bad seed {capitolite massacre} || annie vs petra

pass me that lovely little gun
my dear, my darling one
the cleaners are coming one by one
you don't even want to let them start

The city is hollow. The obnoxious buzz of Levi Heichou's celebrated Peacekeepers has been replaced with a white silence that drenches the halls of our headquarters like a bleach. It is a catacomb, every room so void of movement and life - Decaying slowly until this building is a relic. It is like the energy has been sapped from this place, and now we are left living in a desaturated atmosphere, until they return. Are they really that special, that they can bring a place as dead as this to life? Yes, they are.

I have felt the effects of this before, when I enlisted for the Capitol's internal Peacekeeping force. Only the ten Peacekeeper trainees with the highest ranking were permitted to join the Capitol Police. The rest are shipped out to the Districts, and a select few join Levi. He left the Capitol with all of my friends to seek out danger and other such thrills. I finished fourth, so I had every right to sign up for such an elite regiment. It was my choice not to go down the same path that my friends did, a difficult choice, but mine all the same. I am so alone now, and the regret still floats in my stomach.

I lie awake on my bed, my hands behind my head, supporting my neck as I stare patiently at the ceiling. The plaster is dry, cracked in places with dust clinging to it. It looks so tired and frail. I could break through it with one punch, but what would that accomplish? It might be satisfying for the shortest of moments. My bed is too comfortable, sucking me in with a sweet seduction. It wants me to stay here, where it is safe and quiet. I desperately try to procrastinate with thoughts of my friends and my career, because I know what comes next, and I don't want it.

I think back to that night we got drunk. It's all I think about lately, if I'm honest. When I close my eyes it's what I see, and when I wake up in the morning he's on my mind. I don't want him to be. It was a stupid drunken kiss. The thought lips on mine bring a fire to my cheeks. It may have been stupid, but it was the first time I felt free in over a year. He drained away my troubles and left me completely weightless. Do I crave him, or is it just that feeling of freedom? I didn't deserve it. I didn't deserve Armin's affection, not after all the things I said and thought. I was drunk and spiteful, full of a dark malice that I should never have put on display. I'm not sure what I feel for him, but I know it's wrong. I know he's only going to get hurt. So, like every other distracting emotion, I try to bottle it up and hide it deep inside me.

I'm on duty today, but I won't be reporting in. This is problematic, particularly because of what's going to happen. I will look far too suspicious if I just bunk off. They will see from their register that a cadet was absent from assembly, and they will then find me afterwards and question my whereabouts. Of course, they may not have evidence but unauthorized leave is enough to detain a person on, and will make me a suspect. There can be no suspicion. None.

Give me time, and I will come up with a solution. That's what I told them. They are always in contact with me, pestering me to keep them updated with our progress. They want to know my ideas, but also they want to feed me theirs. They know that what I am going to do will be problematic for me, especially if I am unexplainably absent. They grew impatient, almost angry with me for not being imaginative to come up with a solution. After all, is that why they brainwashed humans instead of building robots? They wanted soldiers with imagination. Imagination is dangerous. Just give me time.

I have had a lot of time.

I sit upright, hugging my knees with my left arm. Am I ready for this? I bite my thumbnail, staring into that unexplainable space between reality and thoughts that your eyes somehow manage to focus on. Blink and it's gone. I have trained all of my life for this. I have to be ready. To fail is to die, or worse, to be captured. I take in to much air, and exhale deeply, trying to relax my tense structure. I know that I'll die before I tell them anything. It won't come to that, Annie.

I have to be ready. There is no time for doubt any more. It's time for politics to come into place. I have killed before, but only for the Capitol. I hated it. They made me kill that Avox for breaking the law. They could have asked any Peacekeeper in the Capitol Police, but they asked me. Of course they asked me, who else was there to ask? The rest of the force are gutless and without character. In the end, I was the only person with the stomach to get the job done. I still see red, and that streak will burn redder still before this day ends. It will be a red to celebrate, not to regret. It's time to kill in the name of what I believe in. It's time to bring glory back to District Thirteen, and for the Capitol to experience fear again.

No one is safe, because this is where we make our stand. Twelve years ago we made our initial attack. No one knew back then what the cause was, or who was behind it, but it was clear that the intent was murder. Just thinking about it makes my stomach turn in windmills. They were just kids. I can remember seeing them depart from Thirteen with such a strong fear on their faces that I wandered if it would be permanent. It was. I still see that fear on Bertholt's face these days. He was just eleven years old, and he killed three people. Three children. Him and Reiner both, still kids themselves, murdering schoolchidren with gas and bullets. They never came back the same, but Thirteen claimed it was necessary, like it was a coming of age thing. It wasn't meant to send a message to the Capitol as much as it was to send a message to Bertl and Reiner.

