Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was cold in the summertime.

Although Beetee never really liked the summers anymore, it being prime time for his yearly nightmare to repeat over and over again. But this time, it was different.

Last year he got to bring a Victor home for the first time against all odds - completely unscathed from the Capitol’s merciless treatment. Last year he was flying under the radar, all plans of defiance internalised as fantasies he would never be able to execute. Last year he still had a son who was alive.

Ampert should still be here.

But the odds were never in his favour.

And here he stood on the platform, completely alone, about to board a train that would take him back to the place he once proudly called home. It didn’t feel like home anymore. Nowhere did. The breeze came and went and the sun stayed stoic in the sky.

He saw the coffins being loaded into the back of the train. All small and melancholic. With what was left of his son in one of them.

He couldn’t get the image of his son’s skeleton out of his head. The cannon that followed could never be unheard. 

“I taught you how to see systems,” Beetee thought regretfully into the quiet. “I didn’t teach you how to survive them.”

He had Wiress with him when it happened, her coming to his side in the mentor room with misty eyes and a quivering lip as she wrapped her arms around him and sobbed into his shoulder. Over the last year, Wiress and Ampert had built up an odd sort of friendship. With her new status making them neighbours in the Victor’s Village and them having a lot of similarities in terms of innovation and executing plans, she would come over all the time.

But he wasn’t here anymore.

And neither was she.

He hadn’t seen her for a week and half after the Peacekeepers stormed the mentor’s room and grabbed her with absolutely no care in the world as she shut down in front of them all. Pinned down, yanked in all directions and her futile cries for release - it was all too much. And all he could do was watch.

Mentors were meant to accompany their Victors in the 3 hour recap, but instead, Haymitch was all alone. They painted it as a new Quarter Quell protocol - but Beetee could read in between the lines. If his mentors were absent, Beetee could only imagine what they had in store for Haymitch.

Something more sinister was brewing in the underbelly of the Capitol.

He didn’t think Wiress would be so lucky this time to get out unscathed.

He didn’t think the new scar Haymitch acquired would be the only reminder of his time in the Games.

Mags should have been at the platform too, with District 3 and 4 being neighbours. But instead of the company on the platform Beetee had grown used to sharing on the way back from the Capitol, it was just absence.

Absence in the Capitol was never accidental.

And it was all his fault.

Beetee knew the cost would be high.

He thought he had nothing left to lose.

He didn’t think.

Engrossed in his solemn reflection and numbness that overtook the self-pity that resided in him, he turned to the far end of the platform where movement caught his eye.

Peacekeepers.

A sea of white, too many of them for their routine rounds. He counted 6 of them in the front, but the footsteps that echoed clearly indicated that were more. Their formation was tight and clearly practiced, shielding something - or someone - from view. 

Beetee felt his stomach tighten before his mind was able to catch up.

Slowly, they broke formation, stepping aside, revealing the ghost of the girl who took the punishment that should have been reserved for him.

Good lord.

For a moment his brain rejected the image, wishful thinking coming in clutch that what he was seeing was just a figment of light or a cruel prank that they were going to announce later.

She looked awful. Her eyes were dull, no longer sparkling with life and character that he had grown to see her in her. They were open - but not anchored. Darting in quick and sharp movements, like a bird’s when shadows moved too quickly overhead but she couldn’t track anything. Her neck kept bobbing to the side in a twitchy fashion that he knew she didn’t have before. Her hair was matted and tangled, pinned back in a rushed attempt at a ponytail that must have been done to hide a bit of her frantic energy. She lost a lot of weight and she didn’t have a lot to begin with. Her cheeks were now sunken, causing her jaw bone to unnaturally protrude outwards in a way it didn’t before and her wrists looked small enough to snap in two. It didn’t help that they were also trembling in unnerving shakes that wracked her small frame. Her skin was pale - she hadn’t seen sunlight in nearly two weeks. 

It wasn’t right and he didn’t have a solution.

She moved like something startled, half-feral - head jerking, shoulders hunched, hands twitching in small, rapid bursts like wings beating against an invisible cage. Incoherent words and mumblings were spilling out her lips as if a dam had been broken. Eventually she paused, breaking out into a peal of manic laughter that sent shivers down his spine before she broke out into a shrill, demented rendition of ‘Humpty Dumpty,’ voice amplifying in its offtune intensity that was so different to her soft melodic nature. Once she finished her ear-splitting song, she kept repeating it in a loop.

“All the king’s horses and all the king’s men, couldn’t put Humpty together again,” she let out with an ominous energy, getting ready to start the song again.

He hoped that wasn’t true, the king’s horses and men did break her. He just hoped with time and community she could be… unbroken. Surely the song didn’t have the final say.

That made Beetee’s heart drop more than anything else. She was 18 - way too young for any of this. She could have still been reaped this year. She was only a child and this act of brutality seemed to be the final nail on the coffin of her childhood that was already hanging loosely by a thread thanks to the year before. But last year, she was still relatively put together, only having a few cracks that came in the form of nightmares that every Victor was plagued with. Now she was completely shattered with the pieces scattered carelessly around. Beetee didn't know how to put her back together again.

One of the nearest Peacekeepers gave her shove. “Shut up,” he barked in an annoyed tone that indicated it wasn’t the first time she’s done this.

“She’s not our problem anymore,” another one commented, head subtly gesturing to Beetee, evidently eager to handball her off to him.

“Once the train is here,” the first Peacekeeper responded. “Then we get a break.”

Beetee realised he wasn’t breathing.

Two weeks ago she was animatedly rambling about another project she was excited to complete when she got home. Two weeks ago she was humming along to the songs sung by the morning birds in serene clarity. Two weeks ago she could notice things in a balance between perception and intuition before Beetee could even recognise a change. 

Now her glazed over eyes would not settle on anything.

He didn’t even realise his fists were curled at his sides.

She slowly moved into a sitting position on the end of the platform, rocking in a desperate to-and-fro as her eyes scrunched up, pressing her fingers deep into her ears.

Another Peacekeeper just rolled their eyes at that, more annoyed than the indignation Beetee felt simmering from inside.

Beetee’s been nicer to worse people before, giving a look to one of the Peacekeepers that seemed more curious or caring than rage, he sat down beside her, the group of trained soldiers towering over them.

He gave her a look that hid the way his heart was breaking. “Wiress,” he started in a slow, neutral tone, as if any emotion would startle the already skittish girl. “It’s me.”

Between her loud rendition of Humpty Dumpty and the fact that her fingers were covering her ears, against all odds, her head subtly tilted towards his voice, still in her balled up position. Her eyes were still tightly clenched but she opened them, flickering around, unfocused. She faced Beetee but it was clear she wasn’t seeing him - looking through him. As if she was trying to pinpoint where the sound was meant to be coming from. Growing more and more visibly distressed, she let out a shriek that made another Peacekeeper scoff before returning into her nauseating motions and curled up body language..

Suddenly, a train horn sounded in the distance. Beetee jumped a little bit, the blaring nature echoing throughout the platform. He never was okay with loud noises after the cannons from his own games.

On the other hand, at the sound of the horn that garnered only a small reaction from Beetee, Wiress flinched so violently that she nearly toppled over sideways, arms flying up to shield her head, mutterings about “not again,” escaping her lips.

“You heard the train,” a Peacekeeper let out. “Up you go.”

The order fell on unhearing ears as there was no change in her demeanour to indicate she was processing what was being said.

Letting out another sigh of annoyance, the team grabbed her as her shrieks increased in intensity, hauling her up in a tangled mess, shoving her into the open compartment of the train. 

That wasn’t good for Wiress, words spilling out in a discordance that was straining her vocal cords. She was standing upright in the compartment, looking around in a searching manner. As if the rapid movements of her eyes could make sense of the fog that clouded her mind.

“This is not real. This is not real. This is not real,” she kept repeating on a frantic loop, fingers drawing up to pull the ends of her hair in opposite directions.

Beetee was still on the platform, more frozen than anything.

The Peacekeeper that pulled her up by the wrists looked at Beetee with a sinister smile. 

“Have fun with Nuts,” he said, hands gesturing for him to join her in the compartment.

She couldn’t be standing when the train started, the jolt would cause her to trip, but she also wasn’t getting the memo that she had to be seated.

With a quiet hesitation, knowing how she feels about unwarranted physical touch. Add her current… fragmented state, he didn’t want to make anything worse. Still, he guided her to one of the seats that lined the side of the train, feeling apologetic when she recoiled on impact. He demonstrated a sitting position on the sleek leather seats, communicating to her that he wanted her to sit.

A blank face just stared back at him, blinking but not seeing anything. Eventually she lowered herself onto the ground below, curling up on the hard floors before bursting into a children’s song Beetee hadn’t heard of before. Sitting on the ground was better than not sitting at all.

And the doors shut, leaving the two of them in the carriage but they weren’t alone. The buzzing didn’t stop - they installed new cameras inside the train, that wasn’t there the year before..

“We’re going home,” Beetee let out in a plain tone, not expecting to get a response. 

What was her family going to think? She was all put together before she made it to the Capitol. They already prepared to grieve the idea of losing her the year before. They didn’t expect anything would happen this time round. They had no idea what was going to happen.

He wished he could give them the courtesy of a warning.

