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?"
no subject
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?"