The wrinkled sheet of paper stared at Donna, accusing her. Book propped open on her knees to hide it, she read and reread the words written by Lars. The letter was handwritten, not printed. Had he been worried that someone else might be able to find it if he wrote in on the computer?

The people in the Ministers' Trial were just sentenced, so I guess this is on my mind now. I read all the stuff that they said there, but the more I read, the less I understand. Could all that really have happened just a few years ago? It seems insane. I think I kind of understand why it happened in the first place, but not why it kept going for so long. I do not understand. Why did you join them? I mean, you knew you were working on the Hunger Games. And what did you know about the way the District people were treated? What made you think it was a good idea? -Lars

How was she supposed to answer those questions? It was hard enough when Dr. Chu made her contemplate them, but her own son? Donna's first instinct was to simply tell him to ask again in a few years, but then she remembered that to a twelve-year-old, events from five years ago may as well have taken place in a different century. Just eight years old during the Rebellion, he hadn't been aware of what was going on in the background, as Dem had tried to shield the kids from the chaos outside as much as possible.

Not answering was not an option, but how to answer? Donna decided to ask Theodosius and Dr. Chu. She could always spin it as a hypothetical 'how am I supposed to explain this to my kids' kind of scenario to the psychologist.


"I honestly cannot believe it!" Katz practically shouted at Strata, Hope, and Gold. "Faking catatonia? Really?"

The news had gotten to the Supermax. After hearing her sentence, Yark, the former deputy minister of economics, had gone to her cell, lain down on her cot - and shut off. According to two separate guards, she hadn't as much as twitched since. Warden Vance and Tiller, his deputy, were utterly furious at the development.

"I think that takes the cake," Donna told Theodosius. She had meant to ask Theodosius for advice on how to answer her son's letter, but Yark was proving to be a welcome distraction. "How long do you think she'll be able to keep it up for?"

"I'm just shocked nobody had tried something similar before," Theodosius said, "but I doubt it'll work. I'm sure they'll carry her to the gallows if necessary."

It was kind of funny that instead of focusing on the actual trial, everyone was now discussing Yark and whether or not she was faking. Usually, it was extremely irritating when everyone focused on juicy gossip instead of the important matters, but this time, Donna couldn't help but laugh with the others. "There's a difference between hanging someone who just fainted, and hanging someone who has been unresponsive for weeks. That is, if she keeps it up that long."

"Then I guess they'll snap her out of it." Theodosius shrugged stiffly, rubbing at his upper arm. "Ouch," he hissed.

"What's wrong?"

"Fell down the stairs yesterday. Now I'm sore all over." The previous day, Theodosius had mopped the corridor. He must have slipped when going to fetch something.

Donna looked at Theodosius. He seemed to be walking fine. "Is it bad?" she asked.

He nodded. "I woke up this morning and could barely move. If I'm not halfway functional by the afternoon, I'll ask for painkillers. I should have asked last night, but I felt fine then."

"Wait, did you fall down an entire flight of stairs?" Donna asked, concerned. She doubted that anyone could feel fine after doing so, except maybe Li.

"Oh, no, no, only partway. I slipped on a puddle at the very top, and skidded down a few steps. Landed on the bucket, though, that didn't help." He raised and lowered his arms, stretching them. "Ow. Anyway, I must say I'm impressed with Yark, assuming she's faking. Lying motionless for so long, that's way worse than what any of us have here."

"I'm also shocked that nobody tried something similar before," Donna said. "With the way everyone but Best did everything they could to slip the noose, you'd have thought that someone would fake mental illness at some point."

Theodosius glanced at Best, who was strolling along the path with Verdant. "You know, I never did ask him why he requested death," he whispered. "I keep on meaning to, but it feels too awkward."

"I think that what we heard was the truth," Donna whispered back. "At his age, having your entire world fall apart around you must be so much worse."

"Well, maybe." There was a pause, which grew longer and longer. Donna braced herself and asked the question.

