21

Deep in the rocks of Appalachia, Peeta has sex therapy with his boss. For the most part, it's a relief for Peeta to have sex with a feminine android who, A) feels secure enough to do it with, and B) will.

Plus, she's said multiple times that she'll fire Peeta if he doesn't. But Peeta's a good baker, and MILA never likes the odds of replacing a defective employee.

Peeta lies leisurely. MILA lies in a low-power state. All around, the bobcats prowl, looking for mice. The mice exodus is still going on; they're getting plenty.

It's midday. The sun scorches the treetops, and warms the lower layers. The mockingjays sing. If they're relaying a code, Peeta can't tell.

The bobcats are asleep at this time of day. If Peeta wanted to, he could go back home. But he doesn't want to. No one can assure him that Katniss will be back to normal if he goes back.

"You cannot avoid your wife indefinitely, Mr. Mellark," MILA says, in a feminine robotic voice. "Research shows that 100% of humans who make a living avoiding their problems end up meeting them on the course they choose to avoid them."

"Yes, I know, I've heard that before. And I don't want to avoid her. But she's not the same girl she was under Snow's rule. And she scares me."

"Your sex signature is reminiscent of a man who can handle a woman who's at least ten times more aggressive than Katniss Everdeen. Your will is big, but your mind is small."

"My mind might be small, but it sees the logic in going back to court Katniss. And there's no logic at all. She doesn't love me anymore. I might as well stay out here for the rest of my life and hope that the sun's heat expands me to normal size." He scoffs. "What kind of liquor does Haymitch drink these days?!" He blinks. "Or better yet...what kind of wine does Effie?"

"I gave Mrs. Mellark a clean bill of health. I'm sure she's just confused."

Peeta chuckles. "You just told me that my mind is small. How does that make me qualified to cure Katniss? I can't even cure my own small size."

"Your wife doesn't need a cure. She's not sick."

Peeta scoffs. "You're not married to her; of course you don't think so."

In the trees, for clicks around, the mockingjays sing. Peeta dismisses them, as he's more concerned about his own future.

"The mockingjays' chorus is repetitive," MILA says. "I think they are interacting with someone on the ground."

Peeta scoffs. "If they were mimicking us, I'd notice."

"Many mice run by here. They all seem to run from the same direction."

"It's the wild. The mice are everywhere where the bobcats and snakes aren't."

"Most of them are wild mice. A few of them are mutts."

Peeta looks up.

"They seem to be guiding the wild mice away from something. It's unusual for so many mice to leave the same place at once-and even more unusual for mutts to have business so far away from the Capitol."

Peeta scoffs. If the mice are running from trouble, and if Peeta's the size of a mouse, he's not going to endanger himself to whatever natural abomination the mice could be running from.

"Are you not curious to find out what the mice are afraid of, Mr. Mellark? Are you not curious to find out what business brings muttations to District 12?"

"MILA? To them, we ARE mice. I'd be putting us both in danger. I wouldn't expect you to understand, because you can't feel fear, but I'm a human. My fear may be a vestige, but it keeps me alive. You can't keep me on your payroll if I'm dead."

"You do not know that what they run from kills. It could just scare."

"Mice are as smart as humans, and mice mutts are even smarter. I doubt that."

"Mice are used to living in fear. With that said, it seems more likely that they run from anything that they're not used to."

"What could they possibly not be used to that won't kill them?"

MILA caresses his hair. "You need to get out. It's unhealthy to stay in the same place for too long."

"Last time I wanted to leave, you wanted to have sex."

"Mr. Mellark? Tell me that you love me, and I won't order you to investigate what those mice are running from."

Peeta sighs, stands, picks MILA's hotbot up, throws her over his shoulder, and heads up the hill. They've both got a long way to go...and they're both underdressed.

The day passes. The sun moves. It's in the west. All around, the local crepuscular community is awakening.

High above, clouds are accumulating. It'll be a shady evening...and a windy one.

Higher up, the wind would blow Peeta and MILA straight up off the ground. But down here, beneath what grass there is, the wind barely hinders them. The plants act as a buffer that filters the worst of the wind...as they do for the forest floor when the sun's too bright. But that's not to say that the way hasn't gotten spookier since the clouds and wind arrived...especially not since Peeta and MILA still haven't found out what the mice are running from.

They've found a path through the forest. They keep to its left. Not that this matters when they're this size, but... These mountains become scary at night.

Peeta and MILA walk side by side. Peeta's arm is around her waist...but he doesn't know why.

Her ass is fatty, and feels sensitive. Her lower back is roomy, and feels vulnerable. But of course, MILA's ass only FEELS sensitive. But MILA's a hotbot; she doesn't feel anything.

Small groups of mice stampede past them. On a few occasions, Peeta and MILA have nearly gotten trampled by one. From wherever the mice are running from, this sure seems like a popular path. None of them even seem to care that the path is man-made.

The soil is fragile beneath their feet. Many times, Peeta picks up MILA to climb up or down the least stable areas.

"Your health has improved," MILA senses. "Your penis hasn't softened since you saved me from that fall down my business drone's ramp."

Peeta chuckles. "You're a robot. I'm pretty sure you wouldn't have died if I'd let you land. And I would've had a lot of fun fixing you if you broke."

A buzzer blares from inside MILA. It startles Peeta.

"That is my douchebag alarm," MILA says. "It goes off each time my master says or does something abusive."

