thearena | Are you, are you, coming to the tree?

Entry tags:

Are you, are you, coming to the tree?

Who| All those on the liberation mission and all those being made to fight against them.
What| The liberation of District 9.
Where| District 9
When| This week.
Warnings/Notes| War, violence, death. Please warn for more in headers.

By now, even the most remote and isolated Districts are well aware of the chaos ravaging Panem. District Nine, golden with wheat and blinding with its expansive blue horizon, is quiet, and yet nothing about it feels safe; the stillness is less like a serene oasis than like tall grass that cannot help but contain lions prowling. An air raid siren was going off an hour ago at the sight of hovercrafts, driving everyone inside. No one is outside working the fields or traveling the dirt roads to the hub of the District, which sits in the center like a spider in its web or the axel of a wheel. Displaced Capitolite and Districter both are hunkered down within the corrugated-metal buildings.

The air is hot, and once outside the hovercrafts one finds that what was previously mistaken for silence is in fact the monotonous hum and whine of insects, too continuous and amorphous to really qualify as actual sound but certainly not the absence of it. The sun glares down from a cloudless sky. The earth was tilled until an hour ago, and many of the fields are only partially plowed. Some still have farm equipment left out. Mills and water towers sit awkwardly at the edge of the fields like sentinels or oversized dominos.

The crops stretch out to the horizon, ranging from waist-height to taller than the average full-grown man, depending on the breed. The sheer variety is astonishing, the quality even moreso; ears of corn are as large as toddlers and the wheat is a flawless golden color, thanks to Capitol technology and genetic modification. There are no pests, as most of the plants have a natural pesticide that is fatal upon ingestion and only removable with sprays available to importers to the Capitol, to prevent theft by the hungry employees.

There are crop circles, many in the Capitol’s logo and a few stamped with the insignias of local Capitol-run businesses. It does not reflect the sentiments of the natives but rather an attempt by those clinging to their echelons to enforce a mindset in vain. The propaganda has largely been repelled from the souls of the people here like bugs to a windshield. Only the rarest bit of graffiti may be spotted saying "All is not lost" and "you are weak" both of which have clear attempts to be scrubbed away.

The war continues, and in the back of everyone's mind is a familiar phrase; may the odds be ever in your favor.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The mission for both sides is clear, but there is a second goal which may quickly overtake any who have a sense of basic decency - or pragmatism. A building at the edge of one of the fields is burning, and it is filled with children, who pollute the air with their piteous cries for help. Either side could attempt to rescue them, and either side would benefit from bringing these children in. It would be a feather in the cap of either media team, who could portray the other side as callous enough to let kids burn instead of gallantly rescuing them.

Hurry, though; the building is collapsing by the time you get there, and you might not be the only one brave enough to face the flames.

Firo tries very hard not to stop and think about the ramifications of what he’s trying to do. What’ll happen to these kids if the Capitol gets them? Probably nothing good, but, damn it, nothing good’s going to happen if they’re left in there. So, with a mental apology to both Phil and Roland, Firo decides to turn off his brain just a bit. Just for now. Looking to the future is only going to be a distraction.

The door gives easily when he kicks it—no surprise given the state of the building.

“Hey, where are—?” He breaks off into coughing as he sucks in a lungful of smoke. Shouting probably isn’t the best idea. Not just because of the danger of smoke inhalation, but also because of the possibility of running into an “enemy.”

A hand appears, wrapping around Firo's head to push a cloth toward his mouth. It wasn't much, but it was all Wyatt had. He held another, tattered and worn, over his own, trying to breath into it as much as possible.

"Here." he said, ducking as far as he could under the black smoke that billowed through the now open doorway. "Kids first. Low an' fast."

Was that how he'd die? Suffocated or poisoned with some rag in a burning building? Firo was about to grab the arm to try to fight for his life. but he stopped just short when he could make out the person coming at him--and the fact that he also had a cloth for himself.