"My son wrote me a letter," she said, words tumbling out, "and I have no idea how to answer it."

"The eldest one, I'm assuming? Lars?"

Donna nodded. "He was reading about the Ministers' Trial, and wants to know why I was involved with that."

Theodosius ran his hand through his hair. Then he ran his other hand through his hair, nearly knocking his cap off. "Isn't he only twelve?" he asked.

"That's what I was thinking, too," Donna said. "Since Donna's not interested in any of that stuff, I thought I'd have a few more years to think of answers to these questions, but-" she shrugged.

Looking slightly ashen, Theodosius rubbed at his shoulders self-consciously. "Maybe I should start thinking, too," he said. "How am I supposed to explain it to my own children? They don't know what it's like to live like that, except maybe your Donna, but even she was still too young to be able to understand our position."

"I think that's for the better," Donna said. "Adult children can make their own way, and the very little children can grow up in an entirely new world. The teenagers, though, will have partially formed under the Games regime, and partially - under democracy. I've read about child immigrants," she explained to an astonished Theodosius. "In a certain age range, the odds are very high that the individual will be of both cultures simultaneously. I think a similar thing will apply here."

"Uh, that still doesn't help," Theodosius pointed out. "There's still the issue of explaining to Lars how we lived. Did he ever see the live feed of the Games?"

"No, Dem thought it would be best to only start showing it to the kids once they turned twelve. I think he never saw it from the same perspective as us. He went straight from a child's view to the modern one, but he's still a child. Seventy-five years means nothing to him, not when there are the five that followed." Donna racked her brain, trying to remember if Lars ever said anything about the Games. As far as she could recall, he had asked if she had worked on some random aspect of the Arena, and nothing else. "I can't try to ask him to use his own situation, he's aware that they were completely different."

Theodosius stopped suddenly. "You've explained it to the psychologist, have you not?" he asked. Feeling slightly sick, Donna shook her head. She could see where this was going.

"He's twelve years old," she said desperately. "He can't understand ambiguity. He won't be able to understand it."

"If he's old enough to ask, he's old enough to know," Theodosius said, not quite meeting her eyes. "Now I'm scared!" he laughed nervously, arms shoved deep into his pockets. "Is Primus going to interrogate me next?" There were tears in his eyes. "He's the same age, after all."

Donna continued walking, and Theodosius followed her. "I'm worried he'll misinterpret my words," she confessed. "I don't want him to have the wrong impression of me."

Theodosius was still laughing quietly. "Maybe it would be better if I never came home," he said. He sounded downright hysterical and his face was bright-red.

"You've talked to Cynthia, right?" Donna asked, trying to think of a way to get him to calm down. Theodosius nodded. "And you've gotten letters."

"Look, I'm not completely falling apart here," he said. "I know that if they had wanted, they could have pretended I didn't exist as easy as anything. But the thought of having to explain myself to my own children makes me want to sink through the ground." He took a few steps towards the wall. "Do you mind if we sit down?" he asked, motioning at her. Donna sat down next to him on the grass, which was damp with dew. Theodosius raised his eyes to look at her, arms wrapped around his knees. He was cringing in pain.

"I think you're right," she admitted. "If he's old enough to ask those kinds of questions, if he's capable of comprehending how it all started, he should be able to understand my answers." Would he hate her for it?

If she told the truth, and he hated her for what she said, then she deserved it.

It was a sickening thought. Why had she even sent in that stupid application in the first place? That horrible gnawing feeling was back, making her drop her gaze and stare at her feet, face hot. "I guess I'll do that," she continued. Theodosius was rubbing at his face, staring at the ground with a perplexed expression. "Do you want to keep on walking?" she asked.

Theodosius shook his head. Well, Donna wasn't very eager to move around, either. They kept on sitting silently for a while until a guard from Five approached them. "Are you two alright?" she asked, concern evident in her voice.

"Yes, yes," the two replied, doffing their caps but not standing up.

