It was excruciatingly slow to get the boy out of the debris. They finally caught a glimpse of him as the sun was nearing the horizon. Mags' scratched fingers were slick with blood as she had struggled to find grips on the treacherous rocks. Fife was the only one with some experience of unstable piles of material, but even she had rarely had to worry about rocks collapsing and crushing a trapped person. At least Delphin and Styx hadn't come looking for them. Mags wondered what they could possibly be doing.

Mags groaned as she and Constantine pushed the last of the boulders aside. A ripping sound reached her ears.

"Cover your mouth completely, use this like a scarf," Fife said. She handed the dust covered boy a strip of her over-large uniform vest before he'd even let go of Constantine's outstretched hand.

He wiped his face and complied without asking questions. Mags recognized him instantly.

Keane Embers, with such wild bushy eyebrows that Mags had thought of him as Demon -even if she had had nothing against the boy- before she had memorized his name. He had grown too much in too little time: his limbs were too long and his step awkward, but Mags had been captivated by those unique eyebrows and found herself staring, again, at those wide-set brown eyes that had never been shy to return her rude gaze in the Capitol. Now those eyes were sunken, almost hidden beneath huge purple bags. Wrinkles forced them into a permanent wince, wrinkles that had no place on a face so young, wrinkles that had not been there in the Capitol.

Withdrawn during training, Keane had spoken to her once.

"There is them: Lila, Jay, Will, Robin, Synthra... and there is what the Capitol wants them to be. It's like they're all fighting an inner battle with their evil twins, the ones who whisper that becoming killers is the only way, that it's okay. They're all convinced they have to be something else, something dark, to have a chance. You're still in control, Mags. I'd like us to both stay that way and to warn the other when we start slipping."

She had answered with a vague 'I'll consider it' at the time. She had. She had liked his stubborn refusal to surrender his control in the name of 'mere' survival. She had hesitated because of the Capitol's obvious dislike of the boy from District Twelve.

"You can kill me, but you can't break me, Flickerman. See these," he'd said, flexing his muscles, "those I got from building things. What have you ever built? What have you done that's worth something real?"

He had been the opposite of Fife, quick to remind the Capitol why the interviews were a stupid idea in the first place. Of course tributes would jump on the occasion to show how they felt about the Capitol. But the crowd hadn't seemed to mind. They knew they were hated, which was why they loved the tributes who cooperated so much.

"You're the crazy chick who tried to murder Flickerman and went on about seeing the future," he then said, frowning at Fife.

If only Fife had really tried to murder Flickerman...

"Aye, you'll live to see tomorrow," Fife replied, deadpan.

Keane barked a laugh but his features remained tight.

"We must head for the bunker. I cannot breathe," Constantine said, a hand on his mask.

Mags was surprised not to see hear Keane protest or ask questions. From the looks he was shooting the taller boy, she wasn't sure he'd recognized Constantine. She slowed her pace to walk behind Keane and assess his physical state. He wasn't limping and moved his arms a lot as he walked. She relaxed after having double checked for blood stains on his torn reaping suit.

"What happened to Rapid?" She asked. She was determined not to dwell on the filthy lies with which the Capitol had dared justify their horrid actions, not until she could trust herself to keep her cool, or until she was safe from spies. She should have been relieved to finally know the Capitol's motives, but knowing they had been abandoned near rebel settlements to provide the Capitol with soundless records they could turn into the vilest propaganda was little comfort.

"What kind of question is that?" Keane said, his lips curling bitterly as his face lost the little color it had, "it's the Hunger Games, Mags."

Indeed. She was painfully aware of that.

"So he should be another nameless corpse? You cared, it should matter. The cameras won't show us the truth. They are why we need the scarves, in case you wondered. The Capitol gets no sound feed except if those robots get close."

Keane pressed his fist to his mouth so hard that Mags feared he would choke on his scarf. A terrible thought brought her to a halt: what if Keane had had to kill his ally?

