technical difficulties | ambrose

He couldn't pinpoint what the issue was.

It was nearly a given that he'd be delegated the task of dealing with trinkets and trackers, being from Three, but what he'd never admit was that he wasn't particularly great at it. Sure, he knew the basics - which wires not to cross and which script would bring screens to life - but he was terrible at diagnostics. Identifying what was wrong with something just wasn't his forte.

It was the reason why it took him so long to see that the state of Panem was deteriorating. People weren't as happy, there were shortages of supplies, Peacekeepers caused calamity in lieu of calm and everything was just wrong. He had been only a child when everything started, but he knew when something was off. He could almost taste it in the air. He heard it in his parents' hushed whispers at night, in his siblings' whispers as well. He'd go and smile and ask them what was wrong, they could tell him, he was mature, and they'd say, don't worry your head about it. Stay out of it.

When birdsong faded and was replaced with gunfire, he would no longer allow his family to place their hands over his eyes when the news came on at night and the announcer would decry the rebels, the fiends, the traitors that dared disrupt the nonexistent peace in beautiful Panem. He'd express his confusion at the situation, why couldn't people just get along, will we be safe here?

His mother didn't answer him, but merely kissed his head and told him, "We will be fine. You stay out of it."

And yet, the more he stayed out of it, the more it seemed like he was losing everyone he loved. His friends became child soldiers at 12, marched into battle alone, died alone. He couldn't be there for them. Alexander left home first, Aine shortly after. His parents were long gone, traveling who knows where or dead who knows where. Aisling stayed behind with her son, cuddling him close to her chest as Ambrose paced the floor in fury, cursing himself for allowing everything to go so wrong.

Katherine's parents went next. Whether they were rebels or not, she never specified as she sobbed into Ambrose's shoulder. As he held her close, stroking her long, dark hair, he made up his mind. He was going to war.

And so he went to war, sometimes fighting and sometimes working on technology when the main engineers weren't available. He kept going, held Katherine close, told her that everything would be fine when he knew damn well it wouldn't be.

And when she begged him to let her fight, let her do something to help fight for the cause, avenge her parents, her neighbors, her friends, everyone she knew, save him - he'd kiss her on the head and say the words that he knew to be a prophecy of death.

"Stay out of it."