Every day, the coal mine would have new visitors. Sticking out more than candy on black tar, they walked though the filthy coal dust. A few would always have a handkerchief up to their mouths, others coughing wildly at the filthy air their lungs had never breathed.
And behind them, a guard, always scowling.
They started to call them The Marches. Capitol residents guilty of things not horrible enough to deserve the firing squad, but too terrible to warrant amnesty, were forced to walk through the poorest of each District at gunpoint. The rebels would stop people from outright assaulting them, but that didn't prevent civilians from hurling every insult under the sun at them.
But not District 12. Everywhere they went, they were given only silent glares.
Halfway through their "tour", they stopped. Their guard walked in front of the group, and held out his arms.
"And here's where we part ways for a while. I'm going back to the entrance. So here's your homework: just wander around the mine and interact with it, then meet me back at the front at, oh, 5 PM. Talk to the workers here, pick up a jackhammer, but either make yourself useful or learn something about this place. And the miners here will tell me if you slack off, so don't."
And with that, the rebel turned around and left, humming a low tune to himself.
The Capitol civilians spread out. Time stood still in the sunless caves of the mine, but the guard was surprised most of them actually found their way to the front of the mine at the time he stated. He did a quick head-count and came short two. Looking past the ones that had returned, he spotted the missing two. One was sitting down against the mine wall, staring ahead blankly while the other was trying to shake him.
The guard walked over, eyebrow raised. Over the sounds of industry, he heard the woman shouting at the sitting man.
"Get up! Why won't you say anything?"
"Problem?" the guard asked half-seriously. The looked down at the Capitol civilian, dressed in a brilliant shimmering white suit, arms wrapped around his legs.
"Hey, buddy," the guard said, "Tour's over."
The man blinked, then croaked a sentence.
"Kids worked here."
The woman tugged his arm again, but the rebel shooed her off. "We'll come back for him tomorrow."
He looked down. "That okay with you?"
No answer.
"Alrighty then."