thecapitol | Once Upon A Dream

Once Upon A Dream - 4th wall

The Tributes will not be warned for when their injections will occur. For those who are known to be compliant and willing to work with the capitol, they may be taken aside and told they are getting a shot or whatever else may convince them. Others may be injected within their sleep (and have been drugged earlier to keep them that way).

If you are not a tribute, your injection comes on your decision, having cashed in your ticket at Hypnogogia for a good rest and stay.

Everyone is ushered to bed at once and everyone will be quick to discover why.

The first effect is a sort of paralysis - not the terrifying inability to move, but a signal to the brain that says why move? Moving is so much effort. It's quickly followed by drowsiness, and then a chill that radiates from the needle into the body, and finally, unconsciousness.

This shared dreaming carries on whenever you sleep for seven total days, with the Expos running during their waking hours. Those with Vistors will meet them within the dream.

Day 1: It starts as a typical day in the tower. You may very well not realise it to be a dream. The only difference is that there are others here, ones who won't be around when you wake. They've been instructed to wait for you. You can show them the whole of the Capitol in this time, if you wish.

Day 2: On this day, the world is... yours. Some of the world will bleed into the mini worlds of others, so long as you have the wish in mind to visit them. Some details about the worlds may be off but it will initially seem as though you've finally returned home.

Day 3: A paradise. Any paradise. Whatever your characters would personally deem as a paradise. Like with day 2, the dream worlds will bleed into one another.

Day 4: On day four, it starts off somewhere inspired by a District. It's been tailored to suit the Capitol of course but

̨̙̟͒̒̔ͬ̄̌̓̓s̋͒ͩ̈́ͯ́̾ͭ͑͘҉̮͈̪̲̼̜̟͡ó͔͔͖̼̂̓̌̓m̰̹ͩ͑̽̆̽̚͟͞e͙̰̬̻̋ͣ͑ͭ̄̌̀ṭ̡͈͔̺̀͂̈́ͯ̎͛̓́́ḣ̍̉͌҉̮̖͔͉̜͉̘͓į̶̥̼͙͒̏́̈n̼̬̼͖͖̳͊͐̈g̷̱͈̦̀ͣ͒̒̅͛ͯ̐̿ ̵̡̻̳̯ͫ̓̃ͭͨg̵͚͚͖̏̒̏ͨ̐̏ͦ͞͡ȏ͚̳͓̱̩̞͚͙ͮ̊̄̐̂͊e͇͇̦̳̦ͥ̽͌̆͂̇͆ͤͅs͙͙̠̝͍̹͔͓͛̽̾͑͂͆ ̠͖̘̥̤̑ͧ͘w̛̰̰̗͕̻̯̰͕̃͌͘r͖̰͚̋o̵̭̺̺̘͈͕͆̐̇̌ͣ͆͗͟n̷̫ͦ̆ͯ̀g̛̥͖͎̺͙͈ͮ̓͐̄̇.

The dream world seems to distort. From the setting, to those in it, for five seconds everything is warped and wrong, caught in an echo chamber. Then it goes dark and silent. From the dark, the nightmares crawl out. The nightmares may have things taken from memory, but most of it is a new and horrible scene where making sense isn't mandatory.

Capitolites are quickly awoken and refunded. They are given a (poor-tasting) drink that will offer them totally dreamless sleep. But they don't have to drink it if they do not wish...

[OOC: This is the day that D13 players will finally be able to participate and on every day following. You are allowed to post for this early.]

Day 5: The Capitol tries again to take back control of the dream, starting out with a fun and cute arena with super-soakers, glitter bombs, and weapons made from foam. It's happy and colorful. But it doesn't last long.

Soon enough, the dream warps again into a nightmare. The arena loses its harmlessness, becoming one that's very much a threat. This may be an arena from memory or something totally new.

Day 6: The Capitol hasn't given up fighting District thirteen's interference but they've taken to a new tactic. In attempt to drive them out, or at least pin some of the blame on thirteen, the sixth round of sleep is set in a bad memory. It can be any memory at all; something in the arena, something offworld, even things around the capitol or area around so long as it could've been caught on camera. Essentially, unless it's a blind spot, it's fair game.