Well, this is a message. This is our initial attack, and more will follow. It will continue until the Capitol surrenders and the city is ours. This is but the first step in saving Panem. Think of all the Districts that will rally behind us in this revolution. My eyes shimmer with the thought of President Snow's head on a pike and his mansion burned to the ground. I am crying. Why am I crying? I rub aggressively as my eyelids, smearing my thumb with a moist coat of mascara. It hurts. I know why I'm crying and it hurts so much. These thoughts of revolution and murder, they are not my own. I am just a girl who wanted to live a normal life, a simple life. They took that from me and filled me with all their dark dreams and desires and made me into a monster. Worst part is, I don't even hate them for it. Want to know why? Because they removed the part of me that makes me hate them. They programmed me to accept it.

So I'll do the only thing I can do. I'll carry on down this path, because it is the only path. Right from the start the only thing that's been certain is that I have no choice. It's all predetermined. They gave me the illusion of choice, but I know that inside I am nothing more than a program. A weapon. When it comes to doing what they built me to do, I won't question it. I'll just switch of my emotions and let instinct take over, because what's the alternative? Give up? I've come too far to give up. I've lost too much to give up. No, I'm ready. I'll do it. I'll slaughter innocent people in the streets, painting the golden walkways with horrible red. Maybe I'll even enjoy it.

I pull on my leather boots and don my white cadet's jacket, finding the kick I needed to get out of my room and head downstairs. The headquarters are still empty. A few half-asleep cadets are getting ready for their morning patrols, but they are too distracted with their own problems to notice me walk downstairs ten minutes early. These guys would miss the apocalypse if it ever happened. How people so oblivious can be hired by the Capitol Police is beyond me. They all finished in the top ten of their training corps, yet still they're all so stupid. Maybe it's just me feeling superior. Me and my ego, huh?

I slip outside through the side courtyard, looking left and right for signs of patrols. I know that several of my superior officers walk the perimeter of the grounds, checking for signs of trespassing or of cadets leaving in the night. It's forbidden to leave the estate without permission. Plenty of young Peacekeepers have been caught leaving to hit the Capitol nightclubs. All of whom have been kicked from the force. I skip past the patrols of my superiors by dancing through the large hedge mazes of our headquarter's gardens. I duck behind each shrub, silently leaping from one cover to the next until I am out of sight and earshot. Jumping a fence, I stumble down a hill and out into the road. Freedom. Easy as that.

Traffic is nonexistent at this time of the morning, it's around six, and the sun has barely poked it's head past the skyline. The pink sky stretches overhead, gradienting into white behind me. Soon the city will be buzzing with life. People going to work, or simply out to shop. The more people the better. Crowds mean cover, and I hope to be a face in the crowd by the end of the day. I head east down Style Street. A few Capitolites are already out and about doing an early morning shop. Some shoot me strange looks, questioning my attire, but when they see the Peacekeeper's emblem, them relax. I am here for their protection, right? How far they are from the truth.

I find an alleyway between the pet shop and the boutique, it is perfect. I pull my white hood over my head and slip into the shadows, searching the side of the hair salon. I locate the large black box further down the alleyway and immediately try to pry it open. It's fastened shut by specially designed bolts. Yellow stickers with lightning bolts on them warn me of the dangers inside, but I ignore them. It's the danger I'm after.

I slice open the weak metal with my twin blades, stepping back to view the circuitry. As I slot my swords back into the holster of my 3DM gear, I wander if Armin would have done the same, or been more subtle. Obviously they'll find the damage eventually. I figure it doesn't really matter, they'll be more concerned with the body. My body.

I strike the wiring, cutting open the multicolored wires into copper strands that begin to spark in protest. The power that surges through the veins of this system is now exposed, bleeding electricity into the air. Danger, High Voltage. Ripred, I could kill myself here. I can handle it, right? It's just a couple of volts. I take a deep breath, lick my palms, and grab a handful of bare wire. I see white. The shock knocks me off my feet and slams me into the brick wall opposite, rendering me unconscious.

"Armin, I'm not who you think I am."
I see his face, so neutral and at peace. He is so impartial and unjudging. He is my friend, Armin Arlert. He deserves to know the truth about me, and so I will tell him.
"I am from District Thirteen."
There, I said it. He now knows. Saying it to him is a relief. Someone else finally knows the truth about me, and it's a massive weight off my shoulders. Sharing that secret is sharing the burden, and there's no one else I'd share it with other than him. He is my rock. He makes me feel human.

He is dressed all in white, so pure and untainted, like an angel. I am in my cadet gear - Leather jacket draped over me loosely, hair tied up in a bun. How did we get here? What was I doing before this? I was on a mission, right? For Thirteen. I was doing something important. Eh. I don't care now. I'm with Armin, and I'm telling him my biggest secret. I'm almost excited to see how he responds. I want to see the lightbulb in his head as he figures it all out, and that little smile when he understands what's been bothering him this whole time.