The boy lowered his voice. "What could have made us listen to the Capitol, honest? We'd headed South, figuring we'd find a city, get away from it all. After five days, we'd finished our water. We were so tired, but we could see houses. We made camp and slept like babies, so sure we were safe." He laughed, a hoarse hollow sound. "We woke up back near the train wreck on the sixth day. We'd not noticed being moved at all. Back to square one, save that instead of supplies we got this," he said, baring his forearm with a snarl. "The Capitol got upset at us not behaving like good little puppies."

A long Y-shaped mark, covered with crusty blood, shone green on his freckled skin.

Mags failed to contain a horrified gasp. The mark of insolence, etched on the offenders' arms with a curved thick knife. It was a special knife, coated with a highly fluorescent substance to make sure the scar would remain visible, even in the darkness, for months. Mags hadn't counted the times that she had woken covered in sweat and shivering, her hands feverishly checking her arms for scars. She had been ten the day she had seen one of her more outspoken and foolish schoolmates carved like some piece of spare bark by an irate peacekeeper. It was one of the rarer punishments but hardly a unique occurrence.

"It was crystal clear those beasts had never lost sight of us. Rapid lost control. He couldn't take this and it got worse when the memories started coming back. He killed himself." Keane paused, raw grief sucking the light out of his eyes. "That's what we all should do. All kill ourselves on the first minute of the Games. Teach them we won't march to their tune. But we just can't. We're too weak to be real about our chances and we keep giving them their show, year after year."

A stubborn tear rolled unseen down Mags' cheek. She couldn't imagine walking alone in the ruins, Fife and Constantine dead, with no goal in mind and no one to turn to. She busied her hands with the straps of her backpack and pulled out one of the nut-pastes. She handed it to Keane along with water, her voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."

Sorry for Rapid. Sorry for him. Sorry for playing along. Sorry not to have anything better, anything useful, to say.

Keane put a hand on her arm and squeezed it gently before taking the food. "Survival's such a strong thing. The Games are all about it. It's just wrong that we couldn't be that strong when fighting those beasts for real, during the rebellion," he said between two bites.

He barely chewed before swallowing, ripping chunks of the sticky biscuit and licking his dirty fingers. He had to have been starving. She shot Fife and Constantine a pained look, wondering how she could muster the strength to go through with the Games. Survival. She told herself Keane would have many an occasion to die bravely before the end. Stabbing him right now with her pike wouldn't heighten her winning chances so much. Still, he'd be dead, they'd all die.

"Who were your allies, Fife?" Constantine asked after a uncomfortable pause.

Mags winced. She could hardly have thought of a worse question to lighten the mood.

"Stitch Cordura," the girl said, helpless anger and guilt obvious on her usually mild face. She gave Constantine a tight smile, her eyes hooded and far away. "The kind pushover with a six in training. His lips were full like a girl's and his voice still cracked. He was lost and afraid. He'd have done anything I'd have said. I made him laugh and he was crafty. You saw him a few days ago."

Mags frowned, unable to recall the name. The last sentence made no sense. Keane had seen him?

Fife's voice fell to a pained whisper."Well, part of him. In the Citadel. I only remembered later..."

Mags' breath hitched. The head. That sweet curly-haired boy. She clenched her teeth and steadied herself on the nearest solid thing - a stiff Constantine.

"You don't want to know, Keane," Fife said, bitterness tainting her shaking voice, "he's dead. They're all dead except us, Lila, and the two, maybe three, Careers." She turned to the Constantine, a small affectionate smile gracing her lips. "What about you, talent-hunter?"

Why did she ask?

Fife ripped her mask off to wipe her tears and forced a smile before covering her mouth with her scarf. "So he should be another nameless dead, Mags?" She said, repeating Mags' earlier words without the slightest hint of mockery.

