Warning: Already in the first chapter alone there is mention of prostitution and someone having acid thrown on their face. Later on in the story there will be extreme cases of self-harm, self-deprication, depression, murder (duh), explicit descriptions of violent sex acts, rape and a suicide attempt. Please, if you find these subjects (and others that may occur) to be too heavy or pressing, click out of this story. Thank you.

Disclaimer: Suzanne Collins' characters belong to her, as does most of the verse. I simply play with them for not only my entertainment but the readers. The only thing I own are the original characters that I create for this story.

AN: This story dedicated to Woodspurge, who fueled me to go forth with this story idea. Hopefully, they'll continue to inspire me to finish this story. The verse taken from chapter 17 of The Sound of Liquor and Tears - to get a feel of what's happening, you may go read it if you wish..

Omnishambles, prologue

A storm-filled night plagued the city as a lone black car drove through the water-clogged streets of what had been jokingly named "Panem City" by a few deranged Victors. Parents pull their rosy-cheeked children inside of warm homes as the car passes, harlots and drunkards alike scramble the streets in search of a shelter from the flash flood that would soon drown the entire Capitol - or something of the sort. Above, neon signs flickered and sizzled out, the heavy rain destroying the electrical wiring and some of the poorer housing residents put up tarps to protect their homes against the rain. It felt like the destruction of a city.

Inside of the car, Katniss Everdeen leans her head against the cold window, watching the buildings blur into nothing and the rain soak the city. She briefly wonders if the recent downpour of the Capitol must be some sort of punishment for their wicked ways - or maybe, for her own sins. Her thoughts wrap and warp around poor Peeta Mellark, her newest prospect and most recent deformity. Her latest sin. She dares a glance at her gloved fingers, the same fingers that once held a vat of acid and destroyed the boys once gorgeous face with nothing but stone-cold relief. Katniss internally knows that she is a monster for what she did, and she knows that she will soon atone for it.

Her driver, a misshapen stout figure with a dirty mustache and fatty fingers, drums against the steering wheel as he drives. The steady thunk! thunk! thunk! would usually put Katniss to sleep, but each drop of a finger makes her twitch and fidget. They sound too much like the hilt of a sword against a small child's skull. Too much like a government officials fist on her wooden bedroom door, ready to take her away to some sick buyer for the night.

"You're the only one out in this rain tonight, miss," the man says, turning briefly to look at Katniss, who still had yet to look up from the window. His beady mouse-like eyes glow with amusement before he turns back to face the road. "Yep, these streets are barren. Where are you going that's so important you had to come out in this mess?"

"Where I am going is of no importance," Katniss answers numbly, feeling the chill of the glass even in her bones. Or maybe that is her heart finally freezing over. "it is where I have come from that you should fear." A line stolen from her mentor, vague enough to protect her from any further questions but enough of an answer to prevent the man from getting too suspicious. The driver looks back at her, taking in the bright green eyes and the short blue locks, tucked carefully under a hood. He squints his eyes, but her face is so crudely disguised by faux-tattoos and make-ups that he doesn't recognize the young Victor. He sees nothing but a fellow Capitol citizen. A deranged one, but a civilian nonetheless.

"Right. Well, we're here," the driver says, pulling up to a dark alley behind a Coriolanus Theatre, exact instructions given by Katniss. She nods and exits, leaving some loose bills on the seat of the car. She says not a single word - not even a 'thank you' or 'be safe' - and the driver pulls away immediately, not wanting to be caught in the worst of the rain. Waiting until his blinking headlights are nothing but little dots against the rain, Katniss sloshes up the back of the theatre, swinging open the emergency exit and heading back into the dressing rooms. Almost immediately, the alarms cease.

There, both Haymitch Abernathy and Finnick Odair wait for her, both of them disheveled from their duet performance with Dax Crisppin, a famous actor with a kink for men. Haymitch stands immediately at the sight of her, eyes wide with anticipation and dread.

"Did you-?" He's cut off by her extending her hands. Carefully, both he and Finnick peel back her gloves for her. She looks at each of them before staring at the linoleum floor, fighting back tears. None of them say a word, because they all know what has been done. It is silent for awhile until-

"Why didn't we think to do this to ourselves?" Katniss asks, her voice raspy from screaming and crying - an act put on for the medical responders of the city. So that they'd know how to find Peeta, and so that he'd get the treatment he needed.

"Snow would know, sweetheart," Haymitch says, his rustic accent - heavier than Katniss', after years of wearing it as an act - coating his voice. "Peeta had a few days until his first appointment. It could have easily been an outraged money monger to do this - someone who had lost the boy's virginity to another." Katniss cringes at the memory of Peeta, tied up like a hog, watching filthy old men and women bid on his body. It's just as painful as the thought of her a year ago, in the same position as he had been.

"But if it were to suddenly happen to three of his best-sellers?" Haymitch continues. "We wouldn't live to tell the tale. Would you like to be hideous with a dead family too?"

Finnick offers a murmured agreement. This quells anymore thoughts of ruining her own precious face. Katniss sits on one of the chairs and yanks at the blue wig desperately. It tilts, but remains pinned tightly to her head. The workings of Effie Trinket.

"Get this off. All this shit... get it off," she demands. Finnick sets about helping her, wiping the make-up from her face and unpinning her hair so that her famous dark tresses fall down her back. They haven't been cut for years, save the exceptional trim here and there to keep it from getting tangled. It's her Capitol tagline - she has her long, 'hippie' hair that is occasionally braided into her trademark reaping braid, Haymitch has his accent and his bad boy attitude, Finnick his exceptional gorgeousness. What sets them apart from the others as whores - sans the fact that almost everyone on the circuit has one.

Haymitch helps her remove the contacts and Katniss is relieved to see her own arrowhead silver eyes in the mirror, the blue specks floating around like small pieces of the sky floating around in vats of mercury. Her lips - once made thin and pruned with make-up - become full and pink again, her delicate nose no-longer pointy but soft and curved.

She is Katniss Everdeen again. The Girl on Fire. The Mockingjay - a capitol dubbed nickname due to her token.

When they are done helping her remove the make-up, both men lean against the dressing counter and examine her. If Katniss notices the way they wince when their bottoms touch the counter or the dark bruises around their wrists, she says nothing. Although there's no 'if' about it, it's painfully obvious what Dax did to them in his dressing quarters.

"Johanna will be here with the car in another hour or so," Finnick says to ease the silence that had blanketed the room. Katniss continues staring at herself in the mirror - at the trademark seam hair and eyes. She can't help but examine how much she's grown in the two years since her Games. She is woman now, no longer a girl who fights for the lives of her starving family. And now, not only is she a murderer, but she has assaulted the rights of another human being. Now, she is truly an animal.

"You did the right thing, Katniss," Finnick says, almost as if reading her mind. Katniss turns and stares at him, disbelief and disgust on her features. Haymitch looks away, unable to see another person that he loves with that expression on their face. Finnick too twitches with hurt.

"For who, Finnick?" Katniss hisses, balling her hands into fists and then releasing them. If it had looked like she was going to cry before, it held no comparison to the fat tears rolling down her cheeks now.

"For him," the bronze-haired man assures, reaching a hand out to her. "Trust me." Katniss stares at the hand briefly before turning away, her eyes flitting back to the spotless floor. She angrily swipes at a tear before saying,

"I can't trust anyone, anymore."