom who was always trying to feed me broccoli found a way to put it in pancakes. It wasn't actually that bad. Still, I liked bothering the Dad with the Gruff voice and the messy living space best. He always grumbled and complained whenever I walked through the door, but then he'd have eggs and bacon on in a matter of minutes. He was always telling me to run off and stop bothering him, but he always had something cool to give me, or a story to tell about the woods.

As I grew older, I grew curious. I started to wonder why there were some areas that were closed to me, even though I was the only stagnant thing in this place. Over the years some of my parents disappeared and some new ones came. I had yet to see the sun, but I was kept underground, hidden away. I grew restless. The gym didn't interest me, after a couple sets of anything I was bored. I even found the lessons my parents tried to teach me boring. I grew listless, an animal that has grown too big for it's cage.

One day I was wandering, long lanky limbs moving across the cement floor, as graceful as a teenage boy can be. Yet I held more grace than most my age even then. I made it into a game, not wanting to be bothered by anyone. When I saw someone coming, I'd slip away, further and further until I was farther into the building than I'd ever been before. I found myself in halls that should have been familiar for their similar decorum, but were not. I was lost. The screams were more vivid, the moans more colourful than ever before this moment. I cracked my knuckles, nervous for the first time in a while. The emotion was new to me, I'd never had reason for it before.

I remember the way her voice sounded, creaking out from behind crude bars, hitting against the metal, bouncing off the tiles to create an echo. "You're the boy," she said, "The one that lives with the monsters, yet you are no wild thing, you are of the Districts." Her words were poetry, meaningless prose. I did not know what a District was. Eyes flash behind the bars and then disappear. They are curved, almond shaped, like mine. "Your father died by their hand, and you have been tamed by the same." I look deep into the dark cell, but there is no one on the bed, reminiscent to mine, and I can not see into the corners. She sighs, softly, a rush of air. She does not sound all that old, but neither does she sound young. "You could have become so much, but you are nothing but their pet."

I find my voice. "Who are you?" I ask, voice uncertain for the first time in years. "How do you know my father? He is not dead!" I just saw him this morning at breakfast, he got annoyed at me for stabbing my spoon repeatedly into a bowl of cornflakes. I turned it into mash before I was through with it. I wait for more than three minutes, but the voice does not speak again. I can feel the melancholy feeling in the air weighing us down. I ask again, I call for her, but she does not speak. The screams get louder until I have to cover my ears. Those screams are living with a soul that has been ripped and sewn into them. They haunt my dreams, just as her voice does.

It had never occurred to me before, the fact that having more than one mother and father was weird. the fact that most of them didn't even have the same shade of skin or shape of eyes had never seemed important either. Yet after that voice my curiosity only grew. Using the techniques that my parents had taught me, I broke into the records room, and went looking for the record of me, of who had lived in my cell before I did.

DETENTION CENTER INTAKE FORM.

NAME>> Marly Adelaide
AGE>> 26
DISTRICT OF ORIGIN>> D1
CRIME>> Treason, arson, fear mongering, stealing, etc.
CONDITION>> Bruised lip, broken finger, singed hair, heavily pregnant.
NOTES: This criminal was found in the company of none other than Elijah Winters. It is thought that she is the other mastermind behind the attacks. Winters was killed at the scene after he would not lie down his weapons, and his body was recovered. It was sent to the Capitol for testing, to see why his brain decided it was a good idea to rebel against the Capitol. With them was one other man who escaped after Adelaide was taken. We are in hot pursuit.

Update: After a steady week of torture, Adelaide has not given up the location of where this man might have fled to. However, the questioning managed to induce the woman's pregnancy and after twenty-four hours of straight labour, the woman gave birth to a healthy baby boy. We have bundled this boy up and sent him back to District One.

Update: Two hours after the birth of the boy, another child was born, also a boy. Yet this boy is of a different race to his twin brother. It seems that the mother has slept with more than one man, and in the rarest of ways has managed to become inseminated by both. This child was born with dark, almond eyes, and dark hair. His demeanor is quiet, barely makes a sound. There is no use calling for another train, we will only look silly. We will keep him and raise him as our own.