He blinked; he would've been wide-eyed if keeping his eyes open didn't hurt so much with all the smoke. Okay, so it wasn't an ambush. Firo mirrored the man's posture, leaning down, and nodded his gratitude. "...Thanks."

There was no time to consider what this uneasy alliance would mean if they were on opposite sides, and Firo supposed that he'd deserve it if it came to a knife in the back. So he shoved those thoughts aside and moved in farther, hands groping for someone to rescue.

He tried to shout over the fire, "I can hand 'em out to you. Like an assembly line?"

Wyatt started to follow, but when a flare of flame pushed him back again, he had to admit that the other man's idea was a better one. Raising a hand to try and shield himself from the heat, he nodded.

"Hurry!" he called back, "They've already been in there too long!"

That was all the further prompting he needed; Firo charged in. Maybe they still had some luck, because it didn't take long for a kid fleeing the worst of the flames to run straight into him and be promptly ushered out.

"You know any first aid?" He sucked in a breath of fresh air. When it came to these things, he was clueless, but even Firo could tell that the limp and coughing child wasn't doing so well despite being hardly singed.

Wyatt scooped the child up and carried it away from the immediate heat and smoke. Crouching with the boy, he looked him over quickly while speaking to him softly in that slow, easy drawl of his.

"It's alright," he promised. "Yer alright now. We're gonna help." He reached for the boy's ankle and touched it gently. "It hurts, don't it? I'm sorry, we'll take care of it. You jus' hold still, okay?"

He glanced at Firo.

"It ain't broken, so far as I can tell. But he needs somebody who can look inside, the heat and the smoke ain't good for his lungs. And there's nothin' I can do here."

Luckily at least one of them had a good bedside manner. Comfort wasn't really a top priority or anything, but Firo imagined having someone who seemed to get how to calm someone down would go a long way towards helping in this situation.

He shook his head. "Shit. So we just--?" Just wait? See if he made it? Probably not questions that were important enough to ask in front of their patient.

But there was something else that maybe needed to be said, tact or no. "I'm not sure how many are still in there. I'm hopin' they were just taken by other people." The alternative didn't need to be spelled out. He sighed, trying to clear his lungs of the rasp. "I'll go back in and do what I can."

"We need to get 'em to the doctors, to one'a the hospitals." To somebody proper, like Joan. She'd been teaching him here and there, but there was still a lot she knew that he didn't.

But of course, if he left, Firo wouldn't have any help if he found anymore - or God forbid, if something happened to him while he was inside.

It was a terrible choice.

"I'll wait - jus' a few minutes. Then I've got to get this boy to help."

Which doctors, he wondered briefly. With any luck, it wouldn't be the side Firo was fighting for.

"Yeah." He gave the building a quick glance. It was bigger than the factories back home, but the fire would certainly have made parts of it impossible to travel. If he took too long inside, the most likely causes would be because he couldn't find anyone or because he was out of the game. He nodded, something like a wry smile on his face. "If it takes too long, that means I'm probably not gonna be draggin' any more out for one reason or another, so it'd be pointless for you to stick around."

Even from his brief foray a moment ago, he couldn't tell how much ground there was to cover. He clucked his tongue, pausing just a stride beyond the entrance, where the heat was already unbearable. "Is five minutes too long?"

"Go." Wyatt watched him head back toward the flames and couldn't help but respect him, even if he didn't know a thing about him, even if he couldn't say for certain the man was even on his side. "Yer wastin' time."

He'd wait. And then he would go.

It wouldn't be the ending he had wanted, but it wouldn't be the worst he could have imagined either.

Luna's still reeling from Sigma's death just a short while ago, the last remaining person of the closest thing she once had to a family now dead and murdered. He hadn't been close but he had been closer, and - wouldn't it be ironic if the murderer cam here and found her too. Her failure would be even more complete that way.