Individuals who are free of or manage to fight through this torment are free to help the dreaming characters as they will-- or make things worse.

Day 7: War. Terrible war. This is what will be heard on the final day. It will echo out over the dream world. And that dream world will reflect the very terrible war spoken of. Is that your friend over there, looking shell-shocked? Is that your family laying there motionless? Who is that in the fray crying out? Could it be the one you love most?

This dream will leave very few survivors and will not last long. Those that do, will hear this: "Know the cost of selfish acts. Consider what you stand for."

[OOC: With this you may consider the fourth wall live! All tributes and any guests, Capitolites, and D13ers who are signed up may tag in here. Alternately, you may make your own logs! If you are tagging in here, you MUST warn with headers for any relevant topics that may upset players.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

An Arena.

It's hard not to recognize it as such when you've been in a few yourself, and Albert clicks his tongue disapprovingly in trying to figure out who's dream it is. An off worlder, he thinks, mostly because the technology doesn't look Capitol and the exterior shows Mars.

The watch is new, and while he vaguely feels he should be upset that it's there, it's in a detached sort of way. He knows it's a dream and he knows with the rock-solid will of belief that he cannot be harmed here, that he'll wake up back in District 13 with perhaps some mental scarring depending on the situation but for him that's merely a drop in the bucket after everything he's been through.

Thank whatever spares these people from his nightmares and memories.

"PHI!"

The yelling grab his attention, Albert whipping his head to catch sight of the man on the floor, apparently overcome by the situation. The cyborg doesn't recognize his companion at all, not from the Arenas or from Capitol TV, nor even from the small masses of Thirteen. So who is he, then?

"Hey," Albert intones gruffly, oddly unconcerned despite the tense atmosphere. He moves over to help the man up, offering a metallic hand that shows starkly against his bright red uniform. "It'll be alright. What's your name?"

A hand has reached down to rescue him. With the stranger's support Sigma's vision irises out of the black pit of self-pity he'd been stuck in and winks back into focus. He clings to the cold hand desperately, the kind gesture sticking the stranger on the very top of Sigma's 'things I am thankful as fuck for' list, just above 'my right eye' and 'having arms'. Sigma coughs to clear his dry throat, finds the strength to stay upright, and wipes the sweat from his brow with his free arm. After a long, deep breath, still leaning his weight on the man who had helped him up, Sigma knows he'll be alright. This was a dream, right? Maybe the pain wouldn't be so bad. Maybe it'd even wake him up and get him out of here. "Thanks-"

He turns his head to find Albert Heinrich, husband of his apparent sworn enemy. His eyes widen with astonishment - this man was supposed to be dead. Dead, or...

...Whisked away to Thirteen, the way Wyatt had been. Sigma extricates his arm from Albert's cybernetics and takes a step back. "I-I..." Holy shit. What in the fresh hell was Thirteen doing here? His optimism (or, rather, his naivety) stops him from suspecting that Thirteen may have something to do with the nightmare. If Thirteen was here, chances are that the Capitol had lost control, and they would do anything to get it back, he thought. Or... something like that. He rubs his eyes to stave off a headache. God, this was fucked up. Never fucking again.

"Kyle," he lies. "...I'm Kyle. Thanks for your help. Seriously." He supposes it's an airtight enough disguise. It's a name intimate enough to him that he would certainly respond, and in the off chance that someone did go back through the Tribute roster in search of his identity (and they would have to do years of digging), they'd find the late K's face and assume he was just another guest to this illusion, never to return. ...Maybe.

He doesn't need to ask the other's name. After an awkward enough pause, as he's slow to realize Albert was probably expecting the question, he does anyway. "...Who are you?"

"Heinrich," Albert offers back, a little surprised at the question given the look of recognition that had widened the man's eyes and how long it took for him to answer. 'Kyle' he'd said, but he repeats it in that way that people repeat things they're trying to convince themselves of. He files the observations away, not about to air them and cause ripples in the dream world or be shut out entirely. He'll just have to find the real answers himself as this goes on.

That, and he's supposed to be dead to all but a select few that know the truth, one of which this man isn't. He has no real choice but to play along as if he's simply part of the dream for now.

