A switch of perspective this time.

Constantine's POV

He was halfway up the ladder before the words 'let's go' had left Mags' lips. Energy burned in his tense muscles as sordid images of cannibals plagued his vision. He had never witnessed worse perversity and would not share a world with such abominations. If destroying them had to be his choice to make, then a murderer he would become. It would be cleansing, a service rendered to society. Letting them live would be a more heinous crime.

Constantine did not hold great faith in the superiority of the Capitol or in the moral righteousness of rebels. Constantine believed in ideals and people. A few had greatness in them and deserved to be followed, others, like Cereus or Sable, were irreplaceable and had to be protected over all else. Some, like his mother, were worthy of respect, for they brought order in the world and helped bring out the strength of otherwise unremarkable beings. Most people were bland and interchangeable. The aristocratic boy had no desire to waste his time interacting with them and failed to see why some insisted there was a value to every life. He was appalled to see so many people content with their miserable existence instead of fighting to become remarkable. True ambition was depressingly scarce.

The stink of smoke still hung strongly in the air but the sewer walls were caked with humid mold. The flames had not caught in these tunnels. Yet smoke rose, or so Constantine had learned. What filth had caused it to sink deeper in the sewers? He glared at the brown watery muck that lazily trickled towards the old filtering station. He would have climbed that ladder, unmindful of the idiocy of his actions, had Fife not restrained him. He loathed to be used, but he should have expected the rebels not to value his and his companions' lives. He had to keep his wits. Who was he in this place but a beggar with a death sentence? He would have no future unless he won the Capitol's Games.

Debris littered their path as they walked closer to the grayed area on Chickaree's plans. Constantine had been awed by the woman's beauty, untainted by her ruthlessness. Beneath her purple scarf, she had possessed a femininity he had not expected to encounter in such a harsh place. It was not surprising in the slightest that she was the rebel's weapon of choice to assess newcomers. No stranger to duty and expectations, the eighteen year old wondered if she was a mere performer or the one truly responsible for the way they had been treated in the Citadel.

His eyes focused on his feet. Never had he seen such clotted sewers. Since they had climbed to the fifth level, rotten ropes threatened to trip them at every step. Had they been purposefully there to hinder his passage, they could not have been better placed.

"Stop," Mags urgently said, her voice echoing on the somber walls.

The ropes moved. Constantine's legs were stolen from beneath him, wet cord slammed into his back. He brought his hands to his sword, but had no room to unsheathe it. The light suddenly dimmed as a torch smashed against the hard ground.

"Maldita!" Mags' pike accidentally slammed his shoulder. Her foot barely avoided his face.

Constantine forced himself upright before anyone could see him in such a pathetic posture and shot Mags an annoyed glance. There was little point in recognizing snares too late. She had claimed to be a specialist. Taut rope chafed his every limb. Trapped in a foul smelling net, he snorted at the irony. He'd hoped for adventure, and now Cereus would tell him this was karma and curse him again for volunteering. He felt a pang of guilt as he thought of his best friend. He had been impetuous and selfish. Yet even now he saw no other alternative to volunteering, madness as it had been.

A scavenger girl bounced out of the darkness, badly concealing a limp. Her stringy body betrayed a young age. She hadn't reached puberty.

Constantine glowered. A child. They had been caught like rabbits by a damned child! Someone was surely laughing at him somewhere.

The scavenger's face bore scars of old burns and was twisted in a toothy grimace, almost hidden behind a curtain of filthy red curls.

Constantine stared as she turned towards him. Her almond blue eyes were among the most striking he had ever seen. It was unexpected.

She walked towards them, a dulled butcher's knife in her left hand.

"She said you're all danger. I should eat you," she said gleefully in a high-pitched voice. Her expression turned wistful. "You're so pretty," she said, her fingers inches from his frozen face, "maybe it'll make me pretty." She turned to Mags, her eyes lingering on the girl's amber locks as she pushed her own unwashed tangles back. "It's no fair donkeys get to be pretty."

"Has obeying her always been rewarding? Eating us won't change your looks, but you know that. You've got very pretty eyes already," Fife gently said.

