Warning: Disturbing content (shocking imagery rather than violence). Reader discretion advised, I mean that T rating.

Thanks for your thoughtful reviews.


Mags had never thought it possible to learn so much and yet so little. She had spent the last forty-eight hours meeting a dozen artisans and doubted she had slept more than ten hours in total. She had been pleasantly struck by how happy people were to share their skills and how much pride they took in work well done. She saw no competition or arrogance, only people thrilled to learn.

There was little talk of I, people said we and spoke in one voice. She wondered if expressing different opinions was frowned upon or if they simply did not debate with strangers to keep the peace, or out of respect for their mysterious leaders.

Or they just didn't trust her, which was the most logical answer even if it pained her not to have been given a chance. She knew it wasn't personal. They were tributes, they had been all but branded but the Capitol. Still, she felt like a starving man standing before a feast he couldn't touch. For the first time in years, she was among rebels who didn't have to watch their every word and action. There was so much to learn and she was kept in the dark. She hardly knew more about the way the people of the Citadel survived than she had on the first day, and she had learned almost nothing about the people around her. It left a bitter taste in her mouth.

In everything the rebels did there was a precise economy of movement and words, as if even the air they breathed was a precious resource. They had asked questions about outside, questions that amounted to how unhappy people were, how horrid the Capitol was. They didn't seem very curious about the existence of other rebels, which bothered Mags for reasons she herself couldn't pinpoint. Sometimes the man Mags thought of as Chickaree's bodyguard came to silently supervise and people got even quieter.

What she did learn was that the rebels numbered in the thousands. The Citadel could house ten times more, maybe a hundred times more, but she still had no idea of how many people they had food for. She had seen very few children. It was a city, with rooms and corridors, storage and baths. Constantine's theory on it dating to before Panem made greater sense every day.

Shortly after midday, the black-haired bodyguard gestured her forward. She stood up, leaving the watertight basket she had made on the plastic table.

"Chickaree wants you to come," he said.

"Should I clean up?" Mags said, anxious to have news of Fife and Constantine. She wished they would have been at least allowed to sleep in the same room.

"They'll do it."

Mags followed the man, her eyes roaming over his aquiline features and angular body. There was an air of familiarity she couldn't quite place.

"Are you from Four?" She asked, figuring it couldn't be very indiscreet.

"We are all rebels of the Citadel. We are united in the cause. Our origins only cause us grief."

"People bring their personal experience as well as their skills to the cause. Erasing our individuality is what the Capitol wants to do," Mags said, annoyed at receiving, word for word, the same answer as she had from the others.

The lean rebel turned his piercing stare to her. It was rather intimidating, having a half-naked man inches from her face.

He chuckled. "I was born in Four to a woman born in Ten. I officially died in District Eight after having lived years in Six. People do not evade questions out of spite, young lady, when the present is hard, it is too easy to live in the past or to get lost in dreams of a perfect future."

Was that another reason why there were so few children? People were wary of having no future to offer them? Mags envied him for having seen so much of the world. Now the borders were walled off and guarded.

"How did you reach the Citadel?"

It reassured Mags to think new people joined the rebels every year. At least people cared enough to get involved. She wished she had heard of this place earlier even if she doubted her family would have made the trip without more guarantees. That last thought made her insides clench from guilt. If even people like her mother and her would not come, who would join these rebels?

The man shrugged. "I escaped from peacekeepers, ran where they wouldn't go, and walked through the door, just like you did."

Mags repressed a resigned sigh. She had the distinct impression that he was making fun of her. She stubbornly refuse to let it go.

"Everyone seems to have a trade. You seem more like a guard."

"Everyone here works their hardest. It is only human to want other people to know you work hard. I watch them. Most of us have many tasks, to avoid getting bored."

Some kind of ego-flattering police? Odd. Mags' face darkened. She was starting to think like Fife, seeing schemes and lies everywhere.

"What do you think of the Citadel, Mags?"

Mags missed a step. He was the first person to actually ask for her opinion. She decided to be evasive for once. If he wasn't just being polite, he would press.

"I've never seen anywhere as efficient and the infrastructure is incredible. The people are friendly but very distant."

The man smiled. He didn't press. Mags swallowed back her disappointment.

She reached a maze of smaller corridors, each labeled with a grid of colors at crossroads. Her boots echoed against the concrete floor. A familiar polished baritone filled the air.

"The prettier the woman, the longer I can expect to be kept waiting."

"Considering I was here before you, I'm offended, Constantine."

"You take pride in leading people astray, Fife. You defy the rules."

A laugh echoed against the dark walls. "Nice save."

Mags grinned as her friends appeared, feeling as if a weight had been lifted off her chest. She chastised her brain. Not friends, companions.

The two were standing next to a closed door. Chickaree greeted her with a polite nod.

"Had fun? I did propaganda for kids. I'll grant that it was pretty moral and logically sound for propaganda," Fife said brightly.