"We should watch each other's backs here, I think." He looks this way and that as he adjusts the long yellow scarf around his neck, taking in the surroundings that he's already committed to memory in his first moments here. Playing the part. "It will give us a better chance for victory."

'Heinrich's' answer serves to perplex Sigma even more. Did Albert know that this was a dream, or was he acting for his sake? He supposed there would be some Tributes who were successfully fooled. 'Kyle' glances fretfully down to his watch, which has counted away a minute and a half of their allotted time. That gave them seven and a half minutes to decide who got to sit in the chair. Plenty of time to work stuff out.

"Yeah," he answers without looking up at him, transfixed by the decreasing red number. "This'll go a lot smoother if we can agree to trust eachother right off the bat." He hopes Albert is being sincere, as his strategy to befriend as many players as possible went over like a lead balloon last time. "Okay, Heinrich. You ever, uh..." Well, he can't asked him if he's won a Nonary Game, because he'd called it that when he was giving his Villain Monologue on the network, genius he was. As if he'd known he would ever be shoved into some sort of Fear Factor simulation that preyed on their phobias. "Played one of these types of games? Do you know the rules, yet?"

Edited 2015-07-28 22:09 (UTC)

"I have been in Arenas, yes. Each has their own gimmick, however." He glances down at the watch, the red digits ticking down slowly but ominously. "I expect we don't want to let the clock run out in this scenario."

He sighs softly, this reaction at least a real one. He'd thought he'd escaped the Arenas but here he is dealing with yet another. True the bite is out of it in knowing that he'll simply awaken should he die, but it's still frustrating to be back here.

"Have you? I'm afraid I haven't seen you in the footage." A shrug follows that admission, as if it doesn't matter. It wouldn't, if this were real. They'd be able to catch up on the less important details outside in the Tower if this were a real setting. "Either way, you were calling for someone. Another potential ally?"

Or a kidnapped loved one...? It's all too easy for the Capitol to do.

"In any case, we should find what the clock is for."

Now Sigma is torn. He could reveal, as he'd implied, that he knew exactly how this game operated. But what if he did? Would Albert deduce that the person before him was a Gamemaker? Worse, once he knew the mechanic, it would not be too hard to piece together how he'd lost his arms and eye, after that.

He decides to keep his mouth shut.

"I have..." That's as detailed an answer as he's comfortable giving. "...With my friend. She was my partner and I trust her." He says those words like there is nothing more true in the universe. "But if I can trust you, then it's fine. I guess I'll have to meet up with her later." In death or otherwise.

He turns to the torture chair, sizing it up and desperately trying to retain colour in his face. "Maybe we're supposed to do something before the clock runs out. But if we were just meant to kill eachother like the other Arenas, it would have given us weapons. What if it has to do with this creepy-ass thing?" AhhhhhhjesusfuckINGchrist, he's not getting back into that unless he absolutely has to. The entire contraption was made up of clamps - at the arms, the shoulders, the chest, the wrists - currently pressed so tightly together one could barely fit two fingers between them. Pulling them apart with one's hands would prove impossible: Sigma demonstrates to Albert for the sake of it, his not insignificant muscles straining with the effort. "Huh."

Crowning the throne were several things - a neckpiece resembling a beartrap, a harness to keep one's head from turning, and a silver revolver (loaded) soldered to the framework of the chair and pointed to where one's head would rest. He looks to Albert for his opinion.

Edited 2015-07-28 23:57 (UTC)

He's not certain why he didn't notice the chair immediately. He had noted its presence but simply filed it away in favor of the other person there. Now, it seems impossible to have missed the sinister contraption. The room is built to feature it, drawing the eye towards the seat in subtle ways. The only thing Albert can think is that this is Kyle's dream, and Kyle did not want to think too hard on the subject of the chair until he was forced to.

An arena that's not an Arena, a game that is not the Games. It rings a bell, some little chime in the back of his mind. Albert's memory is by no means eidetic, but another world with Games like Panem is odd enough to have caught in his lobe.

He only knows of one person from a world like that, admitted to it on the Capitol network just after Eva Salazar's death and the blackout before it.

"In my world, the people who fought against my actions had a hand in the annihilation of their kind..."