The mother was avoxed and sent to the Capitol for registration and sorting.
CELL NUMBER>> 26

I knew to feel sad after reading that. I don't know how I knew it was about me but I did. There was no date, it could have been from years ago, but the paper was too fresh. Besides, I've never seen another kid in here but me. It had to be about me. I put the file back where I'd found it, and left the room how it had been. I spoke of it to no one. How could I? They had raised me just as easily as they had betrayed me and it doens't matter which came first because they came together, equal. It doesn't matter now how I feel about it because I have loved them so long just as I think they love me. If they love me. They must love me.

Uncertainty roots it's self in my frame, knitting it's self to my rib cage like a parasite. The words of the woman in the cell comes back to me. Maybe I have been tamed by my enemies. Am I nothing more than a pet? I look at my face in the mirror. Normally I have a cheerful smile no matter what the situation, but right now my brows are bent out of shape in confusion. The expression looks odd on me. I am not made for sorrow or anger. I wear an oversized sweater, I have never owned anything new. I think this one must have belonged to the Dad who chews tobacco, because it still smells off. My hair, dark in some areas, sandy in some others tickles the back of my neck and my ears. I have curls, thick, in need of a cut. The Mom who used to cut my hair has been gone for three months now and I don't know if she's coming back.

I'm short, only five feet and ten inches tall. Okay, that isn't that short, but most of my Dads are taller than me and I'm already eighteen years old. My eyes, are dark. I wonder if they are the same shade as in the report, if I am that boy, if I have a brother somewhere, waiting for me. The thought of it makes my eyes spark in the mirror, it's visible. I've never had a brother or sister. The idea of it is foreign. I mean, of course every now and then Moms and Dads will bring a kid to work, their sister's son, or their brother's daughter. I know what other kids look like. I've just never had one to call my flesh and blood. A crooked smile forms on the boy in the mirror. I've always wanted a brother, maybe it was the ache of knowing he was there but being unable to find him.

I bite my lip. I want to go find him. I don't know if he is mine, but I want to find the boy in this District One that had the same mother as me. I want to know what it means to be avoxed, and then I want to find the woman who gave birth to me. It does not say in her file that she has died. That means that this lady could still be alive. There is nothing else about my brother, it does not even say what he looks like. I have nothing to go on but for the name Adelaide. Yet, I will find him, I can feel it in my gut. I'll know who he is just by looking at him. All I have to do is convince my Dads and Moms that I am ready for the next step, to do what they do, to keep the Peace.

After that, I threw myself into my training. Every day I would get up without complaint and do what my parents asked of me. I put all my learnings to use and worked hard on my endurance. I wanted to show them that I could do what they do, that I could be ruthless, that I could be brutal. I was too, they pitted men and women against me, people who I knew were not Peacekeepers. I do not know what they were told but they always came at me with all they had and I did the same. There were times when I was beaten to a bloody pulp but it got to the point where more and more often, I was the one doing the beating, and always with the same neutral expression on my face. It got to the point where I was so good at what I did that I killed a man without even realizing it.

My fathers say he was on Death Row anyway. I don't know why that should make it any easier. My hands feel different now, my body feels wrong in the most powerful of ways. I love the feeling, but I hate it more. This doesn't feel ike keeping the Peace.

DETENTION CENTER OUTTAKE FORM.

NAME>> Goes by the alias of '26'
AGE>> 18 years.
EYE COLOUR>> Black
HAIR COLOUR>> Dark brown
DISTRICT OF ORIGIN>> Mother's/D1
CRIME>> Son of an anarchist
CONDITION>> Fit and healthy.
TRAINING>> Poisons, swords, martial arts, espionage, herbs, survival, shooting, throwing knives, anatomy, first aid, hair cutting.
NOTES>> To enter into Peacekeeping training in District One, under the head Peacekeeper. CAUTION: Be delicate with him as he has yet to experience much. However, he is deadly without even realizing it. If he falls into the wrong hands, he will make a dangerous weapon. You have been warned.
CELL NUMBER>> 26

Last Edit: Sept 10, 2014 19:47:01 GMT -5 by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

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✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ Graphics 5,831 POSTS Pronouns: they/them last seen Apr 17, 2024 14:37:45 GMT -5 “And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - steinbeck	26, DISTRICT ONE {COMPLETE} Nov 16, 2013 5:40:05 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Nov 16, 2013 5:40:05 GMT -5 ew this is done~
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cass Retired Staff 4,822 POSTS last seen Oct 24, 2021 18:11:43 GMT -5	26, DISTRICT ONE {COMPLETE} Nov 16, 2013 22:11:05 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by cass on Nov 16, 2013 22:11:05 GMT -5 [/size]