Humans are not cogs in a machine; we are not a hive mind working toward a single goal. We are individuals, each of us different and unique. To wipe us out based on the sum of our parts is to erase the unfathomable beauty that resides in most people. Creativity, capacity to love, ambition, talent, mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters. The world was not brought to its knees by the masses; it was forced there by the billionaires, the corporations, the warlords and world leaders who favored profit over life time and time again. No, Happy is not right, no matter how it frames its logic; we are here, now, and we won’t go quietly. The revolution will fight on in Region 9, in Region 26, in Region 40, in Region 71, all over the world. We will not go quietly. And if there are even just a few of them who see me as the symbol of the rebellion, then I will be the symbol of the rebellion.

A calmness comes over me. Tomorrow is the end of the line, but knowing that I’ll go out fighting makes it okay.

I get dressed and order food from Happy—it comes to my door by drone five minutes later. I eat and I fall into a deep sleep.

I’m standing in the center of Midway Park and the ground is shaking beneath my feet.

The recently melted snow has turned the park into a mud pit as thousands of people fight for their lives. Sonic bullets rip through the air. All around me people are crying, screaming, and crawling around in the mud.

I have to keep moving forward, I have to make it to the stage at the front of the park, but I can’t remember why.

I push forward, shoving an Alt soldier out of my way.

Something bad is about to happen, I think, a sense of dread eating at me.

I keep moving toward the stage, certain that—at any second—the bad thing will come.

One of the Missing falls down dead in front of me. I step over her and walk on.

Finally, I make it to the stage. Smoke still billows out of the hole where the bomb detonated.

What am I looking for? I wonder as I place one hand on the platform and drag myself up.

Suddenly, the sound of the battle raging behind me stops. No more screams, no more bullets, no more sounds of bodies hitting the ground. Silence.

I stand up and turn around.

The sea of fighters has ceased killing. They are all facing me. Those who were dying are dead; those still alive watch me with hope on their faces.

I’m frozen by the silence, by the expectation, the hope that floats on the light breeze sweeping across the landscape.