According to the administration, it was time to re-paint the cells and corridors, but this time, the corridors would go first - and there would be a lot fewer of them.

"I can't believe so much time has passed," Li said quietly as they listened to the guard. They were in the gym, having arrived there thinking that this would be a normal day. Donna was irritated at the interruption to her routine but said nothing.

"Me neither," Katz sighed. The silence rule had been cancelled officially, changing nothing in practice. If a director was having a particularly bad day, they could still start snapping.

The guard continued to read. She was a new one, one of the professionals who preferred the better-sounding 'CO' to the more honest 'guard'. There was some sort of restructuring going on in the administration and cuts being planned due to the shrinking number of inmates, but they had heard nothing but extremely vague rumours. The only thing they were certain of is that they wanted to make the prison appear more normal on the surface, so that nobody could accuse them of singling the inmates out for special treatment. The distinction between guards and wardens had been erased, and the guards - given extra training and a raise. Everyone wondered if this meant a round of cuts.

"Now," the guard said, "here are your assignments." Donna listened carefully, waiting for her name to be mentioned. She ended up assigned to the corridor that led to the washroom together with Theodosius, Li, Katz, and Gold, who looked to be upset at being taken away from the people he didn't hate spending time with. Clearly, the administration was going off who they sat next to in the gym. Gold looked enviously at the other former Peacekeepers, who all ended up with each other, though Donna suspected they'd be at each other's throats as soon as there was nobody else around. "Supplies are already there." Now that was a pleasant surprise. "Dismissed."

Everyone got up to their feet and headed towards the door. More guards were already outside, already looking bored. "Where are you five going?" one asked them, a man from Seven. He was one of the older ones, and always had a book in his pocket.

"Washroom corridor."

"Let's go, then."

"So," Gold asked as they walked, "what do you think of the news about the vandalized community centre?"

That morning, all of the newspapers had mentioned the vandalization of a community centre that was located in a neighbourhood with many District expats. "It's terrorism," Li said confidenly. "The fact that the slogans they wrote were blacked out makes it obvious."

"The revanchists are on the rise," the guard muttered darkly. "We should have known that the problem would be not with the ones we put behind bars, but with the ones we didn't."

"Thank you for the compliment," Donna said sarcastically. "It makes me feel much better about everything." She was about to add on more, but Theodosius tugged on her sleeve, reminding her to stop talking. It had been nearly half a year since her month in total solitary, but she still tended to speak without thinking sometimes, as if it had broken something in her mind.

That terrified her. It had taken Smith years to stop skipping around like a child and singing out loud. Would the same happen to her?

"Of course that's how it is," Li said in a more respectful tone. "We can't exactly run a revanchist gang from here."

The guard huffed. "You'd be amazed at what can be run from inside a prison." Everyone wanted to hear details, but they were already in the corridor they would be painting. Cans of paint and buckets were standing on the floor next to five paint rollers and two small folding ladders, and another guard, a new one, was sitting at a small, portable table with a vacant expression on her face. The new guards may have been professionals, but in practice, that meant they were willing to let things slide as long as they didn't cross a line - and they never did.

"Get painting," the new guard said, looking eagerly at the guard from Seven, who handed her the book before going back the way he had come. He was one of the ones who spent half their time in the bathroom video calling family. He also had a stash of pornographic graphic novels hidden under his bunk.

The five of them approached the painting supplies. "How about you two take this wall, and we take the other one," Katz suggested.

"Fine by me," Donna said, crouching down and opening a can of paint. It was already grey. "At least we don't have to mix the paint this time."

"What, really?" Theodosius looked at the paint. "Oh, come on. I like having white walls. I don't want to have to repaint them grey."

Donna hadn't even thought of that. "But that's not fair," she whined. "I could have white walls before. Why do I have to repaint them all of a sudden?" She looked at the guard for reassurance, but she was staring at the book, eyes wide, and didn't look up.

"Let's focus on the corridors for now." Katz opened up another can of paint and moved it to the other side of the corridor. "Also, what does everyone think of that attack on the community centre?" She took a paint roller, dipped it into the can, and began to paint, leaving streaks of fresh gray paint over the old, dull grey.