"Why are you sitting, then? You need to keep moving. I know you two want to stay healthy." Putting their caps back on, Donna and Theodosius climbed to their feet and continued walking down the path. It was true, they spent nearly all their time in the cell sitting down, and only got an hour outside when the weather was bad. They needed to seize every chance they could to move around.

Donna had a realization. "I should tell him to read the book Aurelius and Mallow wrote. It should explain everything."

"Really?" Theodosius asked sceptically. "I'm not sure they quite grasped how society worked."

"He doesn't need a detailed insight into backroom intrigue," Donna pointed out, "just the day-to-day functioning he is already more or less familiar with. Plus, they captured my thoughts accurately, so I won't have to explain everything to him." She sighed. "Well, that's a plan, at least. Are you feeling better?"

"Neither mentally nor physically," Theodosius joked in a strained voice. "Let's go listen to Vartha complain about Yark." It could generally be expected that if there was something to complain about, Vartha would do it. Donna, who also needed a change of topic, hurried up slightly to catch up to Vartha, who was talking with a small group of others, all either lifers or with very long sentences. He was holding a piece of paper and a pen.

"They'll hang her," Kadka was saying. "It'll make a mockery of them to do otherwise." Vartha carefully wrote something down, holding the paper against his palm with the other hand. "Good morning, Mrs. Blues, Mr. Coll," he said to them, "and what do you think?"

Was Vartha performing a survey? "I agree with you, Mr. Kadka," Theodosius said. "She was tried and sentenced, it's too late to pretend to be insane."

"I doubt it," Donna disagreed. "If someone's incapable of understanding why they're being taken to the gallows, they can't be executed. She'll be executed the moment they snap her out of it, and not before."

"Uh-huh," Vartha said, writing quickly. "How long do you think she'll keep it up for?"

Donna didn't have the slightest idea. "If it gets her execution stayed? Indefinitely, for all I know. Or maybe she'll go crazy from boredom. Or maybe the doctors will figure out a way to prove she's faking."

"Are you performing a survey?" Theodosius asked.

Vartha nodded. "I'm writing down if people think she'll be executed with the others, and if no, what will happen to her. Some of the guards actually think she's not faking, by the way. What do you bet you're right?"

That explained why nobody in the little cluster was getting out in sooner than fifteen years, assuming the worst. If potential answers included indefinite hospitalization, it could be decades until something changed. Donna glanced around before whispering her answer. "Cookies, or something."

"Sounds good. And you, Mr. Coll?"

"Uh, put me down for something edible as well." Donna glanced at the paper in Vartha's hand. There was a table with four columns neatly written out; none of the columns were labelled. The first contained the number of the individual, with a letter to signify gender and whether they were an inmate or a guard (given that there were multiple guards with the same District origin and gender, this was bound to become very confusing). The next contained if they thought Yark would hang with the other condemned (either a 'Y' or an 'N'), the third featured what they thought her fate would be if they thought she would live a little longer, and the fourth also featured a single letter. 'F' was presumably food, a question mark meant indecision, and 'A' - alcohol, while the other letters were a mystery. None of the guards mentioned had that column filled in, for obvious reasons.

"If she lives a long time, many of the guards will be gone by then," Donna pointed out.

"If that does happen, I'll just cross them off the list. I'll have to warn the assistants, though, that if they're out of here by then and we aren't, they can buy their own booze and candy." The group shared a laugh. Most of the former Gamemaker assistants would be the first to leave. "Now, Ms. Hope, Mr. Li, are you still thinking?"

"I have my answer," Hope said. "They're keeping Smith and Hryb here, and Rodriguez too. There's nothing stopping them from hanging Yark."

As Vartha wrote that down, Li disagreed. "It's different. I'm sure half the world knows by now about Yark, and she has definitively been proven unresponsive. I think that once the sentences of the lesser so-called criminals are being reviewed, they'll quietly do the same thing with her." He paused. "Assuming, of course, that they don't figure out a way to snap her out of it. Honestly, I can see two paths-"

"And which one do you favour?" Vartha asked pointedly.

