altair qadir // d9, fin

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Ungrateful, sure, but I've always wanted to know how it feels to die. 

Always too curious for my own good, don't mind if I talk about myself too much here. I'm taking a new approach to interviews, especially one I don't have to lie through. Obviously I don't want to die, I know that much. Life's good and beautiful and all that, there's something worth it all at the end of the day- I just need help finding what that is. District Nine's never been kind, it probably never will be, since day one we've always had one had on a pistol ready to fight it out. Good people don't make it, I met a back alley surgeon the other day who'd never seen a real stethoscope. 

Malpractice ain't the half of it, I'm sure she's more trained than the few doctors we do have. People can't afford it, not with how fast we watch people get hurt around here. I should be grateful, I'm lucky -- more than lucky. Being rich is a birth rite and I get to stand from a balcony and watch the smoke rise, it's better to be on the outside of it. Right? My parents are both business moguls, made it rich off the early rise to capitalism, they both have been working to switch nine back to ammunition goods. It's a talent they never realized, making a powder keg that's too close to exploding. 

I sound so dramatic. 

That's some good television! 

So, back to dying. It's okay if I ramble, right? I figure your crew will edit this around at the end of the day anyways. They keep being vague with me when I ask, but I mean, I still signed the waver so they must be doing something right. There's no specifics, no examples, it's like being the first lab rat to test if land mines work. No war in it though, just television. Let's clear this up: I don't want to die. Don't let that be my catchphrase, because if I win I don't want that hanging over my final episode. Somebody else could have took this spot, made the money they needed and come back to Nine with one arm. 

Instead I'm here, so the least I can do is not die. 

But damn, I'm excited for the adrenaline. I've spent my twenty years prepping to take over someone else's work, sitting in my own study figuring out how any of it works -- I don't think I care. If I'm being honest, I think I hate that shit! Pruning and articulating every sentence I say, because it's going public eventually. Not on my own will, not because I got to be a cool celebrity or something, but because I reflect on my parents. It's like I'm the ammunition to their own demise, they built the guns, they loaded the bullet, and here I am to shoot them in the foot. 

I think I fucked up. I say it like I'm laughing, but I'm serious! You know, I was hoping I was going to be mayor one day. That's the consequence I'm thinking of right now. Realistically I've thrown that opportunity away, anything I do on this show's going to be used against me come five- ten years. The Irvine sisters hardly know me, though they've worked with my parents somewhat, and whatever they learn about me now is going to be awful. Might just be my naivety talking, but I think I'm coming home fine after all of this.

If I don't win though, I'll look bad, and if I win by fucking someone over, will I look worse? 

It's a bit of a Prisoner's Dilemma, but then again I think it's always been. Even back in nine, helping someone else usually comes back to fuck me over -- if I play this nicely, who's to say they'll help me back? But if I don't, what will I lose anyways. There's a strategy to fucking people over, my parents are good at that. Me, not so much, but I've taken some notes.  Is that my ten minutes done? Hope you guys got some content in there. 

Let's see where this goes from here.