Mags looked down, wondering how she could be seventeen and still feel old. She lifted her chin back up, pride lighting her eyes. Pride at her two steadfast companions who understood more than she would ever have expected of people so different from her. They were finishing what she had started: they knew little of the dead, but what little they knew, they would share. A duty of remembrance in a world of lies. Poor eulogies, but it was all they had to offer.

"You and Mags."

Mags couldn't help but eye him suspiciously. Fife looked similarly surprised.

Constantine chuckled softly. "You were the only people I was still curious about by the end of the interviews, the only ones I truly wanted to see survive the bloodbath. Medlar from Eleven had character but his other allies were weak." Constantine's tone wasn't judgmental, just resigned. "He fell in love. It wasn't his fault..."

No, it wasn't. Mags painfully remembered how the brave dark-skinned boy had jumped off the chariot during the rides to catch the fallen girl from Eight. She lengthened her strides. This talk of dead people only rekindled her anger. The silence wasn't broken this time.

Mags and Constantine removed their masks when their feet hit the third underground. The chafing drafts were less violent and the corridors finally silent. They opened their protective coats and pulled up their scarves to their noses.

"Those come from the train," Keane said, gesturing at the scarves, "but where did you get the whole end-of-the-world gear?"

He seemed to be struggling to ask questions, to pay attention to his surroundings. Mags' jaw tightened, seeing the first signs of post-trauma breakdown in the boy. The dullness in his eyes was a dark omen of everything that still awaited them. Mags briefly told him about the Citadel, the Scavengers and the bunker. She couldn't believe it had only been a week, well two, since she had left home.

"So some of that crazy stuff was real... Scavengers, huh? It's screwed up." He made a weird noise with his throat. "But less screwed up than the Capitol swearing it's doing it all for our bleeding happiness."

Mags nodded somberly. She could still feel the heat from the explosion on her clothes. Screwed up was just the tip of the iceberg. It was the methodical destruction of every last shred of hope the districts held on to. And the Capitol wanted them to be part of it. How had the Capitol had gotten so proficient at not seeing district people as human beings? It was as if they had become a separate species.

Those monsters had to be destroyed.

"You don't mind my presence?" Constantine said after a pause.

He evidently hadn't gotten over Lila's insults. Mags cynically wondered if being self-centered wasn't the best way to go when the world was such a wreck. But then, if she was to make this just about herself, she had no reason not to let the others win.

Esperanza, Mother. She did have reasons to come back, but if she did it just for them, she should never have left home. She would hate herself forever if all of this had been for naught. She wondered if she'd manage not to hate herself even if she succeeded.

Keane arched his thick eyebrows. "Why, used to being shouted at by us savage outliers? I wish I had a problem with you. It'd mean things would not have been screwed up enough to give me some scary perspective. Besides, I'm a freckled kid from the Seam," he said, as if that explained everything.

Mags looked at him blankly.

"Your parents are from other districts?" Fife guessed.

"Mum got knocked up by a peacekeeper before the war. It doesn't sit well with most people. Dad was cool but he died when I was a kid and his cousin Lucre is still there. He blatantly, favors Mum and me," he said, sounding disgusted.

"Why complain? Sure people might make it hard on you, but if he means well-"

Keane cut Fife with another harsh short laugh. "Dad was a turncoat, just enough of one for Lucre to feel it's a stain on the family honor, but not enough for people to feel they owe his memory even the slightest respect. Lucre favors us for stuff we don't need, publicly, because it keeps people hating." He gave them a toothy mirthless smile. "So no, I've got no problem with you, man."

Constantine granted him a small smile. Mags felt ill, now unable to tear her thoughts away from Keane's mother, who would lose her only child. Mags shouldn't have been able to be more outraged by the Capitol's actions after seeing their unspeakable movie, but hearing it like that made it painfully personal.

"That's a different stone," Keane said as they finally reached the large room where all the covers were stored, in the sixth underground.

Mags stiffened, remembering Fife's shout as the concealed ill scavenger had grabbed her wrist in this very room. With the discovery that their memories had been stolen from them, his death had been swiftly forgotten, but now Mags wished they had done something with the body. Death seemed to follow the everywhere they went.

