goldwing, ii. mattio. Aug 29, 2021 23:39:35 GMT -5
Post by wolf turing, d3. ✨ zoë. on Aug 29, 2021 23:39:35 GMT -5
Three seconds off of the platform in Two and someone spits in your face.
Battle stance, you jump into action. The Keepers can't get to you fast enough and in the blink of an eye you've got the fucker on the ground, pinned to the concrete floor of the station with the tip of a knife at his throat.
You sneer, white teeth snapping and growling. He's twice your age and half the man Lachlan Renwick was at fourteen, squirming underneath the weight of your violent little body. Arms locked, he's not moving. Just staring at you, rage in his blood-shot eyes, you watch the words "REBEL SCUM!" wrap around thin lips before a Keeper pulls you off of him and another shoots him in the head.
Invisible shrapnel, the crowd jumps back in shock. You imagine they screamed, but you barely flinched. You're just staring at him, a bullet hole right through the center of his forehead, blood pooling on the floor as the echo of silent words rattle around in your brain.
Rebel scum. Rebel scum. Rebel scum.
So they think you're a rebel, huh?
You look up at the crowd and pocket your knife, wiping the spit from your face with your sleeve. The mere movement causes them to tremble, a ripple of effect from a bullet you didn't even fire. The Keeper with the gun shouts and they disperse, and when you're released by the other with a warning glare you guess more than half of them where there to do far worse than spit in your eye.
'Warn me next time' you drawl, exhausted already. A poster with your face half torn off decorates a billboard next to Peacekeeper recruitment images and the lyrics of the new anthem. Some weapon you are.
On the journey to the Justice Building you learn that half of the population of District Two near rioted at the thought of a rebel teaching their children how to fight, so the Capitol obliged and raised the minimum age to attend to 14 years old. Adder is nowhere to be found and you don't blame her. Her sister killed in a second by Ramsey, no justice for killers of killers in this war. The closer you get to the center of Two the more refreshed the posters become, telling a story of Terra Montague: the Capitol's great discovery to combat rebellion.
The speech and the dead man on the station is enough to keep the rest of Two quiet enough. Some kids come willingly to your demonstration the next day, some forced through the door by their parents, some throwing rocks at the windows and getting dragged away by Keepers.
// i want to learn the ajax, the teleprompter asks. Other kids nod with glee, hungry to mimic a true Capitol darling.
So you show them, step by step, how to take someone down with a stab in the back, a sever of the arm as you pirouette in front of a wooden dummy, finish with a stab in the chest for good measure. Ajax Craine is the poster-child prodigy idolised by youth, Two's version of Ramsey Robichaux, and you're standing in both of their places.
Watch as one hollers with excitement when they nail the action themselves, a handful of students dropping their swords for a round of applause. Pictures of war heroes smile down with approval from the walls, Capitol seals blazoned on banners hung from the ceiling.
The scene is unsettlingly familiar.
After you dismiss them you sit with your thoughts for a moment, packing up knives and swords and bb-guns on autopilot. What would Four think of you? Whereas One was bitter, Two had been sour. Would Four shun you or embrace you? Which would you hate less?
At what point do you stop saying yes to all of this?
At what point will you admit that you can't stop?
More questions cut short of answers, someone lingering to your left as the rest of the students file out of the emptied hall.
You turn the teleprompter back on with a jab of your finger and twist, resting your weight on the sword stabbed into the floor below.
'Can I help you?'
table by elegant.