Donna stood up, reaching for a paint roller. She was extremely irritated at the unpleasant surprise, but tried to not let it affect her words. It was easier said than done, though, as the fury seemed to have worked its way into every cell of her body. She said nothing, focusing instead on the task at hand.

"It's horrible," Theodosius said, unfolding the ladder. "I can't believe this is what the younger generation is up to." He climbed up two steps, dipped his roller into the paint, extended the telescopic handle, and began to paint the ceiling.

"What are kids even taught these days?" Gold asked. "I remember when I was young, few dared to as much as paint on the fence!"

Theodosius turned around, leaning against the wall. "Because, if their graffiti was deemed political, they could be thrown into a labour camp indefinitely," he pointed out.

"Well, maybe if the government wasn't so soft on crime, none of this would be happening," Katz said, running her roller up and down the wall.

"Soft?" Li asked. "I was just reading a report about that. Despite the economic downturn, the only violent crimes that have increased significantly are hate-based ones. Beyond that, there's an uptick in the sort of crimes that accompany poverty, but it's no catastrophe." He wiped his hands on his shirt. "Wait, why is there no paper on the ground?" There were already drips of grey on the well-polished floor.

The warden replied without tearing her eyes away from the book. "You can clean it up later. Paper is a security risk, according to your administration."

Everyone turned to look at Donna, who focused on the section of the wall she was painting. She stepped closer to the wall, smelling the paint fumes. It was nice to smell something different for a change. She swept the roller up and down the wall, carefully ignoring everyone and waiting for them to start talking again.

"You think the revanchism is tied to the economic downturn," Gold stated.

"Of course," Theodosius said. "Haven't you read about these sorts of things? The worse the conditions, the more people latch on to extreme ideologies, looking for a way out."

Donna turned around just in time to see Katz's face twist. "If they think there was no poverty back then, they're sorely mistaken," she said. "Though I do see why they'd want to yearn for stability."

"What I don't get," Gold said, "is why students get involved with that sort of stuff. From what I remember, educated people were either ideological bureaucrats, apolitical bureaucrats, or total bleeding-hearts. Why are they running around assaulting guest workers and vandalizing community centres?" He sat down on the top step of the ladder, painting the very top part of the wall. Paint dripped down from the roller, getting all over his clothes.

"Why don't we ask the expert?" Donna suggested, looking at the guard. From the expression on the woman's face, the book was of the sort that the inmates weren't allowed to receive, and not because it dealt with recent history. "Excuse me? CO? Could you please clear this up for us?"

"I still don't get why they think nicer-sounding titles will change what they are," Katz muttered quietly, not for the first or even the hundredth time.

"Huh?" the guard asked, looking up. She had tried to introduce herself to them way back when she had first arrived, but the administration had put a stop to it. No names allowed. "Do you need something?"

"We're just curious," Donna said, "about revanchism."

The guard nodded, putting the book face-down on the table. That, too, the new guards struggled with. They started out uptight and refused to talk, but they softened up eventually. One had even joined Donna's network and was carrying notes for her. "Revanchism. Not something I used to see much where I used to work." She was from Eleven. "Though we do see nostalgia among a certain part of the population."

"That's strange," Theodosius said.

"There's nothing strange about it. The upper class thinks they were better off before, when they didn't have to worry about good working conditions and fair pay," the warden pointed out.

Gold shook his head. "I can't believe a District person could be nostalgic for back then."

"You can't deny that our lives were better back then," Katz said.

Gold looked Katz up and down. "I noticed," he snarked, and turned back to painting the wall. "But in my opinion, it's disgusting to be nostalgic for a time when the Hunger Games happened."

"It wasn't all the Hunger Games-"

"But the Hunger Games were synonymous with the regime," Donna cut in. "You can't try to erase it."

Katz leaned on the paint roller. "In the grand scheme of things, the only reason why the Hunger Games take such priority in everyone's imaginations is because they were shown on television. Twenty-three deaths really wasn't much."