"Miner boy knows his stuff," Fife joked, managing even a genuine smile, "this part isn't sewers, it was built later. We're not far now."

She was looking everywhere except at the heap of sulfur-stained covers hiding the man she had killed, but it unfortunately caught Keane's attention.

"There's a corpse under there," Mags said, "stay away and don't remind the cameras of it."

Don't remind us of it.

But Keane seemed to be gripped by some kind of morbid fascination. He gingerly peered under the blankets. His stiff expression melted into shock.

"Whoa! You killed a Capitolite?"

"What?" Fife exclaimed. She rushed to his side, her face having lost all color.

"Fancy silver nails, more silver stuff on his skin." Keane's wild eyebrows shot up, covering up his whole forehead. He spun towards Fife, as if he'd never seen her before. "Blazes, you killed him?" He backed away, suddenly afraid; more animated than he'd been in hours.

Mags frowned. She and Constantine probably looked more like killer types, but she wondered why he'd automatically thought they had killed him instead of having found the body. She belatedly realized that in order to end up under a pile of rocks, he had to have seen them throw the grenades. And hear her screams. Mags became suddenly self conscious. What would the districts think of her actions? What credibility would she really have as a victor? Would parents entrust her with their kids? Already some kids trained, but most of them weren't right in the head. She needed training to become widespread if she wanted it to strengthen Four instead of just providing bloodthirsty killers for the Capitol's Games.

Mags' heart suddenly pounded harder against her ribs. It was much too easy to forget the cameras. She set the torch's lighting to minimal and gestured at the others to be quiet. Any conversation involving the Capitol was better kept away from prying ears.

Fife didn't answer. Instead she was looking at the corpse "We sleep here tonight," she muttered after a tense pause. She was nervously hugging herself but her dark eyes were glinting with something almost akin to reluctant awe. Considering Fife's love for puzzles, this wasn't a good sign.

"So it wasn't leprosy."

Mags shot Constantine an annoyed glance. His reproachful comment was unnecessary and it was a little late for that anyway.

"Indeed not, Constantine. I saw grayish skin in the gloom and leaped to hasty conclusions," Fife said with forced calm. "He was here to talk to someone. We'll wait here."

"You want us to sleep next to the corpse?" Constantine said in noncommittal tones. He squared his shoulders as Fife shot him an apologetic look. "Very well…if it's your best idea."

Mags' lips twisted into a grim smile. It was high time they got first hand answers instead of guessing. "Let's catch this contact."

"Why not leave him to rebel justice?" Fife said as she began to pace.

Mags frowned. Why not indeed? But soon, she was shaking her head. "We'll need proof because it's probably someone they trust, and if there are multiple traitors we could risk being intercepted, even killed, before we warn the right people."

She was pretty confident that Sylvan was trustworthy, but even him they knew very little.

Fife nodded, her fidgeting increasing.

"We passed here two evenings ago," Constantine pointed out, "why would this man have come so early? The contact is doubtless long gone. Had you bothered to treat him like a human being, we might have caught them."

"It's incredible that you have greater respect for dead bodies than for the living," Fife said, her face flushing in anger as she turned towards him, "moreover the body wasn't moved and it's a huge liability. So whoever we will be waiting for hasn't come yet." She then huffed. "But you do have a point, Constantine. Mags, may I borrow your pike?"

Mags threw it over, a frown marring her brow.

Constantine smiled thinly. "Living beings have the ability to earn my respect. It is their fault when they fail. A dead man cannot speak and is to be treated with the respect he had the potential to earn. It costs little to give one a proper resting place."

Ah living up to Constantine's expectations... Mags shook her head with a small smile. Amidst all this chaos, his consistency was oddly reassuring.

Keane had edged back some more, a knife half concealed behind his leg. Mags inwardly sighed and walked up to him. She put a hand