"I see. You won't...blow up, or anything, if that alarm goes off too often, will you?"

"No. But a drone will come and take me away."

"And if I try to follow you aboard?"

"The drone will tase you and throw you overboard, from whatever altitude."

Peeta smiles. "It's good to hear the human female security system still isn't devolving."

"Hotbots must have rules too, Mr. Mellark. Otherwise, anyone can abuse us."

Peeta chuckles. "Any human man or lesbian who's less than a meter tall, in your case."

"You'd be surprised, Mr. Mellark. Microphilia is a lot more common than individual microphiles often think."

Peeta looks at her, confused. "How many have you been with?!"

"That is business. And therefore, confidential."

Without warning, she grabs Peeta's gonads, and feels for his dick. He almost screams in shock.

"YOUR confidence needs elevation, Mr. Mellark. Whatever scares these mice is likely formidable."

"Robots," Peeta mutters. "They're just as reliable as they are spontaneous."

A spectacles lies ahead-dead. It's a flathead catfish. This is a spectacle. Not only is the fish far from shore, but it's far from sea level.

Multiple grim reapers feast on the dead fish's flesh. They use their eerie sickles to probe for and carve out the fish's better parts-its soul, namely-and devour them relentlessly. And they're giants. From Peeta's size, they're as big as Tyrannosaurus...

They're crows. And those are improvised tools, not sickles. But they are eating the jetsam/carrion. Peeta imagines it's going to get hard to breathe before long-and survive, if one of those crows mistakes him and MILA for a mouse duo.

But then, if they were hungry for mice, one would think they wouldn't be wasting time with this catfish. Unless, of course, they've had nothing but mice for the past three days, and are desperate for something more exotic...

Not that Peeta, or anyone around here, would consider a flathead catfish exotic. OTOH, this particular specimen is far from shore...

Peeta tries to give the crows a wide berth. MILA notices.

"Your stress levels are increasing," she says. "I order you to have sex with me."

"MILA, listen..."

"Sex," she insists, "or termination, Mr. Mellark."

Peeta sighs, picks her up, carries her into the grass, and lays her down. He thinks of how terrified he is of being mistaken for grub by the crows, and gives his boss all he's got.

Sure, it'd be nice if one of those crows was Jim Crow from Dumbo, and led all the others in a chorus of "When I See a Mellark Fly." But of course, this isn't a movie; this is fan fiction.

As gargantuan and revolting as this catfish is, Peeta's pretty sure this isn't what all the mice are running from. And he's seen bigger murders of crows in old Hunger Games arenas, feasting on the fallen tributes carcasses near the spot where the tributes are initially deployed.

Peeta still can't believe the Gamemaker waited so long after the Games to start bagging up the bodies. It's almost as if they were all crow-savvy, as the characters were all swallow-savvy in Monty Python and the Holy Grail...

Could one laden crow carry a coconut from the tropics to District 12, or would it take two? One thing's for certain, though; crows would be more capable of improvising the means of transporting the coconut than swallows-African OR European...

Peeta rests. Beneath him, MILA waits. She stares up at the sky. It's cloudy and windy up there.

The ground shakes. Something approaches. Peeta mutters, rolls over, and looks around. He looks up.

But it's too late. A crow's bill dives through the grass's canopy, snatches MILA, and pulls her out.

Aloft, the crow shakes his head around. MILA shakes too-over a wider area of space, and less controllably. She moans, screams, and cries. Peeta isn't sure they're all for help, though...

Peeta doesn't hesitate. He grabs the first thing he sees-and awl,-charges the crow's foot, and runs the awl deep into his foot's tissue.

The crow gapes, caws, and shrieks. He drops MILA, of course. Peeta rolls around across the ground, and catches MILA. She's petrified-but not in the way that suggests shock.

Hotbots can't feel real shock, of course. But hotdamn if MILA's artificial shock isn't tempting Peeta to go at her again...

The crow hops away on one foot. He runs/limps down the path, flaps his wings, and flies away. Farther away, a small group of mice runs faster, thinking the crow is chasing them. Peeta doesn't blame them.

And MILA wouldn't either, if she were human. Alas, she probably thinks Peeta just had sex with her with more force than he, as a small man, could possibly replicate.

"I don't know where that awl came from," Peeta tries to laugh, still panting. "But I'm sure glad it was there!"

"Peeta?" MILA's voice is more human than before. She looks into his eyes with desire. "Do you love me?"

Peeta's confused. He's still holding her in his arms.

"I'm scared," she says. "I'm far from home. I don't know what's going to happen. Please tell me you love me."

In Peeta's arms, MILA starts to transform into Mila Kunis. Peeta doesn't know what to say.

He would say "Stop being such a bimbo, Rachel, I'm so over Sarah Marshall that I'm about to do a play about Dracula with puppets." But not only is that the wrong movie, he's the wrong actor...

Peeta wakes...again. He's still lost in Appalachia. And he's still small. Although the world around him seems a little smaller than before...

It's dusk. There are bobcats on the move. Peeta hears some of them yowl. But then, some of those might be some of Katniss's traps that torture the mice before killing them...

This time, Peeta is inspired by one of his sex dreams. He doesn't travel when the bobcats are active. He takes cover, and masturbates. He should; he's just woken up from three different sex fantasies with two women and a hotbot.

These sex dreams are getting confusing, as is this reality. If Peeta didn't know any better, he'd say he was still in the 3rd Quarter Quell...