d6 • mayor alistair spector

what you see are remember have become

Part I Franklin P. Ingvar

A darkened room sits within the large building, remaining in a bubble of silence that would forever be impenetrable. You sit across from the man though his eyes were elsewhere. Something about the pools of brown irises seemed so incredibly distant and unreachable by any physical being. They remained slightly bloodshot with lines of bloody red rooting out throughout the sea of white. Bruised sockets added to the dark demeanor that this man always had with him, though his lips remained curled up into a crooked grin with pearly whites shining through. Those eyes of his finally locked upon yours, sending an electrifying chill throughout the entirety of your skeleton and covered every inch of your skin with raised bumps. Soft lips parted then as he spoke, his voice low and quiet as it escaped out in a breath. "Care to explain yourself?" It was almost like a whisper, though you can feel it through all of your body.

The man before you looked to be exhausted, a beard covering his jaw that looked as if it needed a trimming. And yet something about the rigidness of his face brought an equal amount of exhaustion to your mind. How can he be so commanding of how I feel? There was a confidence in his eyes that was unrivaled by any you had seen before. "Need I bring up the numbers?" That was a threat. You're aware of how cold the room has become and how tense your muscles have turned. The atmosphere is no longer the same as the man before you speaks. Your eyes take in all that he is, observing the nose that sticks out from his face and turns down slightly as a beak would; ears extend from the sides of his face and must be picking up on how your breathing has quickened. With a smooth lick of your lips, a voice exits you. "No, sir. That will not be necessary. I'm aware of them." It's almost as if you do not recognize your voice. The aura of the man causes you to feel uncomfortable in your own skin.

In that moment, he stands. You're intimidated. He's much larger than one would think. He stands well over your 5'11'' frame, probably being about 6'4'' if you had to make a guess. You find it difficult to swallow but you force it down nonetheless. The man turns away and you feel yourself settle, though you are still trapped in the room with the wolf. He walks to the window and presses his large hands onto the windowsill. The knuckles are red and bruised, one of them split open. No. Please. The man's silhouette stood in the middle of the light shining through the window, his broad shoulders supporting his head. His rough hair was spiked and fluffed up, dark brown to the eyes and thick to the touch. That voice sounded once more. "Mr. Ingvar? Do you know how the world works?"

There were footsteps as the man turned to walk closer, his imposing frame coming closer and closer to you. You fixed your glasses that sat upon your crooked nose, then wiping your forehead free of the perspiration. "I don't appreciate what you're insinuating, Mr. Spector. I'm not going to sit here and be made out to be some fool!" A laugh sounded then, booming and powerful and echoing across the walls of the office. Your body shook too, causing you to flinch slightly at the loudness of it. And suddenly you felt the strong hands grip onto your shoulder then and the man's, this Mr. Spector, voice came from much closer to you now. "Oh Mr. Ingvar. The honour of making you look like a fool is all yours."

Spector returned to your view then as he stepped back around the desk. His hands reached to remove the suit jacket that gripped fittingly to his body, lying the blue coat across the leather chair that he was previously occupying. His black dress shirt was fitted tightly across his large chest and arms, especially clear when he began to unbutton the wrist cuffs. "When things don't work, the Capitol isn't pleased." That was clear. We suffer when the Capitol isn't pleased too. With the sleeves unbuttoned, he rolled them up to above his elbows before flexing his forearms. They were thick and lined with veins that pushed against the skin, running all the way through his hands too. "When the Capitol isn't pleased, Mr. Ingvar, they come down upon the one in charge. And that's me." The other arm was done now, too, and he lowered them both beside his body as he looked towards you. A hand reached closer and you tense up, but he only grabbed on to a glass that was sitting on the table and filled with an amber liquid.

