Disclaimer – I am not Suzanne Collins. I do not own the Hunger Games, Catching Fire or Mockingjay or any of the situations or characters from those books. I just like to borrow them sometimes.

Burning

"Shoot me!"

Katniss looked at me blankly. She had no idea what I was saying. How could she forget that we had agreed not to let each other be taken alive?

I struggled against the Peacekeepers who were dragging me by my arms into a house. If I could give Katniss a few more moments maybe she would remember.

She didn't. So I just yelled at her to "Go!" She needed to get out of there, get away from me, as soon as she could.

Before long I was wishing I were dead, but for reasons far different than I expected.

Two enormous Peacekeepers had me, one with an arm tight around my neck and his other arm pinning my arms behind me. The other frisked me for weapons. They had my gun and arrows. He found the knife I had strapped to my leg. Then he checked my uniform around my neck. He must have known about the compartment for nightlock. Even if I had had a pill they would have taken it. Then he grabbed my face and moved it back and forth.

"Looks like we've got Hawthorne here," he said as they cuffed me. "Visitus, call that in. The girl's gotta be nearby."

Damn you, Katniss! Why didn't you shoot me? But Katniss had skipped out on our Interrogation classes back in District 13. We learned, the hard way, that you need to keep from being taken into enemy custody at all costs; they'd find out what you knew. We practiced keeping a secret. We'd been told that if we revealed our secret we wouldn't be allowed to join an active duty team. I thought I was tough, but once I went through the disorientation, detention in a cold cell, no food and sleep, then was pumped full of drugs, I told them everything I knew. There was no serious torture necessary.

We found out later that the point was not to get captured.

Katniss must have thought I just wanted her to shoot me because I was afraid of being tortured. Of course, that was true too. My gut twisted when I thought of sadists trained to destroy my body and my mind. But what was worse was how much I knew: rebel plans, personnel, weapons, casualties. And Katniss: where she was going, how she hunted, what she could do, what she couldn't do. Everything they would need to know to find her, to stop her, to kill her.

They dragged me through a back door, shoving me with a gun in my back. The gun had some sort of bayonet that jabbed me if I didn't move fast enough. I had to do something soon. The problem was I was covered in body armor. I either needed someone to shoot me in the head, which they wouldn't, or at very close range, which could kill just from impact even through body armor. Beetee was working on "Armor Blaster" bullets designed to explode when they touched the carbon fiber in the body armor, but the Peacekeepers probably didn't have anything like that. I couldn't count on it anyway.

Close range, very close range, was my best bet. As we entered the alley behind the house, the guard holding me turned to tell those behind us it was all clear. I jerked my arms away as hard as I could and bolted. Not away from the other soldiers, but right toward one, one who was young and hopefully trigger happy.

The point was for him to shoot me. At least that worked.

My first thought was pain. Being shot hurts. Then I realized that my plan, such as it was, hadn't worked. I was still alive. I had made things worse. Now I was in custody and injured. Great. That would give them more to work with. I needed a new plan. I would go for delay. The longer I could hold out, the more time Katniss would have to do what she needed to do.

I did not open my eyes. I didn't want them to know I was awake. I could feel that I was exactly where I didn't want to be: strapped to some sort of cold metal table. The restraints, on my arms, legs and across my torso and pelvis, were also metal. I focused on analyzing my pain. I seemed to have been shot in my left calf and my upper right chest. The body armor must have stopped the bullet, but spread the impact all over my chest. It hurt to breathe so I must have broken some ribs. As much as it hurt I was breathing more rapidly than usual and I still couldn't get enough air. That couldn't be good. I wondered how long I had been out.

I couldn't hear anyone in the room. In fact, the only sounds were some sort of fan and a fairly loud television. The room smelled of antiseptic. I tried not to think about what had been cleaned out of here.

I had been in rooms like these before. In fact, maybe I would get lucky and be in the same complex where we had rescued Peeta, Annie and Johanna less than a year ago. Then, if I could somehow get loose, which was possible but not very likely, I would have a chance to escape. I would just have to evade dozens of Peacekeepers through a labyrinth of passages and go up 3 levels to get to ground level.

But being strapped to a table was a lot different than standing next to it holding bolt cutters. Getting loose wasn't looking promising.

With my eyes closed I could tell that the room was bright. I couldn't hear anyone moving around. I decided to risk a look. Once they knew I was awake I wouldn't have much time.

There was no one else in the room. No windows, one steel door. An unlabeled IV hung from a rack next to me, but it wasn't attached to me. On the other side of that was a tray which had some tools on it. Scalpels, maybe? My clothes had been taken, although I was covered by a thin paper blanket.

I started to evaluate my condition. I had been cleaned off. The dirt, blood, and slime of the past couple of days were gone. They must want to start with a clean slate. My ribs hadn't been wrapped, but my leg felt bandaged, maybe two bandages. The bullet must have gone through.

Where was everyone? I knew that disorientation was part of interrogation. Solitary confinement was normal. But the door was slightly ajar. Surely that was a security violation. I could hear sounds from the hall like other prisoners calling to each other, but nothing that sounded like Peacekeepers.

And everywhere the noise of television.

There was even a television on the wall in the room. I knew the news here would be all propaganda or worse, but maybe I could glean some information from it anyway.

The shot was of the City Circle. It was chaos. There wasn't any more shooting, but lots of fires, in the buildings, in the street. Bodies everywhere. Where was Katniss? She should be easy to spot in her red fur. Then I recognized the voice. The announcer explaining the mess was the announcer Beetee used for his, for our, propos. Had he hacked in again, or was this some sort of mind trick my captors were playing?