Constantine minutely shook his head. He doubted the brunette would obtain answers this time. Indeed, the scavenger ignored her. Her breath was foul on his face. It took all of Constantine's self control not to reach through the ropes and push the filthy creature back.

"Do you think I'll ever be pretty?" She scowled. "They never let me catch. Catchers always get the best bites. The fire ate everything," she wailed, "can't even eat fire-makers. Atli says it's a reward, he says 'not until the rest is found and questioned'." A giggle escaped her cracked mouth. "Fire-makers better run fast, fast, fast!"

So some Careers had eluded the Scavengers' grasp. Such a pity Mirabelle hadn't finished those savages off properly. Constantine's district partner had always been flighty in her pitiable bloodlust. He wondered how one could devote their life to such superficial and twisted pursuits, finding excitement in disfiguring weaklings who had never done anything to warrant her vengeance. Constantine nevertheless vowed to preserve her body from further desecration had she fallen to Atli's creatures. Whereas Cereus' accusations that he lacked empathy were doubtless accurate, he did have principles. The dead deserved some respect.

"Think half for three would be pretty fair," the scavenger said with a hopeful expression that was slowly morphing in fierce delight. "You're kinda fire-makers, Atli has to say yes. They'll never think I can't catch anymore! I'll make Chase see, I will!"

A thin smile drew itself on the aristocratic boy's lips. So this was not about protecting the den. It was about recognition, about power. It changed everything. This selfish little creature was but a pale simile of his Sable. They wouldn't even have to kill her, not yet.

"They would already know if they knew about the real kills you make, but you're clever and hide them," Constantine said, his voice a seductive purr, "They deserve to be yours."

He could feel Mags' hand tightening on his shirt. Their leader was too attached to truth and compassion. He wasn't here to heal the scavenger's mind, she would be useful to them as she was. Constantine now had the creature's full attention.

"They didn't listen when I was small like you. They soon learned it was wiser to listen and that they'd pay for ignoring me. None would now think to cross me, I can teach you," he said.

No matter what people claimed, appearance and charisma exerted a greater hold on the average mind than solid logic or common sense. None among those fallen rebels living in filth could hope to match his bearing, and confidence was so often mistaken for wisdom and knowledge by the ignorant. Not even a flicker of doubt had entered the child's glowing eyes.

"Then teach," she snarled, her knife suddenly pressed to his throat. He was pulled back violently and landed on his feet.

The deranged creature jumped back at seeing them free. She was scowling fiercely, her weapon brandished before her. But her eyes were too bright, her arm too unsteady and her hold too awkward. Constantine knew she had never watched any of her victims in the eye before striking. She would not strike.

Mags had pushed the last of the ropes off her legs and grasped her pike. Fife remained entangled in a second net but wasn't struggling to reach her knives. She seemed awaiting her rescue, a frown marring her brow.

Constantine found her implicit trust in him quite flattering. He put on his most solemn expression, more amused than threatened. "Tell us about them. We will tell you their weaknesses and they'll never steal your kills again."

Fierce fury and betrayal washed all trace of civility from the creature's face. Constantine briefly feared he'd overstepped himself. "You think me stupid enough to tell secrets? You think me stupid? You'd get me killed by Chase? He'd snap you like brittle bones!»

Chase? It was the second time she'd mentioned the name. Was he Atli's executioner?

"Not the secrets, the obvious things," Fife intervened, looking at the creature before her as if she was a queen deserving the utmost respect. "The things everyone here knows but only the clever people notice. We are no friends of Chase's but we won't threaten your home."

Fife had no shame but she was a masterful puppeteer, too polished for a self taught orphan. The Scavenger seemed drunk from the attention as a string of disjointed facts and phrases rushed out of her cracked gray mouth. Fife never made a move to escape. She was alternatively awed and aghast, her patience seemingly endless despite the frustrating uselessness of most of what was said. Constantine tightened his grip on his sword, itching to chase the creature away. Her mere presence was polluting his air, an insult to any respectable being.

"… and Chase send birdies to sniff out moving steel. He makes the jets sing and the snoops go still. It must tickle. Night skin said you're danger, that snoops are following all the pretty people. Night skin was bad, ran away. Chase says to stay where the jets can sing…."