Li didn't look happy at the thought of having to make a decision. "The first one, I guess," he said. "I don't know if I'll be able to get anything, though. I'd love to make you all hats or something, but I don't think the administration will allow that."

"Uh-huh," Vartha said, "we'll put it down as a question mark for now. And what about you, Ms. Hope? What do you bet?"

"I think I might be able to get my hands on a bottle of something strong. How many people will be able to win at once?"

"No idea," Vartha said cheerfully, "I've only been able to ask five guards and ten prisoners so far. It seems, though, that roughly half think she will be hanged with the rest. So in that situation, I don't even know how we'll distribute all the alcohol without someone ending up passed out right in front of a guard or something." Out of the ten inmates, three had wagered alcohol. Assuming the pattern held, that was eighteen or so in total, and nine who could lose at once if Yark was executed as originally planned. Donna found herself hoping that wouldn't happen, if only for the reason that she had never actually drunk alcohol, and thus had no use for it. "Alright, I'm going to go ask the rest now." He strolled off in the direction of a small cluster of former Peacekeepers.

"Now I'm curious to see the final tally," Theodosius said.

"Same," Li agreed. "By the way, Pitrock offered to stay with Rodriguez this afternoon, so you can plant your potatoes right on schedule."

"I'll have to thank him, then." Once Theodosius' laps were walked, that was what they would be doing. "He didn't look too bad this morning, though, got dressed just fine on his own. Do you think he'll stay inside all day today?"

The three of them were walking together now. "After you practically sprinted into the yard, he complained of weakness and got back into bed. The orderly was called, but Wolf was with him, so I didn't hang around."

One of those days, they'd move him to the infirmary, that miserable little space that had been created by joining three cells together. Then, it would be a sign that the beginning of the end had begun. Just like with Townsend. "The orderly is called every day," Donna pointed out, "that in and of itself is hardly cause for concern. What exactly is wrong with him?"

"Aside from the usual?" Li asked. "No idea. 'Weakness' could be a hundred different things. When we get back for lunch, I'll ask him what's wrong."

"Probably Wolf's war stories," Theodosius joked. "Rodriguez will probably rise from his bed and go outside just to get away from them."

Li chuckled. "I know I would. Now, will you excuse me? I need to run my laps."

"By all means," Donna said enviously. One second, Li was standing still. The next, he was running at a pace Donna would have struggled to maintain for a few seconds, and that was his jogging speed. Li was nearly fifty, but any one of the guards would have found it impossible to outfight or outrun him. Donna wasn't sure if she should be jealous of his skill or happy that she could pretend she was still in peak shape, with Li as an example of what could not be achieved, ever. Her morning stretches were nothing compared to his feats of strength. "Maybe one day, he'll run up the walls and run out of here," she told Theodosius.

"What about the barbed wire?"

"I'm sure he'll find a way. Although," Donna remembered, "Stonesmith is on the other side of the wall. Maybe he won't." The head of the Death Squad was still missing without trace. The general assumption was that either she was living under an assumed name in the Capitol as a strip-mall guard or something, or somewhere on the other side of the world. One of the Supermax's inhabitants, though, was very afraid of her alleged desire to get revenge on the one member of her squad who had not faced death with dignity. That was, if she was even in the country. Frequent reports placed her everywhere from Siberia to Mozambique to Argentina. "I wonder where the press thinks she is now," she mused.

"Last time it was Northern Asia, right? Maybe it will be South America this time."

"She must really be spending a lot on hovercraft tickets," Donna joked. "But seriously, what idiot thought she would be in Northern Asia? Have the journalists never seen a photograph of her? At least she wouldn't look out of place in South America."

