All Part of the Plan
A piece in their games, a piece in a puzzle...broken pieces... Such an interesting word that...pieces.
It could mean so many things...and each one meant a different thing. His mind went strange places when he was working...and this time was no different. Slowly the wire wrapped around the tree, up and over stunted branches, around holes and into knots...slowy forming a massive surge coil that would (with luck) take the upcoming lightning strike and turn it into a viable weapon.
The results (or so Beetee had figured) would be equivilent to a man-made EMP. The sheer amount of power in the lightning strike (the plasma of which was many times hotter than even the surface of the sun) would surge up the wire following the lines of conduction and hit the small chink in placed in the forcefield by Plutarch. He had seen the hole himself, known what it was the moment he did.
The power surge would hit the shield and fry it from the inside out, turning the entire dome into one massive lightning bolt. Anyone near the shield generators would be killed instantly when they blew up, or when the power reached them and fried them alive.
A fortunate accident as far as Beetee was concerned...a few early casualties to ensure that the Capitol was off guard, and that the shield would not be raised again until they were clear of the field.
And...there. The wire was wrapped. Beetee stood back, once again wiping his hands out of cumpulsion. He’d killed to get this wire, sneaking into the Cornucopia and finding one of the Careers there. He hadn’t seen who it was...he’d just stabbed and cut, slicing open arteries and severing muscles with the end of his strikesticks monofiliment blade.
It wasn’t Cashmere, which...strangly made him feel relieved. Nor was it anyone else he had recognized. An expendable Capitol ally most likely. No one worth bothering with.
“Tick tock, tick tock...” He muttered to himself, mimmicking Wiress.
“Tick, tick...boom.”