She's caught between guilt and panic as she hears a noise in another room, and senses a familiar mind there. She nearly runs away thinking Sigma's murderer has come to finish off her too, but the nagging feeling that she knows this mind from before keeps her from it as much as the knowledge that there are children alive now who need help. She ventures towards the disturbance, mind still swirling, and she's almost relieved to see Firo there coughing in the smoke.

"Firo! It's--it's you." She's glad it's him, but she doesn't sound any calmer as she looks him over. Her voice wavers, trying to keep out the lingering fear. "Be careful! Smoke is dangerous to breathe in. Can you--can you cover your mouth?"

Firo smiles when he sees her, despite their conditions. “It’s me. And boy am I glad to be here.”

He’s rewarded for his sarcasm with another fit of coughing, convincing him to take her advice and hold his sleeve over his mouth and nose.

“What’re you doin’ in here? And shouldn’t you--?”

At first, he forgets what she’d told him about being a robot. Does she need to breathe? Ennis does, and he can't imagine how you'd make a person who doesn't need air. But he also can't imagine anything else that would've gone into making her.

Luna shakes her head quickly as soon as she realizes what Firo means. That's one of the reasons she was allowed here instead of staying in the field hospital as usual: metal and plastic doesn't need to breathe. "The smoke won't affect me. You worry about yourself, I'll be fine."

She doesn't sound fine, with the edge of hysteria still present in her voice, and it's quickly evident why. "We should keep going. There's--there's somebody dangerous around, and somebody was killed a while out from here. There are still children deeper inside. We have to find them."

Luna doesn't wait for an answer, instead pushing on ahead as she shields her face with one arm. Focus on the children. She can't fail again. She does glance back after a moment to see how Firo's doing, though, because of course she doesn't want him to get hurt either.

He follows, more desperate not to be left behind than he'd like to admit. He tells himself it's just because he's worried about her.

"Dangerous?" This is a war, so he realizes he shouldn't get stuck on one person who went down and the one person who took them down. The smart thing to do would be to listen to her warning and move on, but Firo's never prided himself on his intelligence. And, besides, she doesn't sound quite right...

Still muffled by his sleeve, he asks, "Who bit it?"

Edited 2016-02-23 04:22 (UTC)

Luna has to turn back around and continue forward before she can answer. It's nothing against Firo; she just feels like she needs to keep moving right now, as if that will bring her farther from what's happened. "It was my creator," she tells him once she feels brave enough. It's harder to hear in the roar of the fire but still clearly distinguishable, as is the undercurrent of heartbreak in her answer. "He's been in the Capitol for much longer than I have. He came after me when he realized I was in danger, and...he was killed."

She doesn't dare look behind her, if nothing else because any sympathy Firo can offer will sting as much as it soothes right now. Everything seems unreal and too real all of a sudden, with the last of the closest thing she has to family dead. And so, she tries to focus back on what's in front of her now. "The person responsible is still out there. We should hurry in case they come this way."

"Your creator?" Could it be one of those people who let her think that she was more of a tool than a human? In that case, Firo thinks good fucking riddance. But plainly Luna's not feeling the same way, given how concerned she seems.

He pauses, wrestling down the urge to ask her just why it's such a big deal. Instead, he suggests. "We can try to get the jump on 'em. If you're worried about what they might try to do to the kids." It comes down to what's more dangerous to the kids--this attacker or the fire. ...And how important revenge may be to Luna, which Firo isn't too sure about.

"No." Luna's answer is quick, but pleading. She most definitely is not the revenge type, and frankly she's been tired of seeing people die since before she even arrived in Panem. "I'm not even sure they're coming this way. It's possible the attack was targeted. Sigma is...he was a target." Her voice breaks a little on the past tense, because she's scared it will be permanent. "He's dead. The children may still be alive."

And she pushes forward again, trying to bury her fears in the moment. She can still do some good if they find anyone, and she can't just let that go. Something good coming out of this mission might make all this a little more bearable.

Firo figures he'd rather shake the murderer's hand anyway, probably, but what convinces him most is the sound in her voice. He doesn't want to have a hand in upsetting her if he can help it. And she's right, anyway.