But one part of him knew that they probably knew something was wrong. She was absent for all the Capitol festivities that the crowds liked to shower their newest Victor and Mentor in.

Wiress tightened her arms around her legs and let out a chilling laugh. “Don’t have a home,” she whispered, breaking out into faint frantic mumblings that Beetee couldn’t make out.

The train started moving, rumbling in a smooth rhythm down the tracks that would lead them back to 3

A small part of Beetee longed for the times where he was forced to sit alone in a carriage after losing all his tributes on the return trip. At least it was silent. The noises from his eerie counterpart that had eyes that were both haunted and haunting kept him on edge. 

And he couldn’t do anything about it.

This mess started with him.

This was his company now, torment wearing the shape of the girl he once knew. Wiress Beam who could dismantle systems without a glance. The one who talked too fast, knew too much about complicated structures, blurted out odd statements. The one that didn’t fit the Capitol’s cookie-cutter shape of what a Victor should be.

He glanced at her curled up state, quietly assessing her current… status. She was still mobile, despite her unsteady nature, she could still move with ease. She was dressed in a plain black shirt though and baggy pants that accentuated her small figure more instead of hiding it. She had to still be sporting the bruises from when the Peacekeepers seized her in the mentor’s room but apart from that, he thought that was the extent of the physical damage.

The twitches that came and went could be a nervous tic she developed in her isolation or it could be a lasting sign of electric shocks. Being from 3, he’s seen his fair share of workers ending up in unfortunate accidents that result in the same trembling nature his co-mentor now sported. He hoped it was just a tic, messing around with electricity had more… permanent effects.

Psychologically though, that was another story. Beforehand, he knew she was uneasy in crowds and rejected contact unless she initiated it and would sometimes say things that would be seen as odd or bizarre. But this was a whole nother mess that he had no idea how to untangle. Her torture had to be mainly psychological based on the way they managed to completely trample over her spirit and replace it with this. He just didn’t know how they decided to do it.

She didn’t spill a drop of blood in her own Games, which could be seen as rebellious in it’s own right, but she wasn’t being punished for her own stunt this time, she got away with that. She also didn’t have any evident wounds or dressings that indicated broken skin underneath, he found it was reasonable to rule that out at this stage.

Based on the way her tribute survived against all odds and his lasting… rebellious action, they had to have punished her in an inverse way to how Haymitch stuck it to the Gamemakers and the Capitol. He blew up the arena, completing Beetee’s plan, obliterating the scene. They obviously couldn’t do the same to her - she would be dead. And the Capitol liked to drag it out in long arduous bursts, they wouldn’t give her the courtesy of a quick and painless death.

This made electric shocks more plausible, him of all people knew the energy needed to generate an explosion of that magnitude. 

One outcome of an explosion though could be a power outage, and he already knew how she reacted to the dark. Hearing her blurted out confession of not wanting to die at night the year before or the uneasy nature that always accompanied her once the sun went down and there was no light to be seen, if the Capitol knew about that, they would exploit it to no end.

His suspicion was confirmed when the lights suddenly cut out momentarily on the train, leaving them in the darkness. The train must have come to a stop in the middle of his assessment - probably to refuel or drop another group of mentors off to their District before they made it to their own. Wiress brought her arms up to her face, pressing the heels of hands into her cheekbones and started screaming.

“Please no. Please. Please. PLEASE. NO. STOP”

The compartment door opened without warning, causing her to retreat further into herself, loud ramblings making up for the small way she shrunk into herself, rocking back and forth, occasionally jerking slightly, fingers fluttering before stilling again.

Darkness.

Potential electro-torture.

Clear isolation.

Flinching at the opening of doors.

He wasn’t liking the image his brain was painting.

It made Beetee want to burn the Capitol to ashes, along with everyone who had anything to do with her current state. He ignored the fact that he was also to blame there.

The train started again as soon as it stopped, rolling landscapes starting to be replaced by familiar landmarks. The trees that suddenly got replaced with the wild grasses that was one of the first pieces of flora that you would see outside of the concreted confines of District 3. They had to have around another 15 minutes until they returned. At least the time seemed to go quick despite the heavy air that lingered within the train.

The train finally slowed, the change in motion jolting her. Startling violently, she closed her eyes, hands flying to her ears.

“Not real. Why did it stop? Not real. Not real. Not real,” she muttered, breath quickening.

“This is real. We are home,” Beetee replied steadily, putting on a brave face that didn’t match the brokenness that stayed hidden inside of him.

The doors opened in a quick whoosh, opening to the platform of District 3. In all of its industrial, technological and familiar glory that the Capitol lacked. Beetee registered all of it, scents blending into a familiar sweetness that made him momentarily forget the heaviness that unfolded over the past month.

Wiress registered none of it.

A Peacekeeper entered, dressed in his military uniform that rejected any forms of non-compliance, helmet tilted enough to convey impatience with their delayed disembarkation, rifle in hand. He looked at Wiress’ curled figure before his gaze turned to Beetee expectantly.

His fingers tightened around the rifle.

Beetee let in a gulp of air. “Wiress,” he said softly. “We need to get off the train.”

She didn’t radiate any indication that she understood what was being said, completely unresponsive.

“We are in District 3,” Beetee continued, growing more uncomfortable as he felt the eyes of the Peacekeeper burning into him. He knew she wasn’t being insubordinate on purpose, but the Peacekeeper wouldn’t take that as a valid excuse. 

“I’m sorry for this,” Beetee said, gently grabbing her flailing wrists, pulling her up and leading her out of the train, unsteady but upright.

Once they were on the platform, glazed eyes gave him a look of betrayal that he could never unsee.

“Let go. Let go. Let go,” she muttered.

Beetee let go immediately.

“Why did it stop?” she asked into the open. “They’ve never listened before.”

Beetee was going to need countless rounds of therapy to get over this. 

And a drink. 

Or two.

The Peacekeeper gave them a look in the direction of the Victor’s Village, the 3 of them making their way to the lavish settlement in a silent walk that was only broken by the discordant mutterings of the only person he ever managed to bring home. If he knew this was what it was going to be for her in a year’s time, he wouldn’t have wanted this fate for her.

They made their way to the front of Wiress’ house - Beetee’s house being the one next door. Satisfied that they were accounted for, the Peacekeeper walked off, leaving the two of them outside the gated entry that led to a porch which led to a door. Behind the door would be full of pain once they see first-hand the extent of the damage. It was hard to picture her brother Byte’s easygoing nature being shifted into a more… somber demeanour. Or the way her mother’s face would crumple at the sight of her.

He started this mess.

The least he could do was at least be the person to explain what went on instead of dropping this package of angst and hiding in the safety of his own home, never wanting to go outside again.

With a gulp, he brought a shaky hand to the frame of the door that he personally had a key to and waited. Wiress stood in the front garden, completely unaware of what was going on.

He didn’t think it was right to barge in at a time like this. 

Eventually the door unclicked and he was met with the expectant eyes of her brother Byte.

He gave Beetee a toothy smile, showing excitement that was also laced with silent condolences as he knew his son was gone, before turning to see the back of his sister floating through the garden, unaware of the impact. She was always a little odd. The humming was in character for her.

“Way to go Wires,” Byte called out, still smiling. “First year being a mentor and bringing home a victor. From District 12 no less. That’s my sister.”

Usually she would respond, letting out a sassy remark or bizarre statement that would make him groan in a playful banter, but it never came.

Maybe she was just happy to smell the roses. That was okay. He could make it to her.

Stepping across from Beetee’s remorseful figure that he didn’t quite clock yet, he just passed the porch, walking towards her in a beaming energy before Beetee let out a harsh breath. Her back was still turned, but it was undeniably her.

“Don’t touch her!” Beetee called out with an unrestrained urgency that differed from the calm nature he composed himself with.

That got Byte to give Beetee his utmost attention as he looked at him with a bewildered expression after flinching from the scolding he didn’t understand yet. Wiress’ mother called out from the inside, voice edged with concern as she came out onto the porch.

Beetee let out a sigh at that. How was he going to explain this to them?

Exhaling through his nose once more, he looked at both of them while keeping Wiress’ wandering frame in his peripheral vision. “Let's get her inside first. I’ll explain everything.”

Byte was a little slow on the uptake, watching frozen as he saw Beetee walk to her in slow, deliberate movements as if he were approaching a skittish animal that was a known flight risk.

Once he reached her, Beetee crouched slightly, making his voice low and even. “Wiress,” he started. “We’re home.”

He got no response at that but he wasn’t expecting one.

Her mum let out a gasp as she was fully processing the scene in front of her, not knowing how to proceed. Byte grabbed her hand to try calm her down.

Beetee tried again. “Inside. Where it’s warm. With the fuzzy carpet. We can go in together,” Beetee said with a soft tone that didn’t match the dumpster fire of mess behind his brain that he was trying to conceal inside.

He didn’t think she was going to process that but her head tilted up at the mention of the warmth despite the glaze expression she still wore in her eyes. Her foot dragged forward in the general direction he was trying to lead her. Beetee smiled encouragingly at that as they slowly walked to the porch, staying beside her. Not close enough to accidentally make contact with her but enough that she would be able to feel his presence if she was there.

Her mum opened the door wider, showing the bright lit hall inside. Byte cleared the path of the walkway, hands clenched uselessly at this side as he watched this stranger wearing his sister’s skin drift past him. Beetee finally got her inside and he shut the door softly behind him.