Albert's jaw clenches, but he keeps his eyes trained on the chair, the reaction easily attributed to the torture device rather than the cyborg's epiphany. This is good, he has to remind himself. This is what he wanted, to find those who would have information relevant to Thirteen's goals. He has to remember that Klim did not actually come to him in his dreams, that it was a test concocted by the dream tech and his own mind. This is not that, can't be that because he doesn't know what Klim looked like as a young man. He can only be in one person's head.

One person who had gotten his adoptive brother Avoxed, who had threatened his husband's life and only by the grace of God and Barnes' team was he rescued. One person of whom Albert still can't shake suspicions of double agency despite the overwhelming sins he's committed. Albert's thoughts on Sigma Klim are confused and heavy, but this is a mission and he must do what he must do.

He shoves the thought that Klim may be thinking the exact same out of his head.

"It's a test, isn't it." Not a question, a statement as he keeps his eyes trained on the chair. "A test to see who will take the seat for others, or who will be forced into it."

It was your test. How were you graded?

Sigma used to pride himself on being a light in the darkness, of sorts - someone who was always ready to lend an ear or a helping hand. One of his signature characteristics was his ability to joke around even in dire straits with the hopes it would keep a smile on everyone's face... But even Sigma cannot make light of such a grave statement. Perhaps it had something to do with his own self being on the receiving end of the punchline. "...Yeah." His eyes sink to the floor and he is solemn. He has no idea that Albert has almost decided on his identity. "Looks that way." He expects an awkward silence to follow, or bickering between them, or outright refusal.

Five minutes, now. The damn bracelet beeps louder as the count goes on, or perhaps that was just his imagination. It's incredible how sixty seconds can either feel like an eternity or a pittance of time, depending on one's circumstance. As it stood, they were racing to their doom. "I don't know if that's everything yet, though. I mean... the damn thing is shut tight. You'd have to be boneless to slip into that." Now Sigma's just done with being around it, so he turns his back to the contraption, takes several steps away, and looks pleadingly to Albert. "...Hey, Heinrich. Could you check the gun for me? Sorry, I still feel like I'm going hit the floor." It's a loaded question, if he would pardon the pun. The man had offered his trust, after all, and Sigma would like to see him prove it. He knows something interesting will happen when pressure is put on the trigger, in particular.

He wouldn't know it, that Klim was the jokester, the fool to keep morale high. Albert has a certain view of his companion as the ruthless traitor to his own kind, or as a man able to uphold that appearance in both form and function. He's not entirely certain which is worse.

Well no, that's not true. He knows which, he knows which is worse at least for Klim as a person if he allows himself to be placed in those shoes. To force yourself on what you truly believe is a path to greater good, regardless of who it may harm. Regardless of what harm it will do to yourself. He's been in that position before, he can imagine it all too well. It's why it's easier to believe the former of Sigma, to not touch on that experience of his heart breaking all over again, to imagine what must have happened to someone else.

Albert busies himself with doing as 'Kyle' asks, resolving to follow through with the charade despite being certain they both are aware of the others' identities. It's not for Klim, not for himself either, but for anyone monitoring. If Klim is truly a double agent, it won't be Albert that gives him away, not after what it's cost. At the very least, as much as he disagrees with it, Kurloz's Avoxing won't be in vain.

A long, scrutinizing look is given to the chair, to the gun in particular. Albert's readouts scroll quickly through his vision, blue text informing him that the gun is rigged specially with a pressure trigger. Press the trigger and it opens the chair. Pull too hard and the gun fires as normal, loaded as it is, but let go and the chair will snap shut again, killing whoever's inside.

He relays such to 'Kyle' in a measured voice, as if he has no real opinion about the set up whatsoever. He waits instead for Klim's response, watching for the recognition in his young eyes.

A sickening dread swells in the pit of Sigma's stomach as Albert reports his findings. His partner was disturbingly calm... perhaps he would have made a good Zero. Sigma swallows the urge to gag and answers Albert with an involuntary tremor in his voice. Preoccupied with their situation, he's not the least bit sincere. "Damn, t-that's impressive. Your cybernetics are incredible, huh?" He tries a nervous smile, not bothering to pretend he doesn't know what they are. Anyone in Panem knew there were cyborgs among them.

