I was getting sick of seeing this in my file doing nothing, so after quite a long internal debate, I decided to post it.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games.

"Wild animals never kill for sport. Man is the only one to whom the torture and death of his fellow creatures is amusing in itself."
~ James Anthony Froude

I wince at the stiffness in my limbs as I struggle to throw off the effects of last nights drugs and I find myself once again sitting on the chair in the dark room, which I have come to hate and fear in equal measure. It won't be long before they come back now.

It has been the same routine since they lifted me out of the arena. They would torture me for as long as they could without endangering my life. They started putting me under the second time they healed my injuries, only once did they try and fix me while I was conscious. Only once did they make that mistake. Despite my situation I snicker softly at the memory.

The only thing I have done, and can do here, is wait. The door behind me opens and the light shines in. I no longer bother try and turn, to see who has entered. Even if it weren't for the smell, I have become aware of his presence since the first time I woke.

There are always two, my President Snow and my torturer. He likes to watch, to be there when the knives cut into my skin. But if he watches me then I stare at him in equal measure, determined not to let him see the pain he so lusts after, only the loathing and disgust that I feel for him and his brainwashed sycophants.

However, I know deep inside that this is not the only reason for my gaze. I want to remember Snow's face, to never forget the look in his snake-like eyes. If I can remember then, when the time comes and it is his turn, I want to be able to cause him the pain he has caused me, to glory in his pain and to relish in his destruction. Occasionally it frightens me to know that I have such a desire in me as it makes me that little bit more like him, other times, I think I'm just too far gone. Also, it gives me a small petty satisfaction to see the frustration on their faces when they never quite get the answer they're looking for.

I smile at him through the gloom, silently promising him and myself that he is nowhere close to breaking me. The pain I feel now couldn't hold a candle to the way I would feel if I betrayed the rebels and Finnick especially, my closest friend and the only person still alive who might still understand me. If I give in to the pain, to Snow, then everything people have died for would be pointless. I won't break.

I grit my teeth at both his mocking laugh and the feel of the newly sharpened blade digging into my arm- the same place where I cut out Katniss' tracker. "So Johanna, are you ready to tell us? Are you ready to answer the questions that you know deep down I will get in the end?" President Snow walked forwards and I hunched my shoulders as he approached. Gently, almost tenderly he tilted my head up to meet his eyes. "If you give me what I want, I promise to make it end"

I hiss at him through the anger, and then gasp as I am doused in icy water which stings all the open and half-healed cuts. He sighs with a look of mocking regret on his face and nods to my tormentor, who then ties my soaked body to wire rack and turns on the generator.

The excitement in his eyes grows as I start to scream.