Transmission Terminated - Teaser

A Story by Annie

I'm writing another fanfic once I've finished 'Here With Me', and some people on twitter were asking for a teaser. If you can guess what is going on from this crazy looking piece of text, I salute you. *Insert three-finger salute here*

It's based in Mockingjay, and has some characters you might know. It's kind of a messy idea at the moment, but I hope that it will work out! You also get a lot of background information about some of the minor characters, so if you like that sort of thing, this might be a good fanfic for you, who knows?

I should just give you the teasers now. Yeah.

He strides across the room, the dim candlelight flickering as he does so. The bleeping noise grows louder and more urgent; a sigh escapes his lips. He leans over a small, intricate machine and presses a button, holding the wine glass to his mouth as he reads the message.

TRANSMISSION FROM: PROF. L
SENT: 22:19

WE HAVE COMPLETED CS. C, C2, F, G AND M BOTS ARE READY. THEY HAVE NOT YET BEEN FITTED. THEY HAVE SEVERE MEMORY DAMAGE. THEY ARE CONFUSED AND VOLATILE. CS SHALL BE READY FOR LAUNCH IN APPROXIMATELY 1 WEEK. THE BOTS ARE NOT YET STABLE. VISITORS ALLOWED. TRAINING BEGINS IN 2 DAYS.

He sighs again, his mouth twitching up at the corners. Maybe the Mockingjay is still scared of her fellows. He knows that no-one can see the message, so slams his fingers down onto another button. Text flashes at him on the screen.

TRANSMISSION TERMINATED.

Pain shoots through my wrist and I try to scream, opening my mouth, but I hear nothing. Fingers move over my face, as if to check if I was alive or not. But I’m dead, right? The 11 boy killed me in the Arena. More pain, and a sudden shot of heat through my arm. A bright, white light clouds over my vision, blinding me.
“Miss. Roxen? Can you hear me?” A fuzzy voice comes into my head, sounding like it is far away, maybe underwater. “Miss. Roxen?” I try to reply, but again, nothing.
“She’s going to be under for a while.”
“Probably. We should check on the others. You, stay here.” Two sets of footsteps walk away, and I feel a soft, cool sponge being pressed to my forehead. Am I alive? Or is this another part of the Game? Bile rises up my throat and I start to choke. If I can cough, can I open my eyes? If I can hear and feel, can I see?
“Can you hear me, Clove?” A calm, collected tone fills my head, which is already buzzing with questions that probably can’t be answered.
My eyelids flutter open.