"Exactly," Theodosius said. "Everything else had been seen before, but airing mass murder on national television? That was new. Especially with how twisted it was to force children to kill each other."

The guard had been about to pick up her book, but paused with her hand in mid-air. "Female Nine?"

"Yes?" Donna turned around to face her.

"What would have happened if the Tributes had refused to kill each other?"

That was a question better asked of Hryb. Donna had never been formally informed of procedures dealing with the Games themselves, and had learned it through gossip. "That happened in the Second Games," she said. "Someone got a loudspeaker and informed them that if they did not fight, their families would be killed."

"Of course," the guard said, shaking her head. "Did they fight after that?"

Donna nodded.

"There really wasn't a way of getting around the rules, was there?" the guard asked sadly.

"Except an attempted double suicide, apparently," Donna said sarcastically.

"If not for the fact that the nation was already a powder keg by that point, it wouldn't have made a difference." Theodosius dipped his roller into the paint, wiped off the extra paint on the rim, and continued painting the ceiling. "Everyone would have gotten it within weeks."

The warden nodded and went back to her book. Donna finished painting the section she was working on and stepped around the ladder. "The ladder's blocking me," she told Theodosius.

"Oh, really?" He climbed down and pushed the ladder slightly to the left, freeing up the space. Donna started to paint from the bottom, listening to the other three discuss their relatives.

"Did I tell you that my grand-niece is pregnant?" Katz asked. Donna couldn't keep track of her family. She had three siblngs, all of whom had a couple of children and a myriad of grandchildren.

"Hopefully not the one that's sixteen," Li joked.

"No, no, she's thirty. She's the eldest one. This is going to be her first child."

Gold sighed. His older brother had died of a stroke recently, and his request to be allowed to attend the funeral had been declined, much to the fury of the new guards. "What does she do?"

"Works in the quarry."

"It's a shame," Gold said. "Also, ironic. We're the only ones who got out of the mines and quarries - but look where that got us."

Donna focused on painting the wall. It was always painful to be reminded of how different the former Peacekeepers' situations had been.

"I'm sure you didn't think that way in Eleven," Katz needled him. Donna glanced to the side to see how the guard would react. She pretended to not have heard.

Gold stopped painting and propped his roller against the ground. "Not back then, no."

"If we had thought that way," Li said, "we wouldn't have been here right now. So it's a moot point."

The guard put down the book and looked around the corridor. She stood up, frantically looking around. The five of them watched her, confused. "Well," she said eventually with a small laugh, "try not to run away while I'm gone." She then walked towards the gate, unlocked it, and slammed it shut behind her, leaving them all alone in the corridor.

Conversation forgotten, they put their paint rollers into the empty buckets and leapt towards the book, which was lying on the table. Katz, the closest, got to it first. "Interesting," she said, scratching her head. Donna stood next to Katz, not at all surprised to find out that the guard had been reading a pornographic graphic novel. "Why does a male guard have books about two women having sex?"

"Maybe he just likes looking at pictures of hot naked women?" Gold suggested.

"Or maybe he gets books specifically for others," Donna pointed out. "I've heard he's got an entire stash."

Katz was looking at the pictures with a sceptical eye. "This is completely unrealistic," she said. "I don't think this is even physically possible."

"We defer to your judgement." Li looked more befuddled than anything by the drawings. Katz looked around them, clearly only realizing then that she was the only one who could criticize the accuracy of the book.

Marking the page the guard had been on with a finger, Katz flipped through the rest of the book. "I'm not sure if my brain is just wired differently, but the only thing I feel when I look at this is embarrassment at the incompetence of the writer. It reads like a sixteen-year-old girl's imagination of what passionate sex is like."

"I don't know," Gold said. "I like it. This one's good-looking." He pointed to one of the women in the picture.

Donna wasn't sure what she felt. As a teenager, she had been interested in attractive people regardless of gender, but she hadn't felt real desire for anyone other than Dem for decades. "They do look nice," she said. "And at least their bodies look normal." Donna couldn't help but compare herself to the women in the drawings. She knew it was pointless to compare her looks to those of someone half her age, but a part of her still wished she looked so fresh.