"Even there, though, it depends on country, and whether urban or rural. She'll be sticking to cities, it's easier to blend in there, but still." Theodosius gnashed his teeth slightly. "I wonder what she tells her children." A recent report had announced that the Stonesmith children and their father had moved away to an unknown destination. A desire to get away from it all, or a desire to rejoin Stonesmith? The guards could always be counted on to give updates on her, if only to watch them all squirm at the thought of someone being free while they were not.

"I'm sure our children will be better off in the long run," Donna said. "They'll actually understand what happened."

Rolling his shoulders back slightly and cringing, Theodosius concurred. "Very true."

"After all," Donna continued, "it's very easy to explain the 'what'. 'I did something bad and I'm being punished for it.' Even Octavius can understand that. It's the 'why' that I can't explain. Stonesmith has it the other way around. Her kids will have such a skewed understanding of everything."

Theodosius cringed even more as he tried to bring his shoulders back further. "Ow! Yes, I see that."

In the distance, Li was doing pushups at a lightning pace. When Donna had tried to do some in the relative privacy of her cell, she had collapsed after the first one. "I see him every single day, and I still can't believe he's real," Donna said.

"You've said that before," Theodosius pointed out.

"Well, it's still true."


Slowly, Donna wrote a reply on the back of the sheet.

Dear Lars,

I must say that it took me a long time to think of how to answer your questions. Truth be told, I did not expect to be asked them for another few years at least, but perhaps I should have, with how interested you are in these matters. You are almost thirteen now, after all, you can handle the truth. To be completely honest, what happened during the Games to those children never even crossed my mind. Having been raised to consider that normal, I never questioned the status quo, and found it easier to not think about what happened in the Arenas I built, even as I watched the Games myself and watched the children die. I do not say that to excuse myself. Many from the same background as me chose a different path; perhaps you've read the testimony they gave as witnesses or the statements they gave as prosecutors.

I assure you, of the dreadful things in the Districts, I knew nothing. Of course, it would have been the easiest thing in the world for me to find out, but I chose not to. I could plead ignorance, but the fact remains that I was the master builder of the Arenas for several years. Any justification would be an attempt to give an excuse for my actions and inactions. For the Arenas I built and for what happened in them, no apologies are possible.

If you do not understand what I mean, don't worry. I myself still struggle to understand it, even with the help of the psychologist. If you haven't yet read Aurelius and Mallow's book on the trial, I would recommend doing so. It will give you a better understanding of the world I lived in.

She reread the letter, wondering if it would make sense. There was so much more she needed to include, but how? The letter was already barely coherent. Donna wanted to provide more background, but would it seem like she was trying to excuse herself? She wanted to add clarification, but she could see that doing so would take away from the crux of the argument.

No apologies are possible.

How had she even ended up in this situation?

Hearing bootsteps in the corridor, Donna switched her attention to the sudoku. The steps became louder and louder until she saw a warden glance into the cell. Donna didn't look up as she observed her for a few seconds and walked away. As the footsteps grew quieter, Donna reread the letter again. What would Lars think of it? Hopefully, he'd be able to understand. Donna folded up the letter and placed it in her sock. A sympathetic guard would be coming around soon.


"How are you today?" Dr Chu asked.

Squeezing the red ball and not looking the psychologist in the eye, Donna explained what was on her mind. "I've been thinking recently," she said. Her heart was beating rapidly in anticipation. "My children are old enough to start asking questions."

"What kind of questions?" Donna should have expected that.

"About the past," she elaborated. "I know I won't be able to tell them anything now, but it's still stuck in my mind, so I've been thinking." Dr. Chu said nothing. "I realized," Donna continued, "that for what I did, no apologies are possible."

Dr. Chu seemed to relax slightly. "So what will you do instead?" she asked, jotting down notes.

The psychologist was always a step ahead of Donna, not letting her get complacent or rest. "I haven't decided that yet," she said. "I've got plenty of time to decide, after all."

"We'll work on that," Dr. Chu said gently. "Right now, though, I would like you to walk me through the process of coming to that realization."