There is no smile, no emotion in his eyes. He is empty, his face is dead. It's like a blackness inside him becomes external, spreading over his pristine white clothing, a black stain on his purity. It pools like blood, thick and heavy.
"Armin?" I plead desperately, placing my hand on his arm. He collapses, black veins decorating his face and neck in a chilling pattern. I scream as all color and life leaves him.
"Armin, please!" I shake his body, tears stinging in my eyes. His skin begins to dry up like a moulding fruit, turning grey and rippled. What is happening? Is he having some kind of allergic reaction?

You are a curse, Annie Leonhardt.
The voice is inside myself, but when I look up I see their bodies around me, dark faced and red eyed, closing in. My comrades, or rather the people I have betrayed. My friends. Mikasa, Levi, Eren, Jean, Historia. They close in on me, blaming me. Fear grips my chest, dragging me closer to the ground. I get what I deserve. I get what I deserve.

"Fuck." My left arm is completely numb, but when I jolt upright in my hospital bed I feel a strange sensation shoot through it. I am short of breath, snatching at the thin air in my ward. It was just a stupid dream. I bite my lower lip, trying to bury it deep inside me. Just a dream. Where am I? Obviously the hospital - I grabbed exposed wiring from a transformer and knocked myself out. That was part of the plan. This is still part of the plan.

I groan, trying to sit upright. The nurse notices I am awake and wordlessly helps rearrange my pillows. I stretch my toes, rubbing the underside of one over the other like I have been invigorated by the rest - Truth is I feel exhausted. Being electrocuted isn't fun. Being electrocuted by an industrial transformer, I'm lucky to be alive. Thank Ripred I had rubber lined boots on. The knockback into the brick wall did more damage to me, in the end.

"Well, Miss Leonhardt, I have good news and bad news," The doctor arrives, dressed in an angelic white coat and trousers. He looks a model professional. The only thing that sets him apart is his blue hair, which is styled upwards like icicles. How stupid. I don't really want his opinion - I know I'm fine. My arm might be fucked but I can work around that. The sooner he is done talking the sooner I can be left alone. You see, it's important that I stay in hospital. It's important that people think I'm in hospital. When people ask where I was when dozens were massacred in the streets of the Capitol, they won't question medical documents.

"The good news is you're not dead. What you were doing fooling around with electrical equipment of such power, I will never know. Your arm has some bad burns from the electricity which, unfortunately, will stay with you for the rest of your life, but that is a small price to pay given the circumstances!" His accent is whispy and yet slick, each syllable rolls to the next in a way that I don't think I could impersonate. I examine my left arm, unsure whether it was worth doing. Red tissue zig-zags from my wrist to my elbow, much like a vein but in fact it is mutilated skin. I screw up my face. I might have to see a plastic surgeon later.

"The bad news is you aren't in a stable enough condition to leave for a few days. We need to run some tests on your heart rate and blood pressure, and some other general examinations to be sure you are otherwise unaffected by this." He jots down a few notes on his clipboard and gives me a fake smile, "I will leave you to rest - I believe a friend of yours left you a change of clothes whilst you were unconscious. How considerate of him. You are lucky to have such friends!" He leaves the room after he is done talking, and I notice the bag he was referring to. I reach over and pull it towards me.

As planned, my gear is all inside. Helmet, armor and extending sword. Thanks Bertholt. I will need to wait for a suitable window before I leave. I need to learn the patterns in which the nurses come in to check up on me, so that I am not absent when they come in. I also need to actually recover from the shock. My heart is still racing in my chest, and my scarred arm is numb, although some feeling has started to return. I'm not fully fit. You're gonna have to be, Annie.

After lying in bed for three or four hours, I note that the nurses check up on me every half hour. This means I have a thirty minute window to get out, do what needs to be done, and get back. Thirty minutes is plenty of time. If there is one attribute I am proud of, it is my speed and agility. They won't know what's hit them, these poncey Capitolites will learn what it is to live in fear. That is our aim - To strike fear. Basic terrorism. I wait for the next check up. The nurse checks my blood pressure and tops up my water, before asking if I want any food. I politely decline, wanting nothing more than for her to leave. Leave me to my fate. She does, and I take out my helmet.

I get out of the hospital bed, barefooted on the cold tile flooring. I am naked except for a baby green robe that hangs like paper on my frame. I pull on the thin nylon of my armor, attaching the carbon fibre disks to the exterior. I hold a small remote in my right hand - Taking a deep breath I press a button, which activates the circuitry in my suit. Tiny needles worked into the material unhinge and dig into my body, directing a current from the suit's processor to my muscles, allowing increased movement and power. The processor is located at the tip of the spine, on the back of my neck. It is vulnerable and exposed, so I slip the bright white helmet over my head, for additional protection (and to hide my identity, of course).

Three years since I last wore this suit. I trained in the ruins of Thirteen's overground for so long, slashing at the ash statues with such anger and fury that my superiors were sure they had crafted the perfect weapon. I was so full of hatred back then. So young and naive. I am a woman now, playing soldier in the Peacekeeping brigades of Panem. I have friends and enemies, and much more to lose than I did back then. I open the window and lean out, looking to the skyline through the tinted visor of my helmet. I hope I'm everything they hoped for.