Katz nodded. "At least there's that. Though I don't think anyone can stay in that position without screaming in pain."

Theodosius ran his hand through his hair. "It's not really my thing," he said diplomatically.

"Yes, yes, I noticed that neither of them look like your wife." Li stared at a drawing of a naked woman lounging on a couch as if it was some sort of complicated formula. Theodosius glared at the back of his head, but said nothing.

"What are you staring at?" Katz asked Li. "You look like you've never seen a naked woman before in your life."

Li took the book from Katz and flipped through the pages. "I haven't seen any in a long while," he said, bringing the book closer to his face. "Is it me or do they look a bit too perfect?"

Donna laughed, as did Katz. "They look like above-average twenty-year-olds," Donna said. "Of course they're going to have nicer skin than the likes of us."

"Not to mention that this is porn," Katz added. "It's not going to be realistic."

"Oh." Li handed the book back to Katz and pulled back his sleeve to look at his arm. "I don't remember looking any different," he said sadly. "Sometimes I'm shocked to see myself in the mirror, but then I try to picture myself as I was before, but I can't." He rolled his sleeve back down.

"That's how it goes." Gold leaned against the gate. "You think you're going to be young forever, and then you turn around one day and your seventieth birthday is right around the corner." He sighed wistfully. "But then again, no matter how great the hardships of old age, everyone wants to live to it."

Since Donna was the youngest of the five, she said nothing, as did Theodosius. Katz carefully put the book on the table in the exact same way as she had found it. "That's how it goes," she echoed him.

"Important news!" Hope declared in the corridor as soon as the last few arrived for lunch. "Holder's gone non-verbal."

That was strange. He had never seemed to struggle with speaking before. Donna wondered if it had been caused by stress, as his release was bare months away.

"What, just like that?" Grass asked, leaning out of her cell door. "Why? What happened?"

Hope nodded. "Aslanov asked him if he was looking forward to release, he began to talk, and then suddenly clammed up. When we asked him what was wrong, he just shook his head."

"How did the guards react?" Katz leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

"They didn't mind, since it was Holder. They've got a psychiatrist with him right now, trying to figure out a way to get him to communicate."

That seemed hardly fair, but then again, it was Holder. He, of all people, deserved some special treatment.

"Alright, all of you, get back in your cells!" a guard exclaimed. "It's almost lunch time."

Donna went inside her cell and closed the door. She kicked off her shoes and tried to scrub the paint from her hands. It took a very long time, but her hands were finally clean. Just as she was rinsing them off, she remembered that she'd just get them dirty again that afternoon, and the next day, and so on. Donna stared at her hands, which were reddened from the aggressive washing. Maybe it wasn't worth it. The paint was non-toxic, after all.

The sound of the cart rolling down the corridor made Donna realize how hungry she was. She wiped her stinging hands on the towel and moved towards the door, eager to see what would be for lunch today. The flap opened, and the tray was handed over. Potatoes and beans, a handful of fresh vegetables, an apple, and hot tea. The potatoes and beans were pleasantly warm, the vegetables and apple crunchy.

As she ate, Donna wondered about Holder. She looked forward to him finally being released and not having to put up with his oddities anymore, but he must have been extremely stressed to stop talking out of nowhere, and she felt sorry for the older man for that reason. He had never mentioned having ever had some sort of difficulties speaking, and she couldn't imagine how bad he must have been feeling.

Donna wondered if she'd be so stressed when her time came. On the surface, it seemed strange to be stressed about getting out, and Livia clearly did not understand, but to Donna, it made perfect sense. After sixteen years of an isolated and highly regimented life, anyone would have been panicking at the thought of having to go back to the real world, to say nothing of someone whose brain was wired in a way that made dealing with change difficult.

Hopefully, the psychiatrist would convince him to start talking again. While there was no need for Holder to ever speak (or sign) a coherent word until his release, it wouldn't be good for him to become even more isolated during his last months here. Donna washed her utensils, set them on the table, and read for a little while before starting to get ready to go outside. She'd have to jog quickly today, despite the cold, as she wouldn't get to see the other men at all for the next few days outside of the exercise periods.