There. Night skin. Trust District Eleven to thoughtlessly encourage those man-eaters to sacrifice their last shreds of honor by killing stranded travelers. Constantine had heard enough. They were not here to chat.

"You should kill Chase. He's a coward. He doesn't want you to go where he cannot protect you because he would lose his power over you. He wants the best pieces to himself. As he should, they're so much better than what's left to the others," the aristocratic boy said in knowing tones.

Pure anger twisted the child's features. It was so easy to sway her in the right direction. She hesitated, her eyes darting between him and Mags, stopping on their weapons. "Straight until the purple crawlies than right, left, right. You tell Chase. This will be fun, Donkeys."

Constantine clenched his fists in ire. Scavenger jabber was grating but he especially loathed that appellation.

She scurried away, muttering to herself.

"What are you playing at, Constantine? This isn't like you." Mags said, tension creasing lines in her tanned face.

Constantine arched an eyebrow. Why would she think that? Politics was all about charming worthless people.

"He got into her head, it saved our lives," Fife said as the others freed her. Mags was truly gifted with knots. "Thank you. I've never seen anything like her."

Constantine smiled, proud to have impressed the two girls. Fife's last comment struck him as odd. "Why not? Are the derailed too unpredictable for you to satisfyingly play?"

"In Nine, the overtly bloodthirsty and the unstable are outcasts." Fife's voice lowered into a steely whisper. "I do not take a sick pleasure from depriving the most vulnerable of the little they may have left. I do not act on selfish whims. I do not destroy lives."

Constantine had expected another deflection, not a passionate answer. This was the young woman who had swiftly ended the peacekeeper's misery. This was the one who slipped through every trap and saw through every person. Constantine bowed. "You are more interesting when you stop hiding."

Fife blinked, sudden vulnerability taking years off her face. A confident smile graced her lips so swiftly that Constantine wondered if his mind wasn't playing him tricks. "Why, thank you, Constantine."

A voice seemed conspicuously absent. Their lovely leader seemed enthralled by their interaction. She cleared her throat when Constantine turned to her.

"How did you know? You do not associate with such people. They are beneath you and your family. And even though, why would you want to associate with them? I wonder if she has ever known any other life, if she knows why she lives like this," Mags said. Her eyes were full of pity as she shot a look to where the Scavenger had run off to.

She really cared too much.

Constantine then smirked. How quick were they all to judge him, it amused him to no end. He had been born with power, power that was his by right, and he would never consent to bow to the petty people who presumed to decree what was acceptable behavior for one of his status. They were inferior of status and wealth, power-hungry vultures who sought to cage those above them with false notions of propriety and respectability. Only he would decide who was worthy of his attention. "Such a creature certainly is, but her aspirations are not alien to me," he said, his face softening.

"What's he or she like?" Fife curiously asked.

Constantine shot her a condescending glance. Sable wasn't a mere mix of character traits. People who could be defined in a handful of words were beneath his notice.

Blood. Constantine hated that smell. It had permeated the streets during the Dark Days. He had spent them locked in the house, with only Coraline and the other servants to keep him company. The woman would prattle on endlessly unless she painted, so the child had solemnly asked her to teach him. He was proud to discover himself gifted and found his affection for the simple-minded woman grow as his talent gave him an escape from the barbarism of the world. His father kept no children books, Constantine's canvases were the only thing that truly matched his personality. He glowed at the pride in his parents' eyes and hoped it would ensure they would come back every night, especially his mother. Almost half of One's peacekeeper's were under her command, it made Constantine feel important, but it also terrified him, because of the danger and the death reports. Not that he'd ever shame his family by admitting it, or insult his mother by implying that she could not take care of herself.

Blood. The ten year old who had carelessly sat next to him stank of it. Her plain dress was a mess. A burly teacher was at their side before Constantine could politely demand she leave.

"What happened to you?"

Fat tears began to overflow from the child's eyes. "Crystal said I'd pay. He hates freaks like me. He said Altai would be next, 'cause he's a prissy crybaby."

A dark shadow flew over the man's face. "Be a gentleman and take her home, young man."