Donna kneaded the ball, listening to the quiet squelching. "I was talking to Theodosius, and we agreed that it would be best to tell the truth, even if it means our children will end up hating us. And since they were very small in 75, I was wondering how much context I need to provide them, but the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like providing context would be like providing an excuse." She rolled the ball between her palms, flattening it. "They remember how much I loved my job. I can't just say I regret it. Words are easy. Anyone can say anything. And in any case, I can't exactly apologize to the victims, can I?" She laughed humourlessly.

"And what about the survivors? Would you consider apologizing to them?"

Donna almost fell off her cot. "What? No! The last thing they need is me. They'd probably think I was lying, anyway."

"Would you want to, though?" Dr. Chu was insistent.

"What survivors?" Donna asked. "The survivors of the Games? I had nothing to do with the vast majority of them. I'm not Theodosius, I don't feel responsible for things I wasn't directly responsible for."

Dr. Chu tapped her pen on her clipboard. "Let's say that Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark, or Josh Dirik show a desire to have someone heavily involved in the Games take responsibility for their actions and apologize. Would you do it?"

Given that Dirik, the survivor of the seventy-second Hunger Games, was currently playing minor league baseball in Japan, the likelihood of him wanting to have anything to do with the recent past was probably nil. Donna didn't say that, though. Dr. Chu would just call her out for going on tangents. "I guess," she said, "but that still leaves out everyone who isn't around to hear an apology. That's what I meant by my words." Donna stared at her hands.

"What about the other survivors?" Dr. Chu asked. "The forced workers from the Districts, for instance."

"But I had nothing to do with them!" Donna exclaimed. "Yes, I chose to believe the rosy picture that was drawn for me, but I was not responsible for their treatment."

"Some would find that hard to believe."

"Well, it's the truth," Donna snapped. "As if any of this doesn't stretch credibility."

Dr. Chu looked slightly disappointed. "The witnesses-"

"I repeat for the billionth time, the witnesses must have been mistaken. How many people claimed to have seen Krechet somewhere when in reality he was in another District at the time?" Dr. Chu just wasn't giving up on that line of questioning.

"Would you like to talk about something else, then?" she asked.

Donna nodded gratefully. "Yes."

"What do you think about the situation with Honoria Yark?"

She should have expected that. "I think she's faking. It probably never entered anyone else's mind that they could do such a thing, but I guess she thought it was worth a shot."

Dr. Chu adjusted her kerchief. "I know there's a betting pool going around here." Her voice was calm, but Donna could detect something accusing in her words.

Donna stretched the ball in her hands. "It's obvious they'll hang her eventually," she said with a shrug. "Everyone thinks that, except Li."

"Why?"

"Because Li read too many books about political science and now considers himself to be an expert, that's why. He had this super-complicated theory about how her case will be reviewed when sentences are being reduced. I'm not even convinced there will be any sentence reductions going on at all!"

"Are you upset by the mention of reduced sentences?"

Donna sat back against the wall. "Yes," she said eventually. "I know full well I won't be on the list if that ever happens. None of us will be released even a year early for good behaviour."

"And yet, many of your fellow inmates are certain that they won't be here in a few years."

"That's different," Donna pointed out. "Imagine the fuss that will be kicked up if Rodriguez dies in here. Once is happenstance but twice is coincidence, and many do not believe in coincidence."

Dr. Chu smiled. "So you're saying that the way out of here is to take a page out of Yark's book and go catatonic?"

While it did feel sometimes to Donna like she was on the verge of going insane from boredom, it was still infinitely better than the trial. "Sounds like a plan," Donna said, smiling back. "We'll have to see what happens to her first, though."

"Just out of curiosity, what did you bet?"

"Soap. If I lose, I'll ask Dem to send in those tiny bars of soap they have at hotels."


Two weeks later, the sentences of the final IDC trial were carried out, but Yark remained in hospital. Donna had a suspicion that whatever happened next, it would be fodder for the tabloids. Theodosius was too busy being sad at the losing the bet to care.