His smile flickers and dies almost instantly. "But, uh, holy shit. That's fucked up." His words are a reverent whisper, terror apparent in every syllable. His tongue feels thick and numb in his mouth. "I- I bet brain surgeons don't have hands that steady. ...Shit... shit." It had been easy - extraordinarily easy - to step into that chair for a terrified Diana... Diana, who would have been his wife in another universe. (Sweet Diana whose ashes rested in Thirteen. If only Sigma knew, perhaps he would have been there with her, instead.) But to do it again... and for Albert? Now the machine traumatized him, reminded him of his spectacular failure and the horrible months he spent helpless as an amputee in a bunker, waiting for the bodies to pile up above him. He reminds himself that a decision has not yet been made and his anxiety may be for nothing.

He sighs miserably, checking his watch. "Well... I guess we have a choice to make, huh?" He's watching Albert with the last of his hope, praying the man does not condemn him to his fate... but he will not beg. Albert was the one trapped in his dream and so Sigma will, at the very least, give the man the right to choose for himself.

"They have their uses." It's a small concession, Albert never eager to sing the praises of what modifications were thrust upon him to turn him into 004, the God of Death. In this case, as in many others he doesn't care to acknowledge, they could save his life. Potentially both their lives, even if ostensibly he knows it's simply a dream and they'll both snap awake if they 'die' - he wonders if Klim has figured that part out - he still must act as if this is a real scenario.

"I have hands that steady," he raises one a bit before him, palm up as if to demonstrate. These are his original cybernetics, the ones Gilmore developed and not the useless Capitol facsimiles. Top of the line, custom alloys, bearings, and stabilizers. He could be still as a statue, including no breathing, for hours if he wishes.

"I also have a body made completely of metal. If the chair sprung closed, it would be more likely to break than I would." It would tear his synthetic flesh, but he's bulletproof beyond that. He doubts a spring trap could do much harm unless it was quite a bit heavier. The gun is more of a concern, however. He is indeed bulletproof, but it's aimed directly at eye level and cannot be swiveled. If he was shot there, it would go through his brain - one of very few organic parts left of him - and kill him.

But it's only a dream.

Albert appraises 'Kyle' silently. It's easy to put the pieces together after seeing the chair, how Klim's cybernetics were necessary because of that thing. It makes sense it would feature prominently in his nightmares. And if he were to take his place here two things could come of it. First, Klim could kill him, but that would put him no worse off than he was before. Second, though, he could earn gratitude and potentially help.

He is here for information, after all, and Klim is now a Gamemaker.

"I'll sit in it," he announces it heavily, then smirks, as if the decision isn't difficult at all. "I think you're a bit more squishy than I am."

Edited 2015-07-31 14:51 (UTC)

When Albert mentions his hands, it's as though a trapdoor has been sprung beneath Sigma's feet. He stares numbly at his cybernetics before closing his eyes to commit it to memory - but with a head full of static, it just won't stick. Come on. Albert could do it. He had to respect his decision: holding a trigger steady for nine minutes would require little to no effort for a sophisticated cyborg. To kill a person in that chair would have to be entirely intentional...

And then comes the rest of his sentence. Sigma's eyes snap open and he searches Albert's face for grief, amazed at how trivial a self-sacrifice seemed to him. Regardless of whether or not his partner was truly afraid, things were, at last, decided. Sigma chokes out a sigh of relief, arm drawing over his forehead to wipe the sweat from his eyebrows. His gratitude is powerful enough to drown out old grudges and he suddenly wishes, with all of his strength, that they could start from the beginning.

"Thank you, Heinrich."

When he gathers the courage to lift his head, his expression is twisted with a lifetime's worth of suffering. If he could still fight tooth and claw through physical pain, he has reached the limit of his endurance for emotional torment. "...I know how this must look to you. I must seem like the worst sort of coward, huh? It's just that I'm... so tired of these games..." The hundreds of lives he remembers, the hundreds of death games he has played, make him feel as old as dust and just as useful. Dying and screwing things over, the greatest talents of the king of infinite time. An immortal, omnipotent failure.