There were groups of rebels running through the square, some with Peacekeepers in custody, medics getting to work, civilians everywhere.

"The Capitol has fallen," announced the voice. I reminded myself that I should expect that. If prisoners can be tricked to think the battle is over they will give up their information more easily, thinking it no longer matters. "Stay tuned for a replay of the final attack." The video switched to a shot from the same angle of the City Circle, but louder. Now there was gunfire, screaming. The area just in front of the Presidential Mansion was filled with people in a barricaded enclosure. There were Peacekeepers everywhere, some shooting, some standing alert.

I searched the crowd for Katniss. Would she still be alone? That would be a tip off. She would probably try to appear to be part of a larger group for cover. The people in the barricade were mostly too short, they seemed to all be civilian children. Bile came up in my throat; Snow was despicable, hiding behind children.

Just then I heard in the hall, louder, someone saying "Sound off. Who is still here?" I didn't answer. This could be a trick, but I heard other voices, calling out their names. I listened, wondering if I would hear anyone I knew. It was hard for me to focus. I felt light-headed, probably because I wasn't breathing right. I finally decided that I could not trust any of this to be true, so it was best not to even listen.

I turned back to the television. I had missed some sort of attack. It appeared that Peacekeepers and rebel medics were converging on the injured, many of them children, from different directions. Then a long braid caught my eye. The hair was too light to be Katniss's. But it was familiar. In a medic uniform.

I tried to sit up with horror. The restraints held me down. The pain in my side screamed when I moved.

It was Prim. Down there treating the injured. She was just 13. Were they mad?

And then I saw the bombs go off and Prim was gone in an explosion of flame.

I realized I was screaming and stopped. Not Prim, little Prim. Prim who had buried her head in my shoulder, sobbing, after I pulled her off of Katniss at the Reaping. It couldn't be. It made no sense. It was a trick my captors were playing on me.

But why would they do that? Why would they let me see an atrocity like that, that doubled my hatred of the kind of monsters who could do such a thing. Didn't they know it would steel my resolve, give me new strength to fight whatever they would do to me?

I still heard no sounds of guards or Peacekeepers. What little air I had had in my chest had been knocked out of me. I couldn't breathe. Prim who soothed and bandaged a frightened goat, who had pressed her clenched eyes into my chest, while I covered her ears, when Clove sat on top of Katniss in the arena. She had had to grow up so fast. When they bombed District 12 I had looked up after we finally knocked down a section of fence and saw Prim, scared but calmly calling the children, Posy and the others, to follow her as we fled into the forest. Prim who had whispered to me as I lay barely conscious on her kitchen table: "I hope she chooses you."

Katniss. Did she know? Had she seen Prim? Had she been caught up in the flames? Was she alive? No. This was not real.

My heart was pounding. I tried to ignore the pain and breathe deeply, slowly. This was a head game. They were trying to upset me. I could not go into their trap.

"Stay tuned for a replay of the final attack." I shouldn't watch. They were playing with me. But I had to see. I scanned the crowd for Katniss. This time I saw the hovercraft come in, dropping supplies for the children. No – bombs. A trap. But for who? The children? Why? Then I saw the medics come and I knew. The bombs for the medics were coming. My bombs.

I saw Prim again. Saw her explode. I felt like I was floating outside of my body, watching myself, watching it all. And I saw. And I knew.

It was my trap. I had set the trap. I was the monster.

And I came undone.

I was disembodied, floating. I began to see things, memories, but more clear, more hideous.

Vick was tied to a post, a turkey nailed above his head, his blood flowing everywhere. And I was whipping him, lash after lash after lash.

I was smirking and drawing a name from the tumbler and announcing that the honor went to "Posy."

I was grimly locking Greasy Sae into the stocks as a cold sleet fell onto her.

I was flying a jet which came out of invisibility long enough to drop bombs on the fleeing families of District 12.

I was grabbing Finnick. He screamed and I slashed his throat.

I was blocking the air vents to exterminate everyone inside the Nut.

I was hurling a fire ball into Katniss's bare thigh.

I was strangling Peeta until he fell, lifeless, to the ground.

I was sending screaming volts through Johanna's body as she thrashed against the straps.

I was sketching bomb arrays with Beetee.

Nightmare after nightmare, but always I was the monster.

When I could take it no more, I opened my eyes and saw the television. Prim exploding again and again.

I think I was screaming. Or maybe I was laughing. Or snarling.

I was a monster. I deserved this pain. No. More pain, much more than this.

I opened my eyes again. No change. The door still slightly ajar. Could I reach the scalpels? No. I could barely move.

Maybe they would come. Use the scalpels. Carve me. Maim me. Dismember me. I wanted them to. I wanted the pain. I deserved the pain. I scraped my arms, my legs against the cutting metal of the restraints. I pressed my leg with its bullet hole into the table. I rolled as far as I could onto my broken ribs. But it wasn't enough.

"Where are you? Come and get me!" I shouted.

"Don't worry," called an answer. "They'll come." But the voice was trying to comfort me. They didn't know what I meant.

The power went out. The fans and the televisions were silent. All was darkness. I couldn't tell if my eyes were open or shut. And I saw Prim explode. Again and again. All was fire. It was all I could see. I could smell it. I could hear it. I wanted to feel it. It should burn me, destroy me. Then I felt as though I was dissolving. I had left my body behind and was evaporating into the universe. Nothing more would be left of my flesh than a black charred dust which would disintegrate and blow away. The monster that had been Gale Hawthorne would be gone.

I don't know how long it was before I heard the sound of heavy boots coming. I didn't know who it was. I didn't care. I only hoped that whoever it was would give me the pain I deserved.