That wasn’t the right move apparently, causing Wiress to bring her hands to her ears, scrunch her eyes shut and let out an ear piercing shriek as an automatic reflex.

Tears were brimming in her mum’s eyes. “What did they do to her?” she asked in a small voice, tone cracking at the end. Byte came up behind her, attempting to rub comforting circles on her back as they waited for Beetee’s response.

Beetee had no good answer. “Enough,” he finally said, glancing down to Wiress that was still bracing for impact. Her hands didn’t move from her ears but she opened her eyes. “Let’s go to the kitchen. You would want to be seated for what I’m going to tell you.”

Byte led them to the kitchen that had an adjacent lounge room. 

Beetee was dreading this more and more. Glancing at Wiress one more time as she followed them further into the house, he waited for Wiress to pick a place to sit.

Wiress stayed upright, seemingly looking at the furnished interior supplied generously by the Capitol with an expression none of them could decipher before sitting exactly where she was standing - on a rug in the corner of the lounge room. Tucking her knees to her chest, she planted her head into her legs and started humming under her breath. It was more off tune than what they were used to, but any noise was better than silence at this point. Every so often she would murmur something almost sounds like words, but she would always lose them halfway through.

Beetee ushered the rest of them to the kitchen, taking a seat at the dining table, hands firmly clenched around the armrests as if the extra support could ground him. Wiress’ mother busied herself making tea, sitting across from Beetee with 2 mugs of tea, rigid and full of concern. Byte leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and jaw clenched so tight it looked painful.

Silence filled the kitchen, only being broken by Wiress’ mutterings as they waited expectantly for Beetee to start. Beetee took a small sip of the offered drink, clearly still cogitating how he was going to approach this. There was no nice way to say this. 

“They took her after he survived,” Beetee started quietly. “In the mentor room, Peacekeepers stormed the place. Targeting her and Mags. I haven’t seen Mags since but Wiress was gone for nearly two weeks.”

“That’s why she wasn’t in any of the post-Games.. stuff?” Byte asked, glancing at Wiress from where he stayed perched on the wall. She was rocking back and forth now.

Beetee let out a slow nod at that.

Their mum’s breath hitched as she was processing the news. Clutching her own mug with shaking hands, she faced Beetee. “Why?”

Beetee closed his eyes briefly, wanting to be anywhere else. Imagining if things could’ve been different. “Because he won the way he did - destroying the arena.”

“They couldn’t touch the Victor, but someone needed to pay for it,” Beetee added.

“So they chose her?” Byte asked, voice flat, devoid of the usual lively cheer Beetee had liked to see.

“Yes,” Beetee responded simply.

Their mum’s face crumpled at that. All the effort she used to stay strong for Wiress coming crashing down in silent sobs.

“Haymitch would also be punished for that back in 12. It would just be… indirect for now,” Beetee offered, not wanting Wiress’ family to blame Haymitch for the reason their daughter was now like this when Beetee still believed that he himself had the biggest role to play in Wiress’ current state. They can blame him, not Haymitch - he was also just a kid.

“The plan was mine. Having him blow up the arena. It should’ve been me,” Beetee added with sincere remorse. “If I had known, I would have never risked it if I knew. I’m so sorry. If you want me to leave, I won’t blame you.”

Wiress’ mum’s sobs stopped for a moment as she processed this apology, “It was them,” she got out in a croaky voice. “You didn’t do this.”

Byte stared at Beetee with a similar look he used to see in Wiress when she was trying to process whether someone was being genuine or not. Eventually he gave Beetee an accepting nod.

Beetee didn’t think he deserved their quick forgiveness this easily.

“What did they do?” Byte asked, staring at Beetee with a hesitation that showed he was scared to know.

“I am not for certain,” Beetee started. There was no easy way to say this. “But judging her behaviour… I would assume electroshock was the main way. And it was done in the cold… and the dark.”

Wiress’ mum gasped at that, knowing how she felt about the dark. Wiping her face with the sleeve of her cardigan and looking at Beetee with glossy and red-rimmed eyes, utterly speechless.

Byte pushed himself off the wall, circling the kitchen in steady paces. “Is she-” he started, unsure of how to phrase it. “-Is this permanent?”

Beetee hesitated just long enough for Wiress’ mum to start wailing again. Byte pulled out the chair next to her, trying to give her some support.

Wiress briefly cocked her head to the source of the sound but didn’t turn around, pressing her palms to her ears while her neck jerked involuntarily.

“There’s no way of knowing yet,” Beetee finally answered. “She’s survived hard things before.”

Byte swallowed hard, staring at Wiress’ hunched form from the kitchen. The more he looked, the more he picked up on the changes - and he didn’t like that.

“She should be talking non-stop,” he said quietly. “About random stuff. You couldn’t shut her up.”

Beetee only nodded, although he only knew he for a year, he had become very familiar with a Wiress rambling.

Her mum gulped, “What would they think?”

“The Capitol?” Beetee asked for clarification, proceeding once he saw her nod.

Gaze hardening, Beetee started, “they will probably try say she’s always been like that. With how her persona was last year… the airiness, they will say nothing’s changed.”

“I’m looking at her right now and she’s definitely changed,” Byte spat out bitterly.

“They could frame it as an accident from District 3, all the electricity and technology. They’ll cover it up,” Beetee responded with his own express bitterness.

Tea gone cold now, Byte dismissed himself, needing to process in silence. Her mum just stayed at the table.

“How can she come back from this?” she finally asked.

“Time.” Beetee said. “Familiar faces and being back home should help. Constant reassurances. Taking it slow.”

Wiress was murmuring something but it was barely audible.

Silence filled the room until Wiress’ mum gasped for a whole new reason. “Oh Beetee, Ampert. I’m so sorry.”

Beetee’s breath shook at that, accepting the outreached hand that Wiress mum offered. “He got out,” Beetee responded, not wanting to think about the slow and painful death that sealed his fate. “She’s still in it,” he added, trying to put on a brave face while he gestured subtly at Wiress.

“We’ll get her through it,” she said fiercely. “If you need anything. Whatever it may be. You’re always welcome here.”

“Thank you,” he answered with a stoic sincerity.

Beetee stayed a little longer in the house, helping to clear the table of the mugs that held the stone-cold tea before he went to see what the Capitol had left for him - coming home to an empty house. He didn’t know where his wife went, but something told him the Capitol had something to do with that too. He returned to Wiress’ house soon after.

His was too quiet.

He noticed that she was still on the rug in the lounge room when he returned, but this time thankfully asleep. A weighted blanket was placed over her but she was still curled in a defensive fetal position. Her mum and Byte brought their mattresses into the room, evidently taking shifts to watch over her. Beetee took the couch.

Sometime in the night, Byte went to the back room without really deciding to.

The door felt the way it always had. It was stiff on the hinges - him having to shoulder it open to enter. The smell hit him straight away. Metals, dust, cables and electricity.

Wiress’s workshop.

The place she used to disappear into for hours, days, coming out with smudged fingers, face full of mischief, like she’d just crawled back from somewhere bright and dangerous, getting ready to show off her latest invention.

Nothing had moved since then.

Half-built contraptions sprawled across the tables exactly where she left them. Coils wound too tight. Loose screws sorted into jars with labels that only made sense to her. Notes scrawled on scrap paper, equations mixed with doodles.

A prototype sat in the center, wires splayed like exposed nerves, waiting for a next step that never came.

He crossed the room slowly, like he might break something just by breathing wrong. He never really came here without her.

“She was going to finish that,” he said aloud, voice cracking on the word was.

His hands curled into fists. He pressed them into the edge of the table until the wood bites back, grounding him, and then the sound punches out of him all at once - raw, ugly, nothing like the careful quiet he’d been holding since the front porch where he realised something was wrong. He tried his best to keep it together for his mum.

And now here he was, alone in his sister’s workshop, wishing desperately for a version of her he didn't think existed anymore.

He’s lost his fair share of friends to The Games. He already grieved his sister once when she was reaped the year before. Entering her old workshop last year the night of her Reaping and throwing all the scrap materials against the wall repeatedly, sobbing like he had never had before.

His mum found him shortly after, holding him until either of them had no more tear left to cry and puffy eyes with trembling hands.

No one warned him it wasn’t last year he was meant to be worrying about.

The circumstances were so different.

But perpetuated by the same system.

“It’s not fair,” he choked. “She didn’t even… she didn’t get to finish.”

His shoulders shook. He hated that he was crying in there, in her space, contaminating it with his grief. But it kept coming anyway, hot and unstoppable, spilling onto the concrete floor.

Behind him, the door creaked slowly.

An odd feeling of deja vu.

His mother stood there, eyes red, one hand braced against the frame. She took in the room - the frozen mess, the stalled brilliance - her son.

He scrubbed his eyes, reflexive. “Is she okay?”

SIlence stretched through the somber night.

“She’s still asleep,” his mother said softly. Then, just as gently, “Are you?”

Byte looked back at the unfinished machine, at the place where her hands should be, where her mind used to live so loudly it drowned everything else out.

“No,” he answered finally. “But I don’t think any of us are.”

She stepped inside and wrapped her arms around him, fully leaning into each other.

When she woke, she woke to noise. There was a screaming she couldn’t quite place the source of the sound from.