"...But you said you were willing to trust me. The last thing I want is for you to regret that." He wants, if only once, for someone's trust in him to be validated. This gives him the strength to make his way over to the chair and run his fingers over the crown of the machine, the way Diana did in his place years ago. She and his spectral form, they are both ghosts, buried in a simulated Mars. "You won't get hurt. That's a promise." He'll pull the trigger as steadily as he can whenever Albert is ready to sit.

Edited 2015-08-18 02:22 (UTC)

Sigma's relief is immediate and palpable and Albert knows he's made the right decision. If anything, this should foster some sort of trust between them, if only to save Sigma from his own nightmares. Only Albert's not prepared for the honesty in that gratitude, for the look in the man's eye that expresses a real debt.

"No, you don't. Not everyone can handle situations like this and even less should have to." Sigma doesn't look like a coward to Albert. He simply looks wrung out, exhausted to the edge of his endurance, and the cyborg has to wonder if Sigma was stuck in a similar situation to Doctor Gilmore. Possessed of a vision for a bright future but manipulated into using his skills for evil instead. Did he believe something similar to the Capitol lie, believe that sacrificing a few to save the many was a valid path? Albert can't ask directly, not without making them both look suspect.

He levels a steady gaze on his companion for a moment, taking in his promise of safety, then nods as if to solidify the moment. Without other hesitation, he allows Sigma to pull the trigger slowly to half way and settles himself into the chair.

The gun remains level with his eye. It's disconcerting, even knowing it's a dream.

Sigma answers Albert with silence, though he finds his words quite wise. He'd always been critical of his own inability to thrive in the Arena... for he'd won two games before ever stepping foot in Panem, and surviving long enough to protect his children should not have been a difficult task. But when they became one's livelihood, it was almost too easy to forget that these games were abominations. No one should ever have had to suffer through them, and the blame was not on him for failing but on the first of their kind for ever setting their fate into motion...

The start of the trial is one of the most difficult parts, for one could easily pull the trigger too far back as they opened the chair, obliterating their poor volunteer as he sat down. Fortunately Sigma knows better than to test his luck, and the test begins without incident. Once Albert is seated, Sigma relaxes his finger to rest the clamps around Albert's body, his free hand sealing him in by locking the collar of needles around his neck. The collar was not connected with trigger, but acted as a guard against wriggling outside of the line of fire. With every piece set in place, the countdown on their bracelets jumps suddenly to one second - and begins its steady, screaming march upward to nine minutes.

If his trap had been rigged to become more difficult to hold over time, to ensure that the man who had come to save the world would fail, Sigma knew not of it. This trigger remains steady, and as numbers on their bracelets grow, it is easy to gain confidence. Cold sweat drips from Sigma's forehead onto Albert's shoulder, but his will does not fail him.

After a tense moment of silence, Sigma sighs, low and deep. See? This was fine. They were well on their way. "...How are you doing down there, Heinrich? Hoping my finger holds out, I bet." Injecting some sarcasm into the situation should communicate that he is fine. He hopes his partner has realized by now that if he'd planned on killing him, the earliest and easiest opportunity to do so had passed. "Since we're not going anywhere for awhile, would you mind if I talked?" He drums the fingernails of his free hand on the collar nervously, in time with the beat of their bracelet's beeping.

The chair closes around him and Albert takes a slow breath, careful not to let his lungs expand too much against the restraints lest they trigger something he hasn't taken into account. It seems to do nothing more than center him though, a breath in, a breath out and then stillness.

"Naturally, though I have to congratulate you on your resolve. You could have just killed me and moved on." He smirks wryly, well aware that a joke like that with so much truth to it will likely make Sigma uncomfortable, but there's also a note of gratitude there, a knowledge that they do both know one another for their real identities and are playing a very dangerous game. But they are playing, which bodes well. Even moreso with Sigma's request to talk. If they're able to actually communicate any information, that's where it will be, in the seemingly random ramblings of a terrified dream Tribute.

"By all means. Whatever makes things easier." Though he does wish he wouldn't drum his fingers on the collar. Any unnecessary touching of the thing should probably be avoided.