Mags laughed before she caught Chickaree's dark look. She bit her lip. She would hate to have her own beliefs dismissed as propaganda too and objectively, they were the ignorant ones. After all, Mags had lived under Capitol dominion for years, who knew what lies they had unwittingly come to accept as truth.

"Oh and, Mags," Fife continued, as if she hadn't noticed the sudden drop in room temperature, "When they leave the chest of a grown man bare it means his individuality surpasses the clan. This esteemed rebel is one of the very top guys."

Mags froze, slowly turning towards the 'bodyguard'. He looked torn between anger and amusement.

"Why did you reveal this in front of us?" He said.

"Because I respect you enough not to spy on the spy?" Fife replied with an innocent expression belied by her balled fists.

The man's lips broke into a scornful smile. "You hate following directions."

"Yes, it's a flaw I have," Fife said, her insolent tone now tinged with anger. "I like having the big picture. Note that I did do everything you asked, regardless."

"You are still alive, Fife," Chickaree said in level tones, her expression inscrutable.

Mags shared a loaded look with Constantine, not liking the byplay. She wished Fife hadn't felt the need to boast but another part of her felt a vindictive pleasure at showing that they weren't to be taken for fools.

"I'm Cresyl. I've been here over nine years," the man said with a small smile.

Mags kept her face blank, seething inside. He had only been watching her, not the other rebels. She was tired of being lied to. At least they could have said outright that they didn't trust her and wanted her supervised. She would have accepted it readily.

"I have something to show you," Chickaree said, opening the door for them. "It's not pleasant," she warned, her voice suddenly soft as she reached for the switch.

Yellow light filled what seemed to be a classroom. A large glass jar covered with a cloth rested on one of the desks. Chickaree was tense as she gingerly grasped the cloth with two fingers and pulled it back.

Mags felt her fingers dig into Constantine's arm. The lurch of her heart stifled her rising scream. Her free hand flew to her face as her eyes widened in horror.

"From your silence, should I look?" Fife said, her bright tone in sharp contrast with the grizzly scene before them.

"Warn us next time you instincts tell you to avert your eyes," Constantine said, his voice a harsh rasp. All color had fled his face.

"I'm sorry, I will. I promise," Fife said, her voice more subdued, "what is it?"

Mags stepped back unsteadily, her mouth opening and closing of its own accord. She rubbed her eyes, wishing to scrape the horrible sight off her retinas. It couldn't be real, it had to be some sick joke. Chickaree stiffly put the cloth back in place. Mags met her gray eyes and saw a flash of apology in them. Why? Why show them? Wouldn't telling them have been enough?

"Guys, whatever it is, it's silent, so harmless. Stop freaking out and tell me."

How little did Fife know. Mags released her bruising grip on Constantine and took another step back.

"It was a human head, Fife. One of the tributes," the young man said in dangerously low tones.

A head had been floating in that jar, a pale head that had once belonged to a curly haired boy. The boy who had begged Vicuña not to leave them, the boy who had stayed next to the wreck, the boy who had shouted during the chariot rides in her dream. Mags stared at the opaque cloth. His neck had not been cleanly severed.

"District Eight, the boy. It was bitten off the body," Mags added hollowly, feeling nauseous. She almost collided into the shorter girl. Fife was staring pointedly at the door, her face gray.

"What! That was... Eight?" Fife brought a hand to her mouth, her eyes brimming with tears.

Mags took a labored breath and turned towards Chickaree. She forced her stiff face to articulate the words. "There were three people with him, what happened to them?"

"How did you come by... this?" Constantine said, barely audible despite the silence.

Chickaree failed to mask the tightness in her voice. "Get out of the room, Wanderlings."

The woman didn't have to ask twice.

"Scavengers found them. They like to eat what they find. We do not kill them because many were our brothers," Chickaree said, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. "The head was left for us to find."

The aristocratic boy's whole body was shaking with outrage. "Get all your people out of the sewers and give us flamethrowers. We'll get rid of these creatures!"

Mags paled further. What the hell was his fascination with fire? This was insane, they needed more proof before turning a whole population to ash. Even if the... that had not been done by rats, maybe only a couple of the most depraved scavengers were responsible.

"Have your scouts seen any of the other tributes?" Fife said in a small voice.

"Two males leaving north-west. A larger group is still in the sewers. Our people report they are loyal to the Capitol but because of their young age we did not make ourselves known. The train wreck was pillaged. Atli's Scavengers are numerous and love trophies. They would not have accepted to part with this one, even to cause us grief, unless they had others," Cresyl said, his face twisted in hateful disgust.

Chickaree gently pushed the three further away from that awful room.

Mags could feel tears prickling at her eyes. Trophies. Death was death and it rarely was pretty, but that former rebels would sink to such depths… She took a shaky breath as the horrible truth of what had doubtless happened to the peacekeeper's corpse sunk in. But even so, the rules here were so different, maybe cannibalism was somehow excusable. She'd heard grim tales of stranded crews deep at sea.

