queries and conspiracy theories . novak & denny

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Your fingernails rub against your forearm. It's been a few days of door-to-door visits. They exhaust you whether someone answers the door or pretends they're not home at four o'clock on a Wednesday afternoon. The Hunger Games surge on, and with its viewership practically, everyone is either at the Town Square or in their homes to witness it. This was the perfect opportunity for you and Uncle Elio to ask the Peacekeepers to permit your absence. They've gotten to liking you and your campaign quite well. While you promise Ten mounds of change, ensuring that it won't complicate Peacekeeper duties was also a necessity. If they don't harm your plans, those public and private, then you'll pay no mind to them.

Sheets of construction paper mark household names: Depew, Benstaloe, Denver, Eggert. With each door passed you cross out another name on the list. Baron, your top assistant back in the underground, catches up with you after taking another street. "Next street over seems to be taking a liking to you, Novak. Sounds pretty promising." He pats you on the back and carries over to the next street.

The next household on your list just carries on adult: Denny Denver. You don't recognize the name, but you circle it on your clipboard and hook it back through the side of your belt. Your thumbs rotate against exhausted cheekbones to revive a smile you've hosted for the past four hours of today's ground campaign. If one thing has taxed you, it's the heaviness of a tired smile.

You knock on the wooden door. Birds line the streetwires and chirp while the falling sun beams in their direction. Your hands fold one behind the other against your backside until the door opens.

"Good afternoon. Denny Denver, is it?"

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I was out drinking pretty late last night. I got done with work as a bartender at my own bar, and then went to another nearby place to go get shitfaced. It felt great at the time, but waking up teh next morning was certainly no cakewalk. I was hungover pretty damn bad, and when I saw I regretted my life decisions from the night before more than anything I had in a long time, believe me.

When I woke up, I spent the day in what I'd been wearing the night before, which, for the record, is also what I slept in. My outfit consisted of jeans with a few holes in them, a t-shirt of my own design that read "horses are from outer space" with some poorly drawn horses in space helmets on it, and some bright green socks to tie it all together. It also all had a slight beer-ish aroma to it, due to all the drinking from last night.

Someone knocked at my door, and it felt like they were pounding on the inside of my head. Despite hating that with my whole heart, I got up and answered the door. At least that would get them to stop knocking. It did mean I had to talk to them, though.

Before even looking at who was on the other side of my open door, I let out a low-effort string of words in their direction.

"Who? What? Can I help you?"

Why did the beginning of this encounter just tell me something was going to go terribly wrong? Was this a trap? It had to be.

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The first thing you notice after giving yourself a moment to process the person in front of you is the shirt. Horses are from outer space. Well, shit. Already, you mentally cross out any discussion of utilizing District Ten's horse population in promoting public transportation to this one. Denny looks to be a bit rattled and disheveled as he stares you down. He was out drinking or getting high somewhere if you had to take a guess. Everything about him says that Mr. Denver had no idea that today was happening.

You maintain the smile on your face, though, while Denny gathers himself in the doorway. "Who? What? Can I help you." You turn your charmed smile up, taking a couple steps back, both to give me some more space but also to escape the peculiar smell radiating from the house.

"My name's Novak. Adrián Novak. I don't know if you've seen the posters, but I'm actually runnin' for mayor this year." You lend your arm out to the gentleman with a red and yellow paper mailer, hoping he'll give you a moment of time and maybe his vote. If, that is, this gentleman knows or cares for when or what that is. "The election's coming up quickly, Mr. Denver. Any chance I might be able to convince you to vote for me?"

You allow him to take the pamphlet, settling your hands back in your pants pocket. "I'm happy to answer any questions you might have."

Well-known or weird, a vote is a vote in District Ten. For your sake, and the sake of your soon-to-be empire, you'll put up with some awkwardness to get the numbers that you need.

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I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes at the man started talking to me. He called himself Adrian Novak and although his name sounded familiar, I wasn't sure why at first.

I'm actually runnin' for mayor this year, he had said, and then it clicked. He was one of those damn robots.

Okay, so, I'll back up a bit. Politicians? They're all robots. Every single one of them. President Snow was a robot. He wouldn't have lived that long if he weren't. The high council? All robots? Mayors? Every damn one of them. Those who run for mayor or high council? Gotta be robots too. They surely wouldn't be given the chance to run if they weren't. I couldn't let this guy know I was onto him, though, surely. He'd turn me in for knowing the secret about government robots, no doubt about it.

Unfortunately, my words often come out faster than my mind moves to stop it once he asks if he could answer any of my questions.

"You one of those government robots by chance?" I ask him, looking him dead in the eyes. I don't welcome him inside. I don't come outside with him. I stand there in my doorway, staring him down and waiting for an answer. I know he'll deny it, but I want to see how cleverly he decides to do it. I've never spoken to one of those robot people in person, after all.
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Eyes widen from the outrageousness you witness coming from this.. Character. "You one of those government robots by chance?" What kind of place does Denny Denver think Ten is? You don't respond with much immediacy. Is he just messing around, or is it some sort of metaphor? Denver holds his ground in the doorway and you hold yours on the front porch. Baron's a couple doors down, engaging with and older woman. Of course he'd get the normal ones when you, the actual candidate, find yourself at the door of a man with tin foil secured underneath his head of hair.

You laugh, tugging at the cuffs of your shirt. Returning the pamphlet to your side, the tension shakes off with your speech. "Well, I'm certainly no robot. I'm not gonna be one of those Capitol drones and vessels if that's what you're asking, Denny." Still, no matter what you argue to the boy, his face shows that he doesn't see you as genuine.