Sigma had nearly waited out his patience searching for a window of opportunity, a chance to share his message with the Rebellion, and here it was at last. If it were the Capitol that put him here to waste away in his terror, they would know how it felt when the dog bit back. "I guess you could say trust is important to me." It would be a comical statement to anyone who knew about his history of lies and betrayal, but after all this time, Sigma still considers it the truth. "You put your life in my hands - literally." Even at the end the road Sigma takes time to dwell on his stupid jokes. "...So I think I can do the same with you." He finds himself staring off into the edges of the nightmare, lost in thought, stepping backwards link by link through the chain of events that led him here. "Man, where to begin..." It was probably for the best that Albert sat in the chair. He wonders if he'd been the one down there now, if Albert wouldn't have just pulled the trigger the moment he opened his mouth.

"I should say I know where you're from, and I'm glad you're here. I've been waiting a damn long time to talk to someone from Thirteen," he says finally. "I want to help. I have information. You don't even have to do anything, just say that you'll listen." After such an exercise, he's done with making bargains.

It would be important, if preying on the trust of others is how you keep yourself going. Manipulating people into decisions they wouldn't otherwise end up making based on their trust in you. So yes, Albert does believe Sigma, though perhaps not in the exact way he's thinking.

Sigma says the name of Thirteen and Albert frowns deeply. If they're being monitored by the Capitol in any way, Sigma's just given himself up, which is a stupid move no matter who's side he's on but especially so if he's truly playing this game for the Rebellion. He half expects the dream to wink out around them, but perhaps Sigma knows something he doesn't. Perhaps he knows who's watching. Or, more accurately, who isn't.

Even so, he doesn't nod, just waits with rapt attention for Sigma to continue.

"I'll listen."

For a Nobel-laureate, Sigma was not particularly intelligent. Insightful and occasionally clever, perhaps, but any man could win himself an award if he spent five decades imprisoned in research. He is more than willing to press on blindly based on a hunch - even when the penalty is death, and especially when the opportunity may never come again. Perhaps there was something to be said in the fact that he still saw himself as an impulsive, emotional young man instead of the wise old doctor he’d been coached into becoming.

At any rate, he's having difficulty reading Albert's credulity, and prefaces himself. “I’m not sure what I could say to convince you to believe me. Hell, maybe you already know, and I'm putting a noose around my neck for nothing," he begins, darkly sarcastic. "Anyway, I couldn't live with myself if someone died 'coz I kept my stupid mouth shut, so here goes: almost every street in the Capitol has been set with traps to ward off an invasion. Mines, gas, homing missiles... Sick shit you couldn’t begin to imagine. They are prepared to annihilate the rebels at any cost. I don't think they care how many of their own people get caught in the crossfire." Just like his nonary game: an orderly, autonomous set of dominoes rigged to fall in just the right way. Difficult to predict unless one could, somehow, preview the pattern. "It'll be impossible to get to Snow without massive loss of life on both sides... Unless you know the layout going in." He feels, for the first time since his conversation with the Initiate, useful. Like he's actively holding back the death count instead of contributing to it. Comparatively, he doesn't know much, but what he does know will be invaluable to someone.

"Uh, I'd draw you a map, but my dominant hand is sorta occupied, you know?" He clicks his tongue between his teeth disapprovingly. There's a 'that's what she said' joke in there somewhere. "Let's hope your memory is as good as your composure..."

This is something Albert's discovered about people in general. He's not a genius himself, but give anyone the time to apply themselves to an intellectual pursuit and they retain the knowledge. It's why he can pass himself off as something of a scholar; that didn't happen thanks to a natural aptitude, but instead because he's just so old that he's had the time to read up on most things. It's not the mark of natural intelligence, but instead of a lonely life. One they've both lead in their disparate ways.

Because of this but in spite of himself, Albert believes him. He believes him because there is little to gain but everything to lose for Sigma unless he's being coached to spread this information. Which is something to gain, so when Albert passes this information to Barnes he'll preface it with that remark, but it's too important to ignore so out of hand that he doesn't hear it. If Sigma is being truthful, then it's invaluable.

"I can't say I'm surprised Snow doesn't care who suffers for his safety. Luckily I have an exceptional memory." Thanks to being able to play back things that he hears through the brainwave recorder implanted in his head. He's now sure how that will translate to the waking world, but if he retains even a fraction of the information he's about to hear, it will be a help. "Go ahead."

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Once Upon A Dream - 4th wall

Day 4

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