Outside, the wind stung her exposed face. Donna pulled up her scarf to just below her eyes and her cap down, and started to jog. There wasn't much in the way of snow on the ground, it was mostly frozen mud studded with pebbles. There were also a few icy puddles she was careful to avoid.

"Good afternoon," she said, noticing that Fourrer was keeping pace with her. "How's the painting going?"

"Fine, for the most part. My arms are tired." His ears were protected by his scarf, but his face was exposed to the elements. Donna could see the mist of his breath. "How are you doing? You're with Gold, right?"

Donna nodded. "We're alright," she said between breaths. "One of the guards spent the entire morning hiding, and the other was reading porn."

Fourrer laughed. "Coll told me. The so-called professionals are the least professional of the lot, aren't they?"

"I think they read the word 'Supermax' and ended up with the wrong expectations."

"True." Fourrer wiped his nose with a gloved hand. "One day they're trying to stop murderers and rapists from selling drugs to each other, the next - they're watching paint dry. Literally. They probably think they've been given a vacation." He glanced at a guard who was sitting on a bench and seemed to be asleep.

"I hope they don't make us all paint out cells in the same grey," Donna said. "I'm used to having white walls."

"Same," Fourrer agreed. "I try to think of it as a chance to change something about my life. There aren't that many opportunities for us to do something different, so we've got to seize every chance we can get."

That was a nice way to look at things, and Donna found herself feeling more amenable to the idea. "Still, though, white walls are nicer than grey ones. Grey's just drab."

"That's true," Fourrer conceded. They jogged in silence for a little while. "So, what do you think about Holder?" he asked.

"I look forward to his release."

Fourrer sighed. "He never should have been in here. I don't understand how all those psychiatrists could have found him legally sane when he was standing up there and casually admitting to the killing of that child."

It said a lot about Holder that there were multiple children that could have referred to. "To be fair," Donna said, "none of you showed much emotion."

"That was different," Fourrer insisted, jabbing his finger into the air. "I thought I was executing dangerous terrorists. Holder didn't even care whom he shot. He just repeated 'orders are orders' like an automaton. It was creepy. Even the prosecutor got emotional."

"They must have been having a bad day, then. We had someone casually admit to the killing of several thousand people, and the prosecutor handling the direct examination didn't even blink."

Leaping over a patch of ice, Fourrer seemed to lose his balance for a few seconds but quickly regained control. "How did cross go?"

"Thread's lawyer challenged her over whether she actually saw him at some prison or only heard rumours." Donna tried to remember the details. "It ended up rather ambiguous. Beyond that, everyone else was too scared of digging their clients in deeper."

Fourrer adjusted his scarf so that it covered his neck better. "Was that prison in Eleven?"

"Where else? He served there for nearly his entire career, and there were no prisons in Twelve." Donna pulled up one of her gloves, as her wrist was beginning to feel cold. She pulled her sleeve down over it.

"You know, I actually saw him once."

He had told the story before. "In jail, right?" The key criminals had been held on a separate floor, making such encounters extremely rare outside of when defendants in one case were witnesses in another.

"Yeah. I think both of us were being taken for interrogations at the same time, and I got a glimpse of him for a few seconds." He pulled his cap lower. "I remember that's how I also met Holder for the first time. We were being interrogated in neighbouring rooms." Fourrer sighed. "I can't believe it's been seventeen years since then."

"He won't even get to see much of the repainted walls," Donna realized.

"And you and I will have to see far too much. My lawyer says that all of us will walk out when you're released."

That was a common refrain. "When did you hear that?"

"A few days ago," Fourrer said vaguely.

"That would be nice." Donna doubted that they'd do such a thing after not a single concession, but there were still nine years before that. Maybe they'd soften up by then. "Once Holder's out, that's it for you."

"Except Aslanov."

