So much of Sigma's help was too little, too late - by the time the Doctor can get his hands on one of the Gamemaker's disablers, blood has already soaked through the edge of the Capitol. A miniature version of the Arena console, the disabler was a device that gave the wielder control of a trap before its release... and its disappearance would certainly not go unnoticed. It took a night shift in the Gamemaker's tower days into the siege for Sigma to realize that he was sick of his own inaction, unable to stand by as real blood was spilled comfortably out of his sightlines. That night, Sigma came to terms with his fear of execution long enough to make a break to where he thought he could help.
He had not arrived on time. Sigma had begun to think the Rebellion infallible, too good for the tricks of old men - and he is caught off guard by pained screaming in the distance. He ducks into the lounge of a swanky hotel to witness the plants down the street spring to life and turn violently on its prey - and his stomach feels as though it has been filled with lead. It has been years since he had started making traps... which of these had his fingerprints on them..? For a man with an impeccable memory, it was far too heavy to dwell on.
He fumbles with the disabler in too deep a panic to remember that once a pod was activated, it would run its course until its cargo was exhausted. Uselessly Sigma repeats his inputs, more futile each time, until he remembers his mistake and stares numbly at the screen. Where were his powers, now? Why wasn't he able to go back? There would be no looking away, here, no burying himself in his work as he pretended what left his hands did not go on to kill. His monstrosity would continue to take the lives of these soldiers until it was satiated, and as Sigma watches from a safe distance it all becomes too much. He takes cover behind a couch pushed far against the wall, palms covering his eyes, elbows on his knees. When the chandelier above his head shakes and screams with each nearby shell, he no longer has the energy to care if the marble might cave in on him.
When the screaming stops Sigma thinks he can bring himself to his feet and, though his throat stings, reminds himself that there will be help. He had to clear a path for them, and Sigma draws his cloak over his face and slinks into an alley. There were plenty of traps in his radius that had not awoken yet.
It's in sweeping the area hours later that Sigma finds Luna on her own, though he turns his back on her to collect himself. He had done something like this before, had run into a person he loved who pretended not to see him. Luna was not as cruel as Kyle, but Sigma has decided that perhaps she would not be wrong to do the same, to allow him to blend into the walls of the Capitol and disappear. Could she guess that the people she nursed fell because of him? For all they had tried to repair their relationship, he had done her too much wrong to deserve her good graces. Still, knowing that it would do her no good, he lowers the hood of his cloak just enough for the light to catch on his cybernetic eye.
"Luna?"
It is, perhaps, less of a coincidence than it appears.
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He had not arrived on time. Sigma had begun to think the Rebellion infallible, too good for the tricks of old men - and he is caught off guard by pained screaming in the distance. He ducks into the lounge of a swanky hotel to witness the plants down the street spring to life and turn violently on its prey - and his stomach feels as though it has been filled with lead. It has been years since he had started making traps... which of these had his fingerprints on them..? For a man with an impeccable memory, it was far too heavy to dwell on.
He fumbles with the disabler in too deep a panic to remember that once a pod was activated, it would run its course until its cargo was exhausted. Uselessly Sigma repeats his inputs, more futile each time, until he remembers his mistake and stares numbly at the screen. Where were his powers, now? Why wasn't he able to go back? There would be no looking away, here, no burying himself in his work as he pretended what left his hands did not go on to kill. His monstrosity would continue to take the lives of these soldiers until it was satiated, and as Sigma watches from a safe distance it all becomes too much. He takes cover behind a couch pushed far against the wall, palms covering his eyes, elbows on his knees. When the chandelier above his head shakes and screams with each nearby shell, he no longer has the energy to care if the marble might cave in on him.
When the screaming stops Sigma thinks he can bring himself to his feet and, though his throat stings, reminds himself that there will be help. He had to clear a path for them, and Sigma draws his cloak over his face and slinks into an alley. There were plenty of traps in his radius that had not awoken yet.
It's in sweeping the area hours later that Sigma finds Luna on her own, though he turns his back on her to collect himself. He had done something like this before, had run into a person he loved who pretended not to see him. Luna was not as cruel as Kyle, but Sigma has decided that perhaps she would not be wrong to do the same, to allow him to blend into the walls of the Capitol and disappear. Could she guess that the people she nursed fell because of him? For all they had tried to repair their relationship, he had done her too much wrong to deserve her good graces. Still, knowing that it would do her no good, he lowers the hood of his cloak just enough for the light to catch on his cybernetic eye.
"Luna?"
It is, perhaps, less of a coincidence than it appears.