Someone was sitting beside her but she couldn’t make it out. No one sat with her in the arena. It didn’t make sense. 

“Wires, It’s okay. You’re safe at home. You’re not there…” the voice was saying.

It was weird, how could she be safe in the arena?

“You never have to go there ever again,” someone faraway responded.

Blinking around the room, her gaze lingered for a little too long on the body sitting next to her. He looked like her dad, but it’s been a decade since she’s seen him.

“I’m not dad. It’s your brother. Byte,” the voice was saying shakily. “You know, the one who can’t complete a circuit,” he offered as he fiddled with the fibres of the carpet. “You said that once.”

She must be dead, everyone was saying things she didn’t know but assumed she did.

“You’re not dead,” a feminine voice said, tone quivering.

As if she wasn’t disoriented already, the lights flickered for a moment too long before settling.

But the damage was already done.

Wiress collapsed back onto the carpet - it was good she was still sitting. Breathing going sharp and panicked as her body folded tightly into itself. 

Beetee reached for the light switch in the adjacent kitchen, brightening up the area to try to give her some sense of security. He then went in the direction of her workshop, evidently going to grab some tools to adjust the lighting inside the house. With the sound of the workshop door clicking open, she froze in her already frantic state, muttering something along the lines of “not again,” over and over again.

It was impossible trying to ground her when she got like that, they couldn’t offer physical touch and she wasn’t lucid enough to process their repeated whispered assurances that she was safe and at home, nothing was going to hurt her in here.

Byte went to take every single interior door off from its hinges after that - embracing a more… open layout. 

Food was the hardest though. 

Wiress’ mum tried to offer her some of the cherry tomatoes she so eagerly enjoyed for breakfast but Wiress just stared at it. She didn’t recognise it, unseeing gaze fixed on the unfamiliar object with a tilted head and quirked eyebrow.

She couldn’t even listen to her body cues to base mealtimes off.

“Wiress,” Beetee said, coming into her field of view. “These are tomatoes,” he said, kneeling in front of her, voice steady, explaining the concept as if she were a child. “They’re very nice,” he added, demonstrating the action by taking a bite out of one of them. He never really liked tomatoes, but it wasn’t about him.

Glazed eyes stared at him with confusion. Slowly, she picked one up, squeezing it a little too tightly with her fingers upon examining it, juices going everywhere.

Beetee wasn’t going to give up at that. “How about a bite,” he offered. “Like this,” he demonstrated once more, trying to coax her into doing the same.

It was painstakingly slow, but Beetee could be patient. Eventually she mimicked the action, reaching for a second tomato, holding it up and inspecting it with intense scrutiny.

What she was seeing, Beetee had no idea.

She took a bite, startling at the crunch that brought a raw and sweet tangy feeling to her taste buds. 

Beetee expected her to take another bite, they were her favourite food after all - and he knew she would be hungry. He hadn’t seen her eat since before the train ride that took them home and he doubted the Capitol fed her appropriately.

Instead, she placed the half-eaten tomato on the plate, awkwardly standing up, swaying a little bit trying to adjust to the dizzy spell getting up on an empty stomach gave her, before she moved around the house, stopping at Byte’s room, taking a seat on the ground in the corner of the room. Byte was sitting at his desk, acting as if his sister randomly coming to visit him and hum off-key in his room was the most normal thing in the world.

“How about we try something softer,” Wiress’ mum suggested to Beetee once he returned to the kitchen where she was. “A soup or something easy.”

Beetee considered it, nodding. “Anything would be better at this stage. I haven’t seen her eat a full meal since… before.”

Her mum and Beetee brought the finished dish to Byte’s room once it was ready. It was a simple vegetable soup but packed to brim with nutrients that she would be lacking.

She took a seat on the ground next to her, moving carefully with the bowl and spoon in hand, narrating each step as if it could give her some clarity.

“Alright, this is soup. It’s warm. You’ve had it before,” she said softly. “I’m lifting the spoon now.”

The spoon rose into Wiress’ line of sight, exaggerated in slow movements. Her eyes tracked it, not smoothly but in small stuttering increments. Like she was trying to conduct with a faulty connection.

“I’m bringing it closer,” her mum continued, voice steady and deliberate, stopping just short of where it was level with her chin.

Wiress’ humming paused for a moment. Her lips parted, then closed - completely uncertain and lost.

“It’s going to touch your lip,” her mum said, barely louder than a whisper.

The spoon made contact with her mouth, barely brushing her lip before she jerked back suddenly, a frightened sound catching in the back of her throat.

A whirlwind of muttered comments spilled from her lip. They couldn’t make out most of it but they heard her terrified “no’ whispered clear as day.

Beetee intervened before it escalated further, gently taking the bowl from her mum’s shaking hands. “Alright, we won’t force it. We’ll try later.”

Byte went to go grab some of the square bread she used to devour by the loaf and rested it within reach. The three of them started to talk around her - about everything and nothing. Just the normal things: appliances, weather, foods - hoping that the normalcy would do the work that they couldn’t. They would occasionally address her in the casual exchanges, hoping that she may give a lucid response or eat.

But they didn’t get either.

Hours eventually passed, but her stomach stayed empty.

At one point she picked up one of the cubed pieces of bread, turning it over in her fingers, examining it as if she’d never seen it before.

They paused, hopeful that she would ingest it….

… But she just set it down carefully and resumed her mutterings intertwined with broken melodies.

“She’ll starve,” her mother said hoarsely, watching Wiress get up and drift into another room. “She’ll just… waste away.”

Beetee rubbed his temples, exhaustion etched deep into his face. “Her body’s protecting her,” he says, though it sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as them. “Eating requires… presence. She doesn’t have enough of that yet.”

Byte paced the length of the hallway, anger bleeding through his fear. “So what do we do? Just watch her fade?”

No one had an answer to that.

All the plates stayed untouched, food fully intact. 

They could hear Wiress echo throughout the house - thin and distant, an ominous tune for someone who survived the Hunger Games.

Beetee had an idea. “That might work,” he blurted, talking more to himself than the other two people still in the room before making his way to the kitchen where he found her sitting on the kitchen bench.  

2 desperate sets of eyes followed him into the area as Beetee went digging through their draws for a clear glass. Looking at them, Beetee said, “it might not work.”

“She won’t eat because there’s too much to it,” he continued, grabbing some of the soup from the morning, pouring it into a glass. “Too many steps and feedback. Taste, texture, temperature - her brain can’t process it all yet.”

Byte frowned. “So you’re going to have her drink it?”

Beetee nodded at that. “Less steps than using a spoon and bowl - or chewing. It’s worth a shot,” he added, taking a glimpse at the hollowed out appearance of her cheeks that used to have more life in it. 

“We already know she registers light,” he continued, adjusting one of the overhanging ceiling lights to shine directly on the glass that contained the sustenance she desperately needed. He clinked one of the unused spoons against the counter to get her attention. “She just needs to… follow the lightbeams.”

Wiress flinched at the sound, trying to locate it before her eyes widened at the glass that she swore wasn’t there before. 

“She knows it’s there,” Beetee murmured. “She just has to take it.”

He didn’t bring it to her. He just set it down and took a step back, going to take a seat on one of the couches nearby.

No pressure. No hands trying to force spoons down her. It would be up to her.

Minutes passed. Long enough that Byte had lost hope again. Long enough that her mother’s shoulders sagged - crestfallen.

She was about to take the glass away before Wiress stopped humming.

Making her way to the small glass that sat on the bench, Wiress reached out with shaky hands, fingers curling around the glass like the added strength would reinforce the fact that it was real. A curious expression painted her face but no one knew what she was actually feeling inside.

She lifted the cup, bringing it to eye level. She hesitated before taking a sniff of it. 

Drawing the cup closer to her mouth, they all took a breath as they saw her bring it to her lips…

… And finally breathe out a sigh of relief once they saw her take the smallest sip imaginable.

Her face pinched at the sensation, clearly confused, but she didn't spit it out, pausing for a moment. She took a bigger sip the second time.

Byte pumped his fists in the air from afar, not wanting to add any more noises that would confuse her or distract her from the task at hand. He clapped a hand over his mouth as he saw her gulp down more of the glass.

Her mum sank into a chair with complete relief, knees giving out beneath her.

Beetee didn’t move from his spot on the couch. He just watched, eyes burning.

When the glass was empty, Wiress set it down in the exact same spot it was placed and went to lay on the carpet she slept the night before. It still didn’t make up for the lack of food she experienced over the past couple weeks, but a little was better than nothing.

“That’s it,” Beetee said quietly. “That’s how we do it. Same way, every time. Same cues. Same order.”

They were all in agreement at that, watching her doze off into another nap despite the light hour still outside.

“I’ll try get her clean tomorrow,” her mum said.

“Baby steps,” Byte offered simply, grabbing a blanket to wrap around her, still elated that they managed to get something in her after all.

Beetee slipped into the loungeroom the next day after unofficially moving into the spare guest room in Wiress’ house. It was nearly midday and there was still no peep from her yet apart from the occasional shriek throughout the night.

“She’s still sleeping,” Byte whispered. He was laying on one of the two couches that the Capitol supplied in this lavish space. Beetee squinted at what he was holding in his hands. 

Ah, a music box.