"When they come down on me, I have no choice but to come down on the people below me." There was such a heaviness to the words he said that you could feel your breath catch in your chest. Mr. Spector took a sip from the glass, the ice cubes clinging against the glass. He then reached for the expensive looking bottle on the end of the table, motioning towards you as if to offer a glass. You barely manage to shake your head with a rejection with how frozen in fear you are. "I understand that, Mr. Spector. But I'm not the guy you need to be coming down upon." It was a confident voice that left your lips, but a mistake nonetheless. A glass suddenly shattered off to your left as it was thrown by the man, his eyes now seeming to be alight with a fire. That absence he previously had was replaced with an awareness so incredibly powerful that you clutched on to the leather of the chair with all your might. "How dare you try to tell me who the responsibility lies with, Franklin?" The voice was angry and yet controlled, as if he was still completely in control of all the rage that was burning up within him. There had never been a moment in your life where you felt more frightened than the moment you sat in then.

Two hands slammed down upon the desk and the man leaned forward to be closer to your face. Thin eyebrows furrowed tightly as his brown irises looked to be like two logs set ablaze. The voice sounded again, once more like a mere whisper. "Tell me one thing, Franklin. I ask of just this one thing. Where did half of my drugs go?" Your mind was blank like a plain covered in beautiful white snow. Untouched and undisturbed, yet underneath it all there was so much more to be seen. You knew exactly where they were. Your lab had just finished off the last batch of an incredible painkiller that would certainly take the Capitol by storm. It could only mean more business for you, and a great congratulations to Alistair Spector himself. And yet only half of the shipment had reached the trains. Only a short two hours had passed since they had discovered that much was missing. You had had two hours to get as far away from it as possible, and yet you failed. At least I only had a quarter. Maxime holds the rest.

You would not speak. Whether it was because a part of you had grown brave and didn't wish to give the information you knew to the animal that stood across from you, or because you were far too scared to even part your lips, you remained silent. And yet Alistair Spector remained entirely calm through the period of silence before pushing back off the desk and returning to a standing position. He walked over to your left, his right, and looked into the fireplace that had yet to be lit. Logs sat within it but no fire burned, allowing the only light to be from the evening that poured through the window. The man's hands were gripping tightly to the mantle of the fireplace, his eyes closed as he looked downwards. "We've spoken with Corrigan, Franklin. Maxime gave you up. Your attempt to stay strong will not succeed. Just tell me where they are." You felt your blood boil as he spoke the words, your mouth filling with saliva rather quickly. That fucking bastard. How could he fucking throw me under the train like that? I'll fucking kill him! You spat the contents of your mouth to the carpet before sneering at the man in the room. "Go fuck yourself, Alistair."

You heard his chuckle but felt it far more strongly. There was a sound of metal on metal as he pulled the fire poker from its slot next to the fireplace, then the sound of it dragging along the floor as Alistair Spector grew closer and closer. "Oh Franklin. How lovely to see that a pitiful excuse of a human being like you can have any sort of redemption for dignity." He's behind you now and you can sense that he's looking at you. Eyes are boring into the back of your head and yet you can not turn to face him. There are straps across your chest. Around your wrists. Your thighs. He knew exactly how all of this would go down. "Do you remember how things were when we grew up, Franklin?" His voice was right by your ear.

"You weren't as much of a fucking bastard, Alistair. You were a human being." You spit once more upon the desk of your childhood friend, angrily seething through your teeth. "Life was very difficult for us, Franklin. You and I were not wealthy at all. And yet we made something of ourselves." He was right. Your parents were terrible people, and yet they weren't as horrendous as Alistair's had been. You could recall the nights when the scared boy would be outside your window, knocking upon the glass and asking if he could stay the night with you. He would have a welt across his face or a bruise somewhere on his body. "We amounted to far more than we were expected to amount to. And I believed you were capable of keeping up, Franklin." He was speaking with a smile, you could tell. There was a calmness he was giving off that you could not exemplify.