His soul will find his way. Chickaree had known, they all had known. Mags couldn't understand.

She moved away from the rebels, a snarl twisting her lips as hot anger replaced her shock. "What do you want from us!"

Cresyl smiled thinly. His long nose making him look like a bird of prey. "We will lead you outside with supplies, weapons and grenades. Do what feels right."

What! They were giving them weapons and letting them go, hoping they'd murder the Scavengers and spare them the inconvenience?

Fife let out an incredulous hiss. "Well played," she granted venomously, stepping as far from the rebels as she could.

Well played? Hypocritical cowards more like. If being related to those people mattered to them, why were they doing this?

"Don't worry, Fife, you won't have to do anything, I promise," Constantine said, a terrifying ardor lighting his features.

Mags just stared. She would have killed Capitolites to gain her freedom. Cannibals who stopped fugitives from reaching the Citadel didn't deserve greater respect. Yet it still wasn't right. The Citadel had said people who reached the sewers could join, yet now there seemed to be conditions attached. Disappointment sapped all her desire to argue. Those were the rebels they were to admire? The last to truly oppose the Capitol? She blinked back tears of rage.

True to their word, Cresyl and Chickaree escorted them to the huge sliding concrete door, handed them two maps of the nine levels of the sewers, and took their leave. Chickaree looked torn as she flashed them a last look but she didn't speak up. Mags hadn't bothered to hide how outraged she felt. They were alone again in the humid tunnels, their torchlights providing poor light in the gloom. Mags' mind was still reeling from shock. The boy's slack head flashed before her eyes every time she gazed into the darkness.

"So people are kicked out of the Citadel for some reason, lack of food, you name it, and resort to cannibalism. Cool. Do you think we'll make some sense of this before we die?" Fife wondered, her forced lightness and dubious humor unable to completely cover the brittleness in her voice.

"Shut up," Mags said, desperate for things to slow, for some time to gain control back over events. Fife's rapid speech was just making her head spin faster. In minutes, she had gone from feeling rather safe to being forcibly thrown out of the Citadel in a way more horrible than any she could have imagined. She couldn't bear to look at the grenades Constantine carried.

"She said Atli's Scavengers, do you think there is another group?"

"Fife, I'm serious," Mags ground out.

A hand slapped her cheek, hard. Mags gasped, stumbling.

"If the charts are accurate, we are six miles away from the third level and Atli's headquarters," Constantine said, folding back the map. "Fife, don't hit her again," he added in warning tones.

Before Mags could complain icy water entered her eyes and mouth. She spluttered, "Fife!"

"Get a hold of yourself," Fife ordered.

Mags glared only to see the haggard short-haired girl fidget nervously as she tucked the water bottle away, her dark eyes pleading, as if she was desperate to see Mags tell them what to do.

Fife was not responsible for the mess they were in. Mags wiped her face and forced herself to breathe steadily until her thoughts seemed to clear.

"Let's walk. At least now we can leave for the Capitol if we must," she said.

Fife muttered something unintelligible.

"Unless this was a positive remark, keep it to yourself."

Fife flashed her a weak grin before zipping her lips shut.

"Do you want me to hold your hands until you both feel safer?"

Constantine's mildly delivered offer made Mags' eyebrows shoot to her hairline. Fife promptly handed out her hand. A ghost of a smile graced Mags' lips. She slid her arm under Constantine's, taking comfort in the warm contact. Their steps rang hollowly on the granite floors, the noise barely hidden by the foul trickling water. Mags paused as they were about to climb up to the fourth level. The pungent sent of oily smoke assaulted her senses.

"The Careers were in the sewers, right? They might have found them before us," she said, fear at being trapped under a fire warring with guilty relief. Tempers were too high to head, with grenades, to an inhabited zone of the sewers. The smoke wasn't thick, so the fire wasn't right above them. She eyed the ladder warily. The sewers were very humid, she hoped it would be enough to shield them.

"Well that's disappointing," Constantine said, a mutinous expression on his face.

Mags winced. He was much too enthusiastic at the prospect of killing the Scavengers. He had to calm down.

Fife slid her backpack off her shoulders. "What now?"

"We need to be sure," the aristocratic boy said, wrapping his scarf around his mouth. He stepped on the ladder.

Fife yanked him down. "Dying suffocated or burned? Come on! At least wait until the smoke dissipates. And fire spreads downwards, maybe even staying here is suicidal," she added, her voice trembling.

Mags frowned at Constantine. His withdrawn way of expressing stress was dangerous. It made it too easy to forget that the tribute from One was boiling with unhealthy emotions. They couldn't afford to be rash. "Sit down, please. As long as we don't struggle to breathe, we'll stay. We'll rest for half an hour. If someone comes, we'll hear them."

She was always rather astonished to see the other two obey without question.

"How about a captivating story to distract us, Fife?" Mags said, desperate for an escape.

"I can do that," the girl said with a small smile.