Twelve year old Constantine had been raised too well to refuse. He offered the sniveling girl an arm.

She giggled, latching on. A fearsome grin painted her face. "Altai is his precious little boy. Crystal shouldn't have called him a crybaby. No, no. The blood's from Crystal's stupid dog. Crystal called me a bitch. I'd rather be a spider, they eat the males that get too close."

Her voice was like a song, as if she was soothing a baby with silly rhymes. Constantine finally focused on her. She wasn't pretty, with lackluster curls and too-wide pale eyes, and something was alarmingly off. It took all his willpower not to remove his arm from her grasp. She giggled again before he could form a suitable response.

"You can't take me home. Dad thinks I want boyfriends. My sister ran away with a belly so big she almost rolled down the street. She wasn't even fifteen. He likes reminding people he shot loads of people during the Dark Days."

That was a lie even if Constantine had believed her then, the first of many. Constantine was aware he still lacked some facts. He also knew that the line between reality and imagination was a tenuous one in Sable's world.

She had been somehow damaged and fixed herself by making the new rules. She lacked the taboos society imprinted on individuals. She didn't seek to mingle but people who tried to bully her tended to vanish, erased like a mistake on a child's attempt at a perfect drawing. Sable never ceased to play, her pranks often childish, sometimes somber enough to make Constantine glimpse a darkness he found both disturbing and enthralling. Her passion never dimmed and she was unnervingly happy. Constantine had feared his conception of reality would shatter when he discovered her joy of living was unfeigned. He refused to try and change her and just drew the line at her killing the people who misguidedly did. She defied the rules. She was extraordinary. She was all that Cereus wasn't but just as magnificent in her way. They were the people who rekindled his faith in humanity. After all, why bother with life if the characters of tales surpassed real people in morals, ambition and deeds? It was a lie to say life presented one with less opportunity. His parents had never understood his fascination for books. Constantine had never dared to tell them to simply look at the window and contemplate the lack of meaning in the world. He had taken great pains to keep Sable and Cereus separate. Like matter and antimatter, they could only destroy themselves, and that was unconscionable.

For reasons he didn't seek to fathom, Sable liked him. She sometimes called him brother. His parents would be appalled to see their heir return the derailed quarry girl's hugs. She surprised him, something to which few people could claim.

"Sable is worth my time. She gives another dimension to this world, although one many people would do without."

"I don't want to know," Mags said. "I'd rather hear more about Cereus if we must chat."

"I really want to know," Fife said, fluttering her eyelashes.

Constantine basked in the attention, but there was nothing to say. He had no wish to argue why he didn't stop Sable from harming innocent people. While Fife and Mags were rare women he had come to value, people like Cereus and Sable were worth a thousand mundane citizen. They were extraordinary. Life had no intrinsic value, some individuals deserved to be exalted over the masses. He glared at Fife when she insisted. He could see it in the tremble to her step, the hesitation and fear, the wish to delay and to occupy her thoughts with things unrelated to their predicament. He understood why the girl was reluctant to enter Atli's den, but turning away would amount to enabling the scavengers' horrid actions.

They had to hurry, before the filthy child returned to check that they'd truly challenged Chase. He wondered what kind of monster would seek to lead these creatures. Who would hold power so dear to consent to live as king in such a place rather than as a common worker in a sunlit district?

Constantine shut his eyes as a stench of unmatched vileness assaulted his senses. He brought his hands to his nose and mouth as a pained expression twisted his features. It took all his discipline not to be violently ill.

The mold on the wall was of a different color. Purple.

AN: thanks to my reviewers as always. It's great to have such diverse feedback. I even got my very first 'flame', this story must be getting popular xD

About that. Every character in this fic (yes, even Mags) has a flawed view of the world. I am not advocating Constantine's view of life. Just like I do not advocate rebels giving teenagers weapons or showing them severed heads. I realized after reading a rather vehement guest review that this might not have been clear. Oh and just because the rebels are against the Capitol, it doesn't mean they are saints. It'd be wonderful if everyone who thought Hitler was evil was a great person. I expect my readers not to take what my characters say as gospel. It would be dreadfully boring if they all had politely correct mainstream beliefs.