“Im trying to get it working again,” Byte murmured after following Beetee’s gaze. “It used to play a bunch of the nursery rhymes we would listen to when we were kids. Could be a nice distraction.”

“Good thinking,” Beetee replied softly. Wiress needed familiar and Beetee knew that music had the capacity to reach parts of the brain that words couldn’t. Maybe it could be a lifeline to reality - if only temporary. “How did she sleep?”

“Not good,” Byte answered with a frown, still fiddling with one of the knobs on the music box. “She kept waking up in the middle of the night. You probably heard some of the screaming. She finally dozed off a little after 3.”

“The rest would be helpful,” Beetee responded, trying to ignore the fact that his calculating and intelligent former tribute still couldn't tell reality from fantasy or that she was having nightmares that no one knew how to help. “Where’s your mum?”

“She went off to the corner store to get more ingredients,” Byte commented, finally managing to click one of the knobs in place. “Something tells me we’re going to be having a lot of soup.”

“I’m on Wiress watch until she’s back,” Byte added, reaching for a little toolbox he had on the coffee table that Beetee just noticed. 

“I can take over,” Beetee said, inching towards a nearby armchair. “Go get some rest,” he added, grabbing a nearby newspaper as he sat comfortably in the chair.

Byte nodded, getting up, probably going to go get some sleep in his own room. He looked at Beetee one more time before turning towards the hallway. “Do you think she’s going to get better?”

“Yes,” Beetee said, evenly after a moment. “I do.”

Byte paused at that, if someone as logical and analytical as Beetee believed she would improve, maybe there was hope after all. “Back to normal?”

“What happened to Wiress wasn’t a malfunction,” Beetee continued, answering the question by not really answering the question. “It wasn’t a temporary overload you can power-cycle your way out of. It was a sustained, deliberate disruption of her nervous system in conditions designed to remove autonomy, orientation and time.”

Byte frowned. “So you don’t think she’d be back to normal,” he responded. “This is… permanent.”

“No,” Beetee said immediately. “That’s not what I said.”

Beetee folded his hands together, getting ready to explain in true Beetee fashion. “When a system is damaged at its core, you don’t just turn it off and on again and expect it to respond like it used to. You observe what still responds. You reroute. You build redundancies. You stop forcing it to do what it used to do and ask what it can do now.”

Byte swallowed, still processing. “And what if what it can do isn’t… enough?”

Beetee’s mouth tightened. “Wiress is still processing, still sensing, ” he said eventually. “Even when it doesn’t look like it. Her humming, rocking and body language - they’re not signs of absence. She’s trying to regulate. It’s a coping mechanism.”

Byte glanced toward the lounge room floor, where his sister was still thankfully asleep.

“She still doesn’t know where she is.”

“Neither would you,” Beetee replied quietly, “if the dark had been weaponised against you.”

That landed hard.

Beetee exhaled, getting ready to continue. “Will she wake up one morning and be the girl she was before the Quell or her own Games? No. That version of her existed in a world that no longer does.”

Byte nodded, eyes growing misty. “So… no.”

“So,” Beetee corrected gently, “different. But that doesn’t mean broken.”

He leaned further back in his chair. “Do I think this is going to be sorted out quickly? Honestly… no. But it’s still early.”

“When creating systems, there’s always an adjustment period. The same can be said for Wiress. There will be times when something would remind her body of something awful before her mind has time to catch up. But I truly believe the girl who navigated through a mirror maze better than those who created it is still in there. The same girl who has razor sharp intuition where she connects dots faster than anyone else I’ve ever come across. The same girl who is still asleep on the floor right now.”

Byte let out a shaky breath. “So we just wait.”

Beetee considered him carefully.

“Yes but no.” he said eventually to the quirked eyebrow of Byte as he was clearly trying to follow where Beetee was heading. “Waiting implies passivity. Instead we’re going to accommodate. You’ve already seen from yesterday, keeping the lights on, removing the doors, finding new ways so she can eat, whispering reassurances even though it seems like she’s not hearing it. But it’s still early.”

The front door softly opened at that, indicating that her mum had arrived. Beetee and Byte barely noticed her enter - it was so quiet.

Wiress noticed straight away, jerkily sitting up on the carpet from her previously asleep position. Her eyes flicked erratically around the brightly lit room, still trying to make sense of the fog in her mind.

Beetee got up gently from the couch, kneeling over to the twitching girl. “You’re at home in District 3. You’re not in the Games. You’re not in the Capitol. You’re in the lounge room with the fuzzy carpet. Byte is about to go to his room and rest, he was working on repairing a music box. Your mum just came home from getting some vegetables from the grocer, we’re going to have soup soon. I decided to spend the night here in the spare room. You’re safe here.”

Wiress’ breathing evened out at that but her eyes were still looking around frantically. She covered her ears once she heard the vegetables being blended in the pot - that wasn’t particularly out of character for her, she still did that before, not really liking loud noises unless she could control it.

Eventually the soup was placed in the same glass that was used the day before, her mum shining the kitchen light on top of it, waiting for Wiress to take it. She poured the rest into 3 bowls and dished it out to the rest of them before taking a seat beside her on the ground. Beetee got up to clean the remaining pots and utensils used to make it.

Sitting next to Wiress, her mum took a small sip of the warm soup, trying to model the behaviour she wanted Wires to replicate.

Staring at her warily with vacant eyes, Wiress slowly moved to the kitchen counter where her own portion was, examining it immensely before taking a small sip.

It was devastating seeing her so empty but they just had to hold out hope.

Her mum watched as she saw her slowly finish the glass. “What would you like to do today Wires?” she asked her. “We could fix something, or make something new. Anything you want to do.”

She would love for Wiress to respond or at least be able to coax her into the shower but they had to operate on her timing.

There was no verbal response from Wiress, still leaning against the kitchen counter. Still looking expectantly at her, she watched as Wiress started humming a familiar tune.

“The clock struck one. The mouse ran down…”

Beetee looked at the digital clock they had perched on a nearby shelf at that, exhaling when he realised.

Curious.

Very curious.

“It is 1 o’clock. That’s right. Do you want to run down to your workshop downstairs?” Beetee asked. “Maybe after a shower?” he continued, not wanting to get too ambitious. “Or a change of clothes at least?”

Brief recognition flashed in Wiress’ eyes momentarily before they shifted back to its vacant expression as soon as it started, hands poking and prodding the kitchen counter as if she completely lost her train of thought and was trying to make sense of it.

“I’ll be in the workshop,” Beetee said at last. “You’re free to join me if you want.”

She didn’t move straight away but her eyes watched as Beetee descended the staircase. Instead of following him she just drifted through the kitchen. She was still tracking. She was still her. It was just early. 

Instead of partaking in an activity they hoped she would, she just planted herself square on the carpet in the lounge room. Same place as normal with the same faraway stare. What she was seeing in the specific spot, they had no idea.

Her mum decided that was a good of an opportunity to try get her cleaned up. With Beetee downstairs and her brother in his own room, that was the most privacy they were going to get.

Filling up a small basin with warm water from the kitchen, she was speaking as she searched for a small cloth that would do the job. 

“We’re going to get you cleaned up Wires,” she said as she crouched down in front of her with hopeful eyes.

Silence stretched as Wiress didn’t verbally respond.

Her mum wasn’t put off from that, getting ready to explain every single step.

“That means I’m going to wipe your face first.”

Wiress’s eyes didn’t move. They didn’t seem to land on anything at all.

“Like this,” her mother said as she demonstrated the action she was wanting to perform on Wiress on herself first. 

Reaching out slowly and deliberately, making sure the movement was in Wiress’ field of vision. The cloth barely brushed Wiress’ cheek before she put it back down in basin, retreating

Wiress jerked away with a sharp, startled sound - more breath than voice but she wasn’t screaming. She scrambled back, drawing her knees towards her with hands coming up defensively, fingers fluttering like clipped wings.

“It’s me,” her mother said immediately. “It’s your mum. I touched your face but I stopped,” she continued, making sure to keep her hands where Wiress could see them.

Wiress started rocking slightly, she started muttering words that sounded more breathy than audible, looking around the room.

She wasn’t being insubordinate.

She just didn’t know what was happening to her at that given moment.

Her mother just waited, counting the seconds that passed, giving time for the room to settle before trying again.

“Alright,” she said after Wiress’ breathing seemed to even out. “I’m lifting the cloth now,” she said as she lifted it into view again, holding it there for Wiress to see when she chose ot open her eyes.

“It’s wet,” she added. “The water is warm and it is not touching you yet.”

Wiress cracked one eye open eventually. Her gaze skimmed past the cloth, past her mother’s face, still unfocused. But she didn’t visually recoil.

That was probably going to be the most clear form of consent she was going to get, so her mum decided to proceed. Slowly of course.

“I’m going to touch your hand this time,” her mother said, thinking that maybe the face was too invasive to start off with. “Just your hand. I’ll start with your left.”

Wiress didn’t move.

The cloth brushed her fingers.

This time, she flinched but she didn't pull away. Her hand curled reflexively, grasping the edge of the fabric as she processed this new sensory input.

Her mother exhaled slowly at that acceptance.

“Good,” she whispered. “That’s good. I’m going to use it to slowly scrub your arm now.”