The lack of engagement this boy gives you is frustrating. Why waste your time here if the topic of discussion is just about robots?" You take yourself down a mental list of each of the talking points and shadows of plans you have for your mayoral term if you are to win. The districts, rebuilding and restructuring, transportation. Maybe talking about tributes could be to your benefit? "The robots take kids 'round your age and throw them into the games just to forget about 'em once it's all said and done. I'm not gonna let them keep on getting away with it. Robots don't care like you and I do."

You're not sure if it'll be enough, but the moment you got into the race, Uncle Elio told you one thing: a vote is a vote.

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He looked at me with wide eyes like I was crazy when I asked him if he were a robot, but I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised, since most people I met looked at me that way when I started saying what I was really thinking about a situation. The man laughs a bit, tugging at the cuffs of his shirt, but I keep eye contact.

He denies it. Figures.

"The robots take kids 'round your age and throw them into the games just to forget about 'em once it's all said and done. I'm not gonna let them keep on getting away with it. Robots don't care like you and I do."

He was trying to make a point, but missing the mark at least a little bit.

"I'm twenty-three," I told him. He must've thought I was at least a few years younger than I really was. I was still keeping eye contact.

"You're telling me you're definitely not a robot. Can you prove it, though?" I ask him, eyebrow raised. There are a lot of things that can't be proven in this world. Sure, I couldn't prove that he actually was a robot, but could he prove that he wasn't?

I also couldn't prove that horses were from outer space, but no one could prove to me that they were from Earth, either. So, I suppose we're all entitled to our own beliefs.

"I hope you understand, I can't just vote for robots in power. Politicians are all robots. That's why I don't vote anymore. Now that I know, ya know?"
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Fuck.

"I'm twenty-three."

You should've known that an old man like Elio filling out basic information for who to expect when you knock on doors might be a challenge. You got the gentleman's age wrong. Your sheet said 18, not 23. Although, if anything, that means you made all of the old people around feel a bit more in their youth. Red blooms on your face as embarrassment blushes. He's actually closer to your own age than the one you thought of him to be.

Point still stands, though. Once they're past eighteen, everyone gets cast aside and shot up into the workforce.

Denny remains suspicous as he sizes you up and down, talking himself back in a circle. "I hope you understand, I can't just vote for robots in power. Politicians are all robots. That's why I don't vote anymore. Now that I know, ya know?"

You nod along, tapping the sides of your leg. What can you do to make this guy vote when all he thinks of you as is another robot? Puzzled but desperate, even the most strayed citizens of Ten are a must when you consider beating a popular near-celebrity incumbent as the final challenge.

Words slide out, unfiltered.

"What if I made some sort of commission when I become mayor?" Can you do that? Maybe. "You know, to try to find and expose all the robots around."

You know in all likelihood you'll never see this man again once the underground takes over the mayor's office.

"Could make you one of the leaders on that task. "

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Adrián's face blushed when I told him I was twenty-three. I'll be totally honest, I didn't mind if people thought I was eighteen. It wasn't too much younger, so it's not like they thought I was a little kid (which would be a bit strange with a beard) but they weren't calling me old either, so it was a win for me.

He seemed to be in understanding when I explained my hesitations about voting with him. He nodded, and it made me wonder: did he actually understand what I was saying and agree with me, or was he just a robot playing along? Surely a robot couldn't play along this well. The Capitol was pretty high-tech with their stuff, but I doubted that a robot could show embarrassment as well as he had, or seem as genuine as this guy seemed to be attempting to be. Perhaps he was human. I still had to wonder a little bit, though.

"What if I made some sort of commission when I become mayor?" When he said this to me, it certainly piqued my interest. "You know, to try to find and expose all the robots around." I stood there for a moment, thinking.

His next set of words sold me on it.

"Could make you one of the leaders on that task," he told me. I hoped he was serious, because damn would that be good.

"I could go for that, yeah," I told him, a real smile crossing my face for the first time since our conversation began. "Get those robots out of office and get you in there, yeah," I said, then pausing for a moment.

"I think we've got a deal."
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You allow him to think on it for a moment. Judging by what he's been saying, you suppose he might be untrusting in comparison to the average resident when it comes to government politics. While he's taking distrust to the extreme in this context, there's certainly merit to what Denny is saying. The politics of District Ten have been most of the same stable instability. Your motivations to run aren't fixed on the basis of weeding them out, but there's no reason why you can't have both at once. If there are people like the Emberstatts standing in the way, calling them robots will be another round in your arsenal if you need it.

"I could go for that, yeah." You flash him a toothed grin as he continues. "Get those robots out of office and get you in there, yeah." You could never be one of the robots. They follow a leader, typically the Capitol, and act as their drones. Elio's got a hold over you, sure, but he's given you enough free reign to be a mind of your own. And if your uncle is smart, once he sees how capable you are of running a district, he'll hand over the underground empire to you and take the rest of his springs and summers with a margarita in hand.

"I think we've got a deal."

"Perfect, perfect. You're a smart guy, Denny Denver. I'd love to hear more of your theories within the next few days. Maybe you can collect your thoughts n' evidence on it and I'll send one of my boys over to collect that. Sound good?"

You take a step closer, offering up a handshake agreement. Will you actually send someone over?

Your grin promises him yes, but your mind knows there's more pressing matters than the metals within a man.

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