"Except him." He still had two more years to go, and he'd be the last former Peacekeeper to be released. "Everything's grinding to its conclusion, isn't it?"

Fourrer chuckled mirthlessly. "Don't I know that." He was in his late seventies. "I'd prefer it if the conclusion of this happened before the conclusion of me, though."

The paint rollers had mostly dried, but they were still usable. "I saw you talking with Fourrer for a while," Theodosius said as he climbed the ladder. "Did he tell you anything interesting?"

"No." Donna painted the wall with small movements, making sure that every little bit was covered with the fresh paint. "Just the same old stuff."

There were two different guards sitting at the table. The man from One and the woman from Five were already intently focused on their game of chess.

"I tried to talk to Holder," Theodosius said.

"I noticed," Gold chimed in. "I never knew it was possible to converse with someone who communicates exclusively with shrugs."

"According to my husband, that's a normal part of raising a teenager," Donna said, half-jokingly. She felt that she had no right to make jokes like that, having missed the vast majority of her children's lives. Even Octavius, her baby, was in university now. He was studying history, and his section of the letters always included some fact or other he had learned just that week.

Theodosius smiled slightly. "Clearly, I'm an old hand at it, after trying to talk to the kids during their visits. Cass and Marcus alone speak less each time I see them."

"Aren't they in grade twelve?" Li asked. Theodosius nodded. "What are they going to do next year?"

"Cass wants to study chemical engineering, and Marcus - psychology. They got accepted already."

Li nodded. "Those are some successful children you have. Both of you." He lifted his roller out of the can, watching excess paint drip off.

"Did I tell you about how Donna won another competition recently?" Donna asked.

"Four times, at least."

"Oh." Donna didn't remember that. "Well, she did. She's more successful than I ever was." And that despite the fact that she openly admitted the only reason she won was because all competitions of the sort were anonymous.

"Maybe you'll be working for her once you get out," Li said.

Donna shook her head. "I don't want to interfere with her career. It's bad enough she got a job offer revoked once they found out who she was." Donna remembered the exact quote from the note Livia had smuggled in despite her daughter's attempts to not let her find out.

'Donna Blues building railroads? We tried that already.'

Granted, it had been a rather foolish decision on her daughter's part to apply for a job in the same firm Donna herself had worked in. Industry supported her, but there was a limit for even them.

"Check," said the guard from One.

"What? How?"

"My knight's right here," he replied, tapping the piece with a finger.

The guard from Five proceeded to capture it, and the game resumed. "Could you five please be a little bit quieter?" the guard from One asked. "It's hard to focus."

"Of course," Donna said. She took a step to the side and continued painting. No matter how far away they moved, they would still be easily audible.

"So, do you think Holder will remain non-verbal until he gets released?" Li asked in a quiet voice.

"I defer to the psychiatrists on that one," Katz said, standing on tiptoe to reach higher. "And Holder himself. Though I must admit, the mental image of him communicating with journalists in shrugs is a funny one."

Donna tried to imagine that. Katz was right, it was a funny mental image.

"I hope the journalists have the brains to know not to badger him," Theodosius said worriedly. "If he has a meltdown, I don't even want to guess at how the media will react."

"Don't they know he has ASD?" Li asked.

"When did journalists ever care about propriety?" Gold practically shoved the roller into the wall with surprising vehemence. "They'll probably bait him into losing control and then make him out to be a danger."

"Why do you think that?" Donna asked, surprised at Gold's extreme pessimism.

"Because it's Holder. He's an easy target, and they live for scandal."

"Check," the guard from One said. The guard from Five made a move. "Check and mate."

"Phew," the guard from Five said. "That was rough." They reset the pieces and began another game.

Donna turned back to the wall, unsure of whether she agreed with Gold. From what she could tell, journalists weren't quite as nasty as he had made them out to be. But who knew? And, in any case, they'd see when it came to it.

A/N: When I'm very stressed, communication becomes fiendishly difficult. It's like speaking a word is lifting a heavy weight. Since Holder is pretty much me with more extreme symptoms, I think going non-verbal is a reasonable way for him to cope with that level of stress.