They eventually settled into a rhythm. Starting small with her hands, moving up to her arms. Each movement was carefully narrated, paused and done with enough time and warning not to cause visible distress. Every time Wiress startled when her mum tried to clean a new portion of her body, she stopped, giving enough time and reassurances to wait it out before trying again. 

Soon enough, she was adequately cleaned given the flighty and delayed way she would react. A shower would have been more preferable but given the fact she hadn’t been cleaned at all since the night she was taken in the Capitol, this was alright for now.

Changing her clothes was a lot more difficult. 

Wiress came back from the Capitol in a simple black pair of pants and shirt. Her mum was able to coax a clean pair of soft pyjama pants on her after repeatedly explaining what she was going to do.

Changing shirts was a whole new problem.

You couldn’t unbutton or unzip a t-shirt.

The moment her shirt was lifted over her head, panic snapped through her like a live wire. Letting out a high and fractured cry, she then folded inward, curling into herself, arms locked tight around her ribs.

Her mother froze before quickly pulling the shirt back down to how it was.

“I’m stopping,” she said immediately. “I stopped. I stopped. You’re not in the Capitol. You’re not in the arena. I tried to change your shirt. It got dark because it covered your eyes. You’re safe here.”

Wiress starting rocking more aggressively than before, breath coming fast and shallow, humming breaking into disjointed syllables that didn’t form words.

Her mother swallowed at the scene before going to try a shirt that didn’t need to be pulled over her head. She had a few button down shirts but Wiress was really particular about those fabrics so those weren’t an option. She went digging through Wiress’ closet before finding a worn zip-up hoodie that would do the job for now. It was still warm in District 3 but it was better than nothing.

Going back into the loungeroom where Wiress appeared to have regulated herself to a more… relaxed baseline given her current state, she sat down in front of her with hoodie in hand. The shirt wasn’t exactly oversized, but it wasn’t skin tight either. But if she could manoeuvre her arms out of the sleeves, the neck hole looked like it was wide enough and stretchy enough to be pulled downwards so her face would never be covered. Her mum considered cutting the shirt off from her but between the scissor’s subtle reflectiveness that caused Wiress to be on edge even on a good day even before and the confusion that she would experience if someone came up to her with a sharp tool, she decided against it.

“Alright, let's try this again,” her mum said, setting the hoodie aside. “I’m going to take your arms out of the sleeves and pull your shirt downwards. It might feel tight or uncomfortable - but it will only be for a moment.” 

Wiress just hummed at that, not strained, so she figured it was alright.

She managed to pull both arms in through the sleeves, intentionally watching Wiress’ expression for any telltale signs of distress seeing that her arms were under the shirt. Satisfied that she still seemed complicit, she started to pull the shirt down.

She heard a few threads snapping and noted the lack of sound emitted from Wiress. Her daughter was holding her breath, evidently trying to brace herself for whatever she thought was going to happen. She just worked harder, pulling the shirt down to hip level before fiddling with the sleeves of the hoodie, putting it on her.

Dressing yourself wasn’t exactly difficult.

But trying to dress someone else in a disoriented state definitely had a knack to it.

“There we go,” her mother murmured, satisfied. So far they’ve worked out a way to give Wiress food and fluids, gotten her clean and changed into nicer clothes, she never needed help in going to the bathroom even in her cloudy state and they’ve implemented accommodations to make Wiress feel safer. They were going in the right direction.

Maybe soon, they would be able to get some actual lucid responses out of her, or at least have her sleep on a softer surface than the carpet.

Afternoon turned into evening and Beetee soon emerged from the workshop he spent most of the day in with a new gadget in hand.

It looked to be a headset, but her mum wasn’t really sure.

“Noise-cancelling headphones,” Beetee explained as she saw her examining his newest creation. “But with a twist. They dull surrounding sounds but there’s also a button here-” he explained, gesturing to one of the features on the set, “-that can play other sounds on a loop.”

He handed the headphones to her, giving her the greenlight to try it out.

“Oh,” her mum said after adjusting to the now lack of audible stimuli. “That’s helpful when I use the blender.”

“I don’t know if she’d end up using it,” Beetee added, looking towards Wiress who was still on the carpet, chirping a strange song. “But either way, this counts as this season’s invention for the Capitol. They always want more,” he finished bitterly.

“I’ll set it on the bench, she might use it - might not, but the choice would be hers.”

The lights flickered momentarily due to the overuse of power within the Beam household.

Keeping the lights on was taxing business.

It was just for a moment, maybe 10 seconds at most and the lights didn’t even turn completely off.

But for Wiress who was pleasantly swaying from side to side on the kitchen counter, still buzzing with a song that refused to stay bottled up - she froze. 

Hard.

And for way longer than the time the lights wobbled.

Shoulders snapping tight, fingers firmly being pressed in her ears, knees slamming together in full rigidity. 

Her mum ran to her to whisper assurances she wasn’t even sure her daughter was able to process but that didn’t stop her. Byte emerged from his bedroom after not being able to get enough sleep anyway - he really needed to invest in an eyemask if he was going to be sleeping during the day and followed the look Beetee gave him to meet him outside.

Looking for Peacekeepers or any movement that seemed threatening, Beetee scanned the vicinity before being satisfied that they were alone..

“They keep a backup generator outside of that house,” Beetee said, pointing towards one of the further houses in the Victor’s Village. “That was the first house they built. Maybe they thought it was necessary thinking District 3 was going to have a lot more Victors than we do now.”

“Think they’ll notice?” Byte asked warily, subtly alluding to the Capitol while walking in the direction of that house.

The generator was old. Industrial looking - laced with gray, perched a top a concrete slab. It hadn’t been used in a while but being manufactured in District 3 - it was built to last.

“They don’t notice anything,” Beetee said, tone laced with bitterness, hands patting the generator. Inspecting. Assessing it for any faults before nodding that it would do. “Here you grab that side. We lift on 3.”

Byte crouched down beside him, getting ready to lift.

“This thing’ll handle the load?” Byte huffed as he carried one side of this portable appliance

Beetee nodded, more fixed or trying not to drop the contraption as they lugged it from one side of the village to another. 

Setting it down on a discrete concrete slab in the front garden of Wiress’ house, he replied. “Lights, heating, minimal appliances. Lights would be the main priority.”

Byte swallowed and nodded back.

They worked in tandem then - not much talking being done. There was a strange sereness that came along with speaking the shared language of wires and switches and coming together in mutual understanding to help someone else out. When they reach a new step, Beetee would explain as he went - not because Byte didn’t understand, but because explanation is grounding - keeping them both on the same page

“If the grid drops,” Beetee started, tightening a bolt, “the transfer switch flips automatically. Being made here, there would be no delay in its efficiency. No delay means…”

“No dark,” Byte answered.

“No dark,” Beetee confirmed.

Inside, Wiress stayed perched on the kitchen counter with her back against the cabinet, the rigidness that overcame her body escaped but she was still not back to her new baseline. Her mother stayed, narrating softly as she folded the laundry on one of nearby couches, like they were completing the task together..

“We’re putting socks away now. Blue ones first. Then the grey.”

Wiress just watched with the familiar sheen over her eyes..

When Beetee routed the final cable through the wall, the job seemed to be done.

He stood there for a second longer than necessary, admiring the result of his craftsmanship? Or quietly reflecting over the reason they needed to do this in the first place?

It was a bit of both.

Byte exhaled like he’d been holding his breath all day.

“That’s it?” he asked quietly.

“That’s it,” Beetee responded. “Redundancy in place.”

“We just have to test it now.”

Byte went into the house, warning them about what they were going to do. He got the nod of approval from his mum to have the greenlight. Wiress seemed more interested in the fabric of her clothes.

“Okay we have clearance. Quick. I don’t want to see the aftermath if it fails.”

Beetee nodded, knowing that it was going to hold.

Going to the main powerboard, Beetee cut the main breaker deliberately. It was weird in a way. The last time this happened, it was Wiress who cut the power to give Beetee the safety to talk to Haymtich undetected. Now it was him cutting the power to ensure Wiress had the safety she needed.

The steady glow from the inside indicated the switch. The house stayed bright.

Byte pressed his lips together hard, emotion threatening to spill.

“Thank you,” he eventually said to Beetee, voice rough. “I didn’t even think…”

Beetee shook his head. “You don’t think about how important something is until it becomes essential.”

He glanced toward Wiress through the window.

“She needs continuity,” he added quietly.

Beetee then went back to the armchair in the loungeroom, opening a book to start reading. Her mum and Byte joined them in the space soon after.

A steady rhythm settled in the lounge room, everyone just content on doing their own thing in each other's company. Beetee was halfway through his book, Byte was tinkering with an old radio after he finished fixing the music box earlier in the day, he was going to show Wiress it tomorrow. Their mum was knitting what looked to be taking the shape of a shirt that was going to have buttons added into it afterwards.

Wiress was tracing patterns into the carpet with her finger, happily humming under breath until she suddenly stopped, lifting her head at where Beetee stayed seated on the armchair, eyes fixed on him.

Beetee eventually sernsed the shift in the room that indicated someone was looking at him before he saw Wiress staring with a vacant expression.

She was looking straight at him.

Not past him or through him like she had previously.

Beetee just watched, waiting for her next action.

He didn’t think she was going to say that.

“Amps?” she eventually asked in a small voice, a quizzical expression settling on her face.

