malnosso | [Locked To Residents Only]

War.

Nobody likes it. Unless you're the guy selling weapons. As a matter of fact, we have some people like that listening right now. Hell, I was one of them myself. Good business practice, that. People never want to stop killing each other. Well, gentlemen, this world is no exception. Now I'm no fighter myself, but right now I'm one of the few people with the security clearance to contact you folks. So here I am. CJ, head of the MARS division, to call out your names for the draft to come. Now let me just get this list. One second now.

[He clears his throat and starts listing off the names for the people drafted, alphabetically by first name. This will take him awhile. So bear with him. By the time he's done, his voice is raspier than usual. There's a lengthy pause after this before he continues.]

There. That's everyone. If you didn't hear your name, then lucky you. You get to stay and avoid the upcoming battle. But for the those of you who were called out, it's time to serve your organization. Save the world. Protect the innocent. Kill the bastards who tried to kill me last week. But it's not all doom and gloom, kids. Think of this as a special opportunity. Why? Because to save the world, you won't be on this world. That's right, you're going to space. Space. For those of you who don't know what that is, it's the big black thing just above the sky. Filled with planets, the moon, and the sun. It's big. Very big. And you're about to experience it yourself.

The Commandant can't be here to deliver the news, seeing as how she's preparing for the battle herself. There was talk of doing one of those automated messages, but I told them to hell with that. I prefer the personal approach. So let me give you the details. I've attached some information here you'll find useful. Be sure to read it thoroughly before you go out there. The last thing we need is for one of you nutjobs to go out an airlock without the appropriate equipment. Trust me, you don't want to do it. There's no air out there. And without air, no one can hear you screaming and gagging. Which in my opinion, is probably a good thing. Never was a fan of hearing cries for help. Downright unsettling.

Now hold on a second while I attach a few things.

[First there's a map of the moon base. Then a map of the moon. Then there's technical details for The Liberator, the Tyr-Fighters, the space suits, weapons, and anything else that would be relevant.]

There you go. More information than you could ever want, free of charge. Now you're probably asking yourself, "How the hell do a bunch of helmet-wearing savages get their asses in space?" Good question. I have no idea. A couple of days ago they were spotted carving up a bunch of mountains. Then started taking those pieces in the sky. We figured it was an aerial assault, but before we knew it, the bastards were going into space. Without the decency of proper space equipment. The Security Forces have been trying to pick them off, but that was just the first wave. Seems like the second waves gonna be a doozie. So that's where you all come in. You're the reinforcements. All of you. In every single enclosure out there. Except you guys. You know who you are.

That means you'll be fighting with our own Security Forces. You lot will be on The Liberator, captained by Specialist Davis. Some of you may already know him already. Now you might be thinking this is a good opportunity to pick a fight and settle some scores. Well don't. You'll be outnumbered out there. If you want to get back to your cozy beds in one piece, you'll need to cooperate. Teamwork. Think of it as a good bonding experience. And a chance to make yourselves not look like a bunch of raving lunatics too dangerous to let loose. That about wraps up this briefing. Prepare to move out at 9AM, two days from now. Sarah, you can cut the feed now. Sarah? Dammit, I'll do it myself.

[Click.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Afraid the answer's yes. No two ways around it. Better you go willingly. It's never a pleasant sight when they send the droids in after you.

You heard her. She said no.

[Because these guys aren't the Capitol. And like hell is Peeta letting them take her.]

So I did. But I don't make these lists, kid. I just read 'em.

What if someone's willing to take her place? To go instead?

[Stubborn little thing, this one. Not like she can DO anything, but she'll try, damn it!]

Doesn't work that way. The folks upstairs tell me it's a Shift thing. Compatibility. Lots of numbers and fancy words that don't mean a damn to the rest of us.

And that's everyone who's compatible? What difference can one person make, more or less?

Not a lot. But a whole lot of one persons makes a hell of a difference.

Even the Capitol takes volunteers!

[Because she is, when all is said and done, a sixteen-year-old girl. So she shouts, powerless to do anything else.

She knows she isn't in Panem any longer. Knows this Game has different rules.

...And that might have been the sound of breaking glass in the background. No, it won't accomplish anything. But it's an outlet.]

Sounds like a nice place.

[Differences are made. Fire catches. One person, the only person capable of making the kill necessary.

She understands the reasoning, even if she doesn't agree.]

Peeta...

[She needs you now. Here, with her. More than she needs you arguing over the journals with a Gamemaker.]

[He gets it.] Where are you?

House.

[It's said just as quietly. As if by declaring her location aloud, she might jeopardize something. Might finally run to seek solitude and sanctuary. To try and forget. Just like the night Snow announced the Quarter Quell and she knew, knew, she was going back.]

[He leaves work. If need be, he'll close the bakery for the rest of the day. A few minute later, he'll burst through the door, still furious, but if he sees Katniss, he'll seek to pull her firmly into his arms.]

[She's still there. Still sitting on the couch. Hasn't run yet, hasn't tried to flee. But oh, how she wants to. Wants to go back to the treehouse where it's safe. Wants to run to the very edge of this arena and try to find a way out.

She settles instead for Peeta's arms. Strong, reassuring arms that get her through the worst of her nightmares. But she doesn't know if they can get her through this.

In a small voice, she whispers,] I don't want to go.

Shut up.

[Because she can't let this happen. She can't. Owing a Career? Owing Clove? It's possibly worse than putting her life on the line again. She's been responsible for this girl's death once. She won't let it happen again.

Damn Career, too bloodthirsty, too eager to volunteer. Doesn't know what's good for her. Doesn't understand just how much her volunteering would hurt Katniss. What would she do, then? If Clove ever harmed someone she loved and she owed her? How would she do what's right?]

Shut up, Clove.

Shut up, yourself. [Because she will totally take this out on you over the Journals, Twelve.

Wonderful outlet.]

You don't want to go. I do.

This isn't for you. This is for me. [And she isn't allowed. Which is only making her temper worse right now.]

So just shut up.

[It would be a good release right now, wouldn't it? Not to go run and hide like she so desperately wants to. But to strike back at Clove. To deliver the punch she could never get in in the arena. To break their flimsy agreement and declare war on a much more substantial enemy.

But Haymitch - damn you, Haymitch - he's right. He's right that she needs to remember who her enemies are. And it's not Clove.

It doesn't stop her from glowering.] I will not owe you. I won't owe you anything.

You wouldn't owe me. I want to go.

[I need to go.

The words don't come out, but they're there. At the very tip of her tongue. As long as she's in battle, fighting and killing and covering the ground with blood... she can pretend like she's still in the Arena. Still fighting that fight. Pretend that Thresh never caught her from behind, convince herself that there's still something like hope for her.]

[It doesn't matter what the girl says. She would owe her. If Clove took her place. She'd owe her for this opportunity to stay behind. To stay with Peeta and Rue and keep them safe.

However selfish Clove's motivations might be, so are Katniss'. Her sense of guilt is too strong, too overbearing, to accept this.]

I don't care. [It's still close enough.] Give it up, Clove. You're not volunteering for me.

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