A bright ray of sunlight penetrated the murky darkness, forcing Alard's eyes open. He sat up with a grunt, dramatically rolling his shoulders to hammer out the creaks that came with sleeping on a rough bed. Despite the morning grievances, the coarse bed had a certain homeliness.

Perhaps it was the fact it was a consistent hardness that didn't have a false front. It was real.

The smell of eggs wafted through Alard's open bedroom door. That too was a consistent occurrence at the place he called home. There wasn't enough money to spare for variety and yet no complaints surfaced in Alard's mind. 

Some people in District 54 had nothing after all. 

Alard made his way out of his modest room, which like the entire house, held no decorations or claims of life. His scarce belongings were enough to fit in the backpack draped across his doorknob after all.

The stairs creaked loudly under each step that Alard took, crying out their wails of distress. His mother had already turned around from her spot in the kitchen awaiting his arrival. For some reason, her face was a blur with indistinguishable features, as if someone had erased them. Still, Alard smiled as if it was normal and awaited her customary greeting.

"Good morning, sugarplum."

Alard's vision suddenly swam, the interior of his house melting into another familiar setting. The forest outside of District 54 with dead trees and decaying terrain that resembled more an animal graveyard than a district's scenery. Sometimes, Alard would join his father and the rest of the District's officials in securing the area from scavengers who refused to join a district community and instead operated as bandit groups. There was little cover provided in the area but that didn't make the scavengers any less dangerous.

Alard found himself walking behind the group of officials and was easily able to pick out his father in the middle from his broad shoulders and funny walk favoring his left side. He always changed the story of how his limp came about when he asked, but considering it bothered him twenty years later it must've been painful.

His father turned back, his face a cloudy mist like his mother's had been. "I heard your mother say she's making mashed potatoes today. Your favorite. I was sworn to secrecy so you didn't hear it from me."

Alard's mouth moved of its own will, twisting into a toothy smile. "Finally! I was beginning to think the scavengers ate better than us."

His father chuckled, which made Alard long to see his smiling face. "With the merchants coming this week, we'll be feasting better than those scavengers in no time."

The officials around him murmured their agreement.

One of the officials, an odd sleazy fellow who had sticky hands suddenly looked up into the air. Unlike Alard's parents, his chimp-like features were visible and Alard spotted his brow furrowed in confusion. "Anybody smell smoke?"

Alard's body once again moved on its own and he sniffed the air. The acrid smell of smoke alarmed his nostrils and almost started a coughing fit. Around him, the officials' nose seemed to receive an unwanted greeting with one or two covering their noses.

Alard's father sighed loudly. "I bet it's old Mally trying to roast marshmallows for the kids when we don't have any marshmallows again. We really ought to get her a caretaker before she burns down to the place."

Alard winced internally.

His father's calm demeanor and tone eased the officials and they muttered agreements with some shaking their heads with smiles. However, Alard didn't miss his father's quickening pace. He had quickened his lumber to the max it could go while not creating an alarm, because both he and Alard knew that an open roast fire wouldn't be so pungent this far away.

As the group climbed the hill that hid a proper view of the district it became clear that something was very wrong. Pillars of smoke spiraled into the air like chimney smoke, meeting at the summit to create an angry-looking grey cloud. If natural grey clouds were the sign of rain, smoke clouds to Districts were the sign of-

"Peacocks!"

The officials hurried down the hill without a second thought, their heartbeat showing through their frantic eyes. They cared about the community but not enough to read head-on into a fiery furnace, however, each official had family that they would die for, and that was on full display as they bore down on certain death.

Alard's father paused, his blurred face whipping around to Alard. He didn't need to see his face to know his feelings, anxiety practically leaked from him. "I want you to go through the forest, run straight until you come out of the other side, and wait there. District 45 isn't far and we could make it there in a day's time." He said in a hurried voice, his calm front shaking under the pressure. 

His father always spoke in a confident and strong voice, a trait that meshed well with his many leadership qualities and made people trust in his decisions. His next words lacked their usual sureness. "I'll get your mother and we'll meet you on the other side of the forest. Ok?"

This time, Alard's mouth didn't move on its own accord and quite frankly, he wouldn't have been able to manually move them at the moment either. 

Thoughts intruded his blank mind. Why?

Why would the Peacocks come all the way here? This barren land was far from the Wall he heard they were building and required for them to cross through enemy territory, and Alard was adamant that they were keeping up with their District taxes. Though the officials had been reluctant at first, thinking they didn't need to because the Peacocks wouldn't view the District as valuable enough to eradicate, Alard's father had convinced them.

So why?

Alard's father hadn't stopped staring at him and Alard could've sworn through the blur he saw a streak of water travelling down his cheek. Without another word, Alard's father turned sharply on his heel and hobbled down the hill faster than Alard had ever seen him move.

'Follow him, fool.' The voice sounded oddly familiar yet Alard couldn't pinpoint its origins. 

Follow him? He was no hero like those he read of in comic books. He was average even among the average and his boxing record reflected that. If he couldn't even fight humans on even footing how could he fight the Peacocks? Much less the hungry towering orange flames that licked their chops at the sight of him.

Alard's body shifted and suddenly he could see the men in Peacock uniforms brandishing their flamethrowers that they used to spit unjust hellfire on his home and the homes of their neighbors. They stopped suddenly, turning toward him at the same time and their helmets melted from their head, revealing a familiar face staring into Alard's very soul.

His own.

He was the murderer of District 54. Even as he screamed at his body to go into the flames and help the people who had accepted him for what he was and wasn't, his body turned around.

And he ran.

He abandoned them, leaving them to face their judgment alone and escaping his own.

'Coward.'

Alard jumped up out of his sleep, his shaking hand sinking into the soft fabric of his bed. He was drenched in sweat and he quickly clamped his hand around his mouth to contain the scream that threatened to leak out. Hayaka stirred in the bunk bed but after a couple seconds, the rustling stopped and his light snores continued. 

Alard gulped down bile, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. A chorus of screams harmonized in his head, though it felt so real he couldn't be sure. He could almost smell the fire as he swung his feet from the bed and onto the floor. The tendrils of his nightmare latched onto him, refusing to disperse.

Alard tried to self-inject the numbness into his being like usual but his heartbeat was too loud to focus. His emotions which he had covered with a manhole now threatened to bubble over. A chill meandered from his stomach up his spine to his raging skull. The screams persisted, haunting him even in his awoken state. 

Alard frantically searched for something to latch his attention to, if only to stop his heart from hammering its way out of his body. Amidst the screams, the patter of retreating footsteps outside of the building drew Alard's attention. 

An attribute of super hearing was the ability to distinguish the gait patterns of people you were around enough. Everyone had their own unique gait, after all, a realization that Alard only came to after realizing how different footsteps sounded when you could zone in completely on the sound. 

The confident gait was almost surely Jarek. At the end of the meeting, he had announced he would go to headquarters to report the result of their mission to Mr. Dawkins and had stated he would go alone before declaring today a rest day for the team. However, Alard doubted he would get any rest if he stopped moving...stopped working towards his goal.

So he stood, quietly making his way outside and doing his best to stay quiet as he followed behind Jarek. The screams dimmed but did not disappear as the early morning dew anointed his head and he tried his best to focus on those rhythmic footsteps and ignore his loud heartbeat.

He had been a coward once and for that, there would be no rest until the screams left his head for good.

Until the ghosts of District 54 could be at peace.