She got Byte and her mother’s attention at that. But they weren’t looking at her. They were looking at Beetee. Over the past year her and Ampert had worked together to create a few gadgets of their own, they were friends.

Beetee didn’t answer at first. His chest tightened so abruptly it almost stole his breath. Between everything going on with Wiress and the Quell, he hadn’t heard his son’s name spoken aloud in days. Hearing it like this - casual and confused from the girl who evidently was mistaking him for his son - that hit harder than any formal condolence ever could.

Wiress frowned slightly when he didn’t respond, studying his face with that old, unsettling focus. Her hum started up again, faint, anxious and slightly strained.

“You’re late,” she added softly. “It already… it already started.”

Beetee couldn’t make heads or tails from that statement. Started what? The Games? Did they have a project they didn’t get to finish? Dinnertime? Did she know he was dead? And if she didn’t, how was he going to tell her? He slowly looked at her family who was looking back at him with hesitance, he gave them a look that it was okay before trying to figure out an appropriate response.

“I-” Beetee attempted to start, voice catching. Swallowing and trying again, keeping it steady, he tried again. “No, Wiress. It’s me.”

Her brows knitted together, eyes wide and faraway. She shook her head once, small and sharp, like she was rejecting that response. She was looking at Ampert, why was he pretending to be someone else?

“No,” she said. “You’re… you’re taller today.”

That almost shattered Beetee.

He crouched down in front of her, careful to keep his movements slow, nonthreatening. “You’re safe,” he whispered, because that’s the truth that matters most. “You’re at home. I’m here with you.”

Her eyes flickered - searching. For a moment, Beetee thought she might correct herself, or trail off to the point where she would forget she was even talking to him.

Instead, she reaches out and grips the sleeve of his jacket.

“Amps,” she repeated, more urgently now, tugging the sleeve of Beetee’s jacket. “They said you -” she stopped, mouth trembling, words not lining up. “Something’s… wrong.”

Beetee closed his eyes.

He couldn’t say it. Not when she was acting more coherent than normal even though she was forgetting key events and getting people mixed up but seemed more present. The wrong word could send her spiraling back into noise and fear. The Beam household had enjoyed a relatively scream-free day. But he couldn’t let her wait for someone who would never come either.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Listen to me.”

Her grip tightened around his sleeve, as if her hold would help her hear better..

“I’m Beetee. Ampert isn’t here right now,” he said, choosing each word with increased care despite the new wave of grief that just washed over him. “He’s… he’s not here tonight.”

She stared at him clearly confused and growing more distressed. Letting go of his sleeve, her humming spiked, more dissonant than melodic.

“Not here,” she eventually echoed, framing each word sharply with her mouth, still trying to process. “Where?”

Beetee couldn’t tell her that and the truth of it nearly crushed him, taking a breath. “Away,” he eventually answered, he saw her mum crying in his peripheral vision. “But you’re here. You’re home. You’re okay.”

Something in her seemed to sag. Her fingers retreated back into her ears, pressing hard like she could physically block out the world. The light drained from her eyes, glazing over completely. She coiled herself into a ball, knees tightly tucked under her arms, rocking faintly.

Beetee stayed where he was, kneeling on the floor. She may have forgotten events - or chosen not to accept them - but she still remembered his son. Somewhere in the wreckage of her mind, his son was still alive, happily terrorising some poor collection of scrap materials when he and Wiress would collaborate on projects. Somewhere, he didn’t get… torn apart like he did.

Maybe one day Beetee would join her in the land of make-believe.

Getting up, Byte gave him a sharp look that he translated into “are you okay.”

Putting a brave face on, Beetee nodded with a look that didn’t reach the crushed expression in his eyes before retiring in the spare room for the night.

Everything was a blur.

Nothing seemed to make sense.

There was light.

Wherever she was, was definitely bright.

The arena was bright, even in the night, mirrors scattering the moonlight in fractured screens..

She thought she made it out of that though.

Why was she back?

The light pressed against her eyelids even when they were closed, a soft white glow that pulsed like a heartbeat. 

A stuttering lifeline if you will.

She could see everything in the arena.

Why wasn’t she seeing anything now?

Nothing made sense.

Nothing held meaning.

She was warm, it must have been daytime. But the fog was too thick to judge.

The arena was always warm during the day.

The other tributes were near her, she heard a lot of talking, movement, signs she wasn’t alone.

“She just has to eat something,” her mother pleaded with Beetee as if Beetee could change the way his current former-tribute was faraway in a place none of them could reach her.

“This might work,” the voice that must have belonged to Beetee responded. “She just has to… follow the lightbeams.”

Byte scoffed at that, his sister said that once. They quoted that all the time.

That didn’t make sense.

They didn’t get sent to the Hunger Games. Only she did.

Why were they in the arena now?

A frail hum escaped her lips before she could stop it, they would be gunning for her soon. The sound would reveal her location, but she wasn’t focused on surviving anymore.

Only on getting out.

She felt the usual nauseating feeling that came along with having a stomach that was all too empty. 

She searched around the arena for a moment, until her eyes landed on the glass glowing in the distance. The edges shimmered, like it wasn’t entirely real. But it still had the same chromatic glimmer of a parachute

“Huh,” she thought to herself amused. The Gamemakers actually figured out how to send her sponsor gifts to her this time.

That was nice.

She walked toward the parachute glass with soup and inspected it earnestly.

It was still warm.

All the sponsor gifts she’d received in the past was safe. This would be safe too.

She reached for it with trembling fingers, expecting the soft rustle of silk. Instead, her hand met cold glass. 

She jerked back, startled and confused. 

Why would a parachute be made of glass?

That didn’t make sense.

The glass would shatter on its way down.

The gnawing feeling made her stomach churn again.

So she gulped the soup down against all disorientation.

She saw shapes moving in the room - three of them. One tall and thin, with glasses that catch the light. One with familiar eyes and toothy grin. One with soft hands and kind smile 

She’s seen them before.

But where?

Everything else - the sounds, the voices, the movement - bled together into a thick, humming blur.

She heard her name - she thinks she did - but it sounded wrong. As if they were speaking underwater.

Her mouth opened, trying to speak back, only a whisper coming out.

She didn’t have allies.

But maybe that was going to change.

“Tick… tock… tick… tock…”

She didn’t know why she said it.

But it sounded safe.

Familiar.

Familiarity was hard to across in the arena.

She tried to hold onto this thread despite the fog looming nearer..

The shapes moved closer.

One of them sat beside her.

It said something, but she couldn’t make it out

She blinked slowly, trying to turn it down a notch. The lights blurred.

She wanted to ask the person why everything felt wrong. She wanted to ask why her head hurt and why her thoughts won’t line up and why she can’t remember how she got here. She wanted to ask the person why they were talking to her and not trying to finish her off.

It was the Hunger Games after all.

She drifted off again, sinking back into the soft, heavy dark where the lights never turned off and the voices faded into static.

It was like she was underwater.

But no one taught her how to swim.

“There’s a hospital that could help,” Beetee mentioned to Wiress’ mum in the kitchen after an unsettling day of too much disassociating and not enough progress. “They specialise in treating electro-shock. There’s a whole ward for it.”

Byte seemed to nod at that as he was watching the exchange unfold from the couch, keeping an eye on his sister that appeared to be thankfully asleep. She was less haunted when she was out of it. 

But he supposed she was out of it virtually all the time now, even when she was awake, appearing haunted and haunting them with all the trauma she acquired and reminding them in their futility to help and provide comfort.

“This is more than electro-shock,” Wiress mother answered after considering Beetee’s proposal. “This is the collection of all the trauma and every quirk she had that got exploited. They wouldn’t have what she needs,” she finished, referring to the hospital.

“We’re not getting anywhere here though,” Byte replied from the lounge room. “She doesn’t know who she is, or where she is. She thinks Beetee is Amps and when she doesn’t she’s not even here.”

“It hasn’t even been a week yet,” their mum responded. “At least she’s home where she’s safe.”

Beetee considered this. “She can also be safe in a place with better resources,” he said hesitantly, not wanting to overstep his place in this conversation. “And people better equipped to help her.”

Her mum eyeballed him for a second. “She has everything she needs here. They wouldn’t even understand her.”

“Mum you’re not thinking straight,” Byte responded. “She can actually receive I don’t know, treatment there. Instead of just sitting here.”

“Familiarity is the best treatment she can receive right now.”

A silence stretched.

“I still think you should consider this more,” Byte eventually said. “Familiarity might not be enough.”

“Byte, the last time she was taken out of the familiar she was tortured,” their mum said sharply. “The time before that they tried to send her off to her death. She’s not leaving my sight for as long as I can help it.”

That was a valid argument.

But there had to be more.

Beetee just watched, it was too late to leave and have them have this discussion alone.

“What if that’s not enough,” Byte tried to reason one more time. “I don’t want to see my sister leave anymore than you do but we’re out of our depth here.”

“Over my dead body she’s getting sent off anywhere again,” their mum snapped finally.

The rest of the week passed as quick as it went. The most triggering stimuli were removed and accounted for and after figuring out a system to have her fed and hydrated, giving her washes with the basin and creating an unspoken roster for who would get to watch her, things had moved into a steady rhythm. Byte would take the nights, going to sleep in the morning when her mum would then take over until the afternoon when Beetee would then cover. 