He smiles through the smoke. "At least you've still got your priorities straight."

More seriously, he continues, "I haven't found any bodies yet, but I haven't found anybody yet either. I guess either they're all out or they're farther in."

"Wait." Firo's suggestion makes Luna stop moving for a moment - she's forgotten for a moment that she does have a way to find the children, or at least figure out their general direction, but she has to concentrate to use the powers that have been given to her. It takes a moment for her to calm the anxiety still plaguing her nerves, but it does work. Once she's in the right state of mind she can feel them, like distant warm spots in her mind (though maybe that isn't such a good analogy given where they are).

"There are still some left inside here," she reports to Firo. "North of us, and a little to the east. I can sense them." She points in the direction they need to go. It's not quite where the next door leads, though, so they'll need some time to navigate through the building.

He stops a moment after her, turning to see what she's going to do. His only plan would've been to proceed in a random direction, so he's definitely open to something better.

To catch a clear picture of where she's pointing, he blinks his stinging eyes a few times. He moves in that direction when he has it, staring at her in amazement and a hint of admiration. "How'd you do that?"

It doesn't occur to him to question that she's right, because she's Luna. He hasn't seen her be anything but kind, so of course she wouldn't lie or make up something.

It's a sensible question to ask. Luna can barely explain it herself, but she tries for Firo's sake. "Do you remember when the city had those troubles with the Peacekeepers, and people started to gain new powers? Well...I was one of them, and this is part of what I can do." How it works for a robot Luna will never know, but she's not going to argue that it's effective. "Even if it's weaker than it used to be, I can still sense where their minds are. We'll have to look around to find the exact path..."

She pushes onward again, glancing back every so often to make sure Firo's close behind, but thoughts of Sigma are still plaguing the back of her mind. The night Luna had gotten her powers was the night she'd gotten as honest a talk with Sigma as they could both manage with her current conditions, and she hadn't quite expected that reminder to gnaw at her barely-covered grief as much as it does.

Ah, the Peacekeeper trouble. Firo's smile freezes as he thinks about the particular trouble he got involved in with that... But he relaxes a second later, looking her in the eyes with appreciation. This, at least, makes things easier right now. "That's amazing."

As he follows, he wonders about her silence; it seems like something's on her mind. To most people, the fact that they're trying to rescue kids in a burning building would be enough, but he's not quite sure that's it. He, at least, doesn't get less chatty simply because of things like that. "What's eatin' you?"

Scoffing, he continues, "It's not about what happened to that guy, is it?"

Why should she care? From what he's heard about the things her creator taught her, she should be tap-dancing on his grave.

The scoff gets her attention, and in her current state of mind it's enough to fray Luna's nerves to their limit. "Of course it is!" she snaps, and regrets it almost immediately. It's not Firo's fault, she knows. It was the killer at fault, and the Capitol at large for doing all this.

Her shoulders are stiffer as she glances behind at Firo again. Although her tone of voice is properly apologetic, she still can't look at him for long and focuses on figuring out which doors ahead might get them closer to the children even as she speaks. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled. I know Sigma must not mean much to you. But I...he's all I had left, and he came out here for me." Because that's the other part that hurts - Sigma had ventured into the battlefield because he was worried for Luna's safety, and he'd died for that concern.

He laughs (a second later gagging on smoke as a reward for that). There’s something absurd about her saying she’s sorry for yelling when many people he knows would’ve tried to snap his neck. Besides, she has as much a right to her anger as anyone else. “Don’t apologize for that.”

He knows that it was inconsiderate if she really cares for this guy. But he doesn’t regret it. To him, it seems like she cares too much, and if she won’t give her creator contempt, then he’ll pick up the slack.

“You mean he went out to help you?” That… actually makes him pause. The concrete action challenges the picture he’s built in his mind of this man more than any of her judgments about his character.

There Kids Are On Fire

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