"I sincerely hope you've learned where you went wrong. I don't want this to happen again, Franklin. For both our sakes." Those words struck deep with you. He is going to let me go? You could feel your breathing come a little easier in that moment then, and your fingers relaxed off the leather. Every part of you seemed to settle down. "Alistair, I promi-" He clears his throat to cut you off before speaking himself. "I don't particularly care for your words anymore, Ingvar. We both know how this all goes down. The drugs are hidden in the floorboards of your bathing room. Back corner where the tub normally is." You aren't quite sure how he knows, and the fear comes back as quickly as it left. "There are several Keepers headed there now to retrieve it. If they find all of the missing packages, you can leave today." Suddenly you felt the cold metal press against your cheek and you immediately recognize it as the fire poker.

"Cross me, Franklin, and you will pay the consequences. That's what you should have learned after all these years."

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Part II Alistair A. Spector

The Keepers had returned all of the stolen goods. They were left upon the couch in your office in their entirety without a single pill missing from the bunch. You now sat in your chair with a hand placed upon your chin, eyes trained directly in front of you at the shaking man that had once been your friend. Friends are weaknesses. All that matters are allies. Those words had been spoken to you by your father many moons before on the sole evening where you truly felt like a son. With a bottle of whiskey between the two and the sounds of only the insects and the coughing from your father filling the night sky, it was one of the purest and most vivid memories you still kept with you. As you stood before your father and told him you would change the District for the better, knowing that it had burned him before he ever thought of doing so to his son. Your relationship had been strained due to all of the pain your father had faced, and you were not going to let that happen to any other child. "Father, I wish to make a difference." You had said those words to him and yet all he did was laugh at the positivity you were showing. "There ain't a damn thing in this god forsaken world you can do that would make a difference, kid. And the sooner you realize that, the better you'll be." That had been years ago and yet those words still echoed in your mind.

And yet you never listened to what your father had told you before you left him that day. Before he had died in the field that evening with an infection of the lung that District Two's medicine couldn't even fix. You worked as hard as you could to make a difference until the world took you, chewed you up, and spat you back out. The innocence died along with your father, or at least what was left after he had stripped it away. I'll always fucking hate you, old man. You changed. You became who you were. You became what was needed to bring about a difference. District Six absorbed the duties of the Second District after the first few years of being in office, and you felt as if things were going to finally be better. The optimism was different from what the world had seen before. You were new. You were unique. As broken as you had become, you had a face filled with solidarity and joy.

"Time changes things, Franklin. Not a person in this world can avoid the effects of Father Time's blessed gift." Your fingers tapped upon the desk as you eyed the man in the room with you. He was staring back, though there was nothing but fear that remained. "You needn't worry any longer about how time will change you, I'd say. Let it do with you what it wishes. Sit back and enjoy the ride." Your breath was coming out in smooth bursts, neither heavy nor light. Carefully, now, you pushed back to put your feet up on the desk. There's a decision that needs to be made, but you're still unsure of which side to fall upon. Your brain is working through the effects that would be caused by the two different decisions, debating on which one to go with.

"What is it that you've learned, Franklin?" The man didn't speak, only staring forward yet. He didn't move. He didn't even blink in fear of the man across from him, that man being you. You stand from your chair and the laugh rises through your lungs. "What's the matter, Franklin? Cat got your tongue?" The bloody flesh falls from your hand onto the desk, having been removed from the man's mouth moments before. You pull the handkerchief from your suit coat on the back of the chair, wiping the blood from your fingers as you walk around the silenced man. "Let's do it this way. I'm going to let you live, Franklin. I'm going to let you prove to me that I made the right decision." You walk towards the door, tapping on it with your newly-cleaned knuckle one, two, three times. It opens and light pours in, two Keepers stepping into the office and heading towards Franklin Ingvar. "Oh and Franklin? Tell your wife I send my regards, won't you?" You step to the side as the Keepers drag the drugged man from the room. It's the last you see of Franklin Ingvar.

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