The music box byte repaired had gotten some use. It wasn’t constantly on in the house but it was common to hear the faint echoes of the chimes throughout the day.

After noticing the pattern of Wiress taking up the same patch on the loungeroom carpet every time, Byte eventually dragged her mattress out from the room she used to sleep in and laid it on that same exact spot. At least it was softer than the floor.

He layered it carefully with all the things Wiress used to have on her bed. The essentials like sheets and pillows. Then blankets. And more blankets. Then the electric weighted one she finished engineering shortly after her Victor’s ball last year. 

It was crazy to think how different she was a year ago to now.

Wiress watched the process with what seemed to be mild interest through vacant eyes.  Head tilted, muttering under her breath. She stepped forward when Byte seemed to be done, lowering herself onto the mattress, exhaling like something had clicked into place.

She wore layers to bed. To breakfast. In the middle of the afternoon.

Vests over hoodies, socks under socks. A scarf stayed loosely wrapped around her neck even though it was still technically summertime and the house was warm enough to make them all sweat. Her mother tried once to peel a layer off but Wiress would just recoil sharply. Wiress was more compliant in having the layers taken off whenever she had to get clean, but something told her that Wiress needed those layers.

Maybe it kept her grounded.

Anchored enough so she wouldn’t float away.

Maybe the sweating was enough to remind her that she was real.

So they kept it on.

It was non-negotiatble.

Beetee explained something to her about the use of proprioceptive grounding - how the pressure keeps her stable.

Byte didn’t need a formal rundown. He just knew his little sister coped more when she was held down by something she could control.

They kept the house brightly lit at all times and only familiar people would be allowed to enter. It was a homely yellow tint, but it was extremely bright.

Sleep came fitfully. Light and shallow if it came at all. They set up lamps in every room and the hallways were lit end to end.

A few people had knocked on the doors the last few days in quiet curiosity and alarm as they noticed their extended absence from the public but they just thanked them for stopping by, saying that it wasn’t the best time right now. 

Mr Volt - the only other person that visited her in the Justice Building when she was reaped the year before came to the door, asking how she was. Beetee who answered the door just shook his head in defeat. 

Word spread around the District that something was off. Obviously most of the older people in the crowd clocked something was wrong the moment she was absent from any of the post Hunger Games pleasantries. Add her absence - it just solidified it.

They kept getting given things from others. Bread from the bakery that they definitely didn’t order, vegetables from the grocer which was almost like a luxury in 3 seeing that the main cuisine consisted of canned and long-life foods - there not being much land for produce in a concrete dystopia.

But despite the word of her supposed declined state being spread around, Wiress was slowly getting there. She never had an issue with perceiving external stimuli and she only seemed to have a few issues in appearing to process it - staring straight ahead when she was being spoken to directly, not being able to formulate a response of her own. But they knew she was still in there, still speaking to her like nothing was different. Maybe that helped. She still had her moments of completely shutting down at things that seemed small, but they decreased in frequency and time. It still happened multiple times a day though.

By now, they’ve seemed to adjust to the new normal - with hopes for improvement.

Wiress sat on the lounge room floor facing the coffee table, knees pulled in - not defensively, just in comfort. Her fingers were busy with nothing at all - tugging at threads, tapping rhythms on the Capitol grade wood that only she seemed to know. Her eyes were open but still far away, unfocused. Like she was watching something projected on the inside of her skull that only she could see. 

Her mum was colouring in a book on a nearby armchair, picking up the hobby as a way to keep herself regulated. Beetee was around, folding his own laundry on the kitchen table.

Byte hovered in the open doorway before walking into the lounge room, small box in hand, crouching down by the table his sister was at.

“Hey, Wires,” he said, casual on purpose. “Mind if we share the table?”

Nothing. No response. Not even a glimmer of recognition.

He exhaled through his nose and lifted the item from the small box he’d been carrying. 

A clock. 

There was nothing special about it, it was white showing the numbers in a bold font. Analogue. He fiddled with the dial trying to adjust it to the proper time before choosing a spot to mount it on.

Given the fact that they were spending a lot of time in the loungeroom, it was probably a good idea to set up some way of telling the time seeing that they couldn’t trust the outside if everything was bright and they kept the windows shut during the night to minimise the appearance of darkness.

Satisfied that the time displayed was correct, he mounted it on the wall above the bookshelf with minimal difficulty, tongue between his teeth as he tightened the hook the held the clock into the wall.  He stepped back to check, it looked good to him.

“It’s lopsided.”

Byte usually wasn’t very receptive to receiving critique on his work but he hadn’t heard that voice as clearly as had in weeks.

Byte froze for a moment, turning to the source of the voice. Beetee lowered the shirt he was in the middle of folding. Their mum dropped the pencil she was holding, letting out a small gasp.

Giving her an incredulous look - not wanting to get his hopes up, he smiled. “What?”

“It’s crooked,” Wiress responded, faintly irritated, confused at everyone’s eyes she felt boring into her. “Left by - ” she squinted, pausing for a moment too long that had them scared they lost her again “-two millimetres,” she eventually said, finishing her sentence.

He stared at her like she’d just spoken another language.

“Wires?” he got out, barely breathing.

She cocked her head at that, eyebrow quirked in quiet perplexion. She faced him. Staring at him with present eyes that framed the small glow they missed seeing.

“Yes,” she responded, clearly waiting for him to explain what got him in such a sentimental mood.

His throat tightened. “You’re - you’re back.”

Confusion rippled across her face, soft and genuine. She looked down at her arms, assessing if they were still by her side. “Back,” she said as if she was testing the way the word felt on her tongue. “From where?” she asked after another moment of silence.

Panic flared in his face - sharp and immediate. He just got her back, he couldn’t break the moment.

“No,” he replied quickly, gentler. “You were gone. For a bit.”

She frowned, thinking hard. How he missed seeing that thoughtful look on her face.

It was different this time though. 

Before, thinking was easy. She was able to get from point A to point B in a flash.

Now she had to navigate the fog.

And the air that threatened to have her float away at any given moment.

Thinking hurt - he could see it - but she didn’t vanish. 

“I didn’t leave,” she said slowly, looking around the room in a lucidity that reminded them she never truly left. “I just… wasn’t here.”

“Oh,” he managed to get out. “Okay. Yeah. That tracks.”

“Can I - ” He hesitated, overwhelmed with emotion. “Can I hug you?”

Wiress gave a small smile, lips curled in what resembled more of a smirk but subtle. She looked down at her hands then the space between them. She considered it carefully. Everything was still hazy - but she was still perceptive. This meant more to Byte than it meant to her.

“Yes,” she said at last. “But not… too tight.”

He dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her, gentle as glass. Not like if she was fragile - but more as if she were valuable and couldn’t be broken. She stiffened for  half a second, then relaxed as much as she could. He could still feel her tentative and uncertain frame but that didn’t even compare to the warmth he felt. Her forehead rested against his shoulder and for once, everything seem alright.

“There,” she murmured. “That’s… ”

“Enough,” Byte said, finishing the sentence for her, slowly releasing his hold. For a moment they just looked at each other. He fell into a state of ambedo, focusing entirely on the way the light danced in his sister’s present eyes. She maintained her watchful gaze.

Their mother pressed a hand to her mouth and let herself cry without sound.

Beetee took his glasses off watching the exchange, dabbing at his eyes with the corner of his sleeve.

Byte watched her fighting the wave but eventually she got pulled in, reverting back to her unfocused watch that had them worried she was gone.

“Hickory dickory dock,” she murmured, drifting off as if she had forgotten the interaction entirely.

“Hickory dickory dock,” Byte echoed, staying still a second longer just in case she came to again.

Eventually he eased away, standing up on shaky legs that felt more hollow and turned back to the wall. It looked pretty centre to him, but if his mounting skills were so bad that it snapped his sister out of a multi-week daze, he had to fix it. He never really was as detail-oriented as she was.

He reached up and nudged carefully, pushing it 2 millimetres to the right.

Until it was perfect.

Behind him, their mother sank into the chair, one hand pressed flat to her chest like she’s holding her heart in place. She exhaled a shaky breath she’d clearly been holding in the entire time.

“That was real, wasn’t it?” she whispered, eyes puffy and misty.

Beetee nodded once. He didn’t trust his voice yet either.

“She didn’t stay,” Byte added, voice cracking slightly.

“No,” Beetee agreed, voice letting out its own rasp. “But she surfaced.”

Byte turned back to Wiress who was curled back in on herself again, blank eyes that nearly made them lose hope. “How long do you think she was there?” Byte asked.

Beetee considered it for a moment. “A few minutes.” He folded his hands together in consideration. “That’s the first time she was back.”

Their mother wiped her eyes. “She spoke like herself.”

“She was herself,” Byte said, then swallowed. “She never left.”

They stayed there, the three of them, watching Wiress rock gently against the couch like the world was something she had to keep steady by force of habit.

“She noticed the clock,” their mother said after a moment, almost to herself. “She always hated things being uneven.”

Byte gave a weak huff of a laugh. “She used to fix picture frames at other people’s houses. Didn’t even ask.”

Beetee laughed at that, him being a recipient of that treatment. Left Wiress and Ampert in his house for an afternoon and came back to everything straightened up. 

He thought all he had left was the memories. 

But this was proof that some part of her was still measuring, still aligning, still caring about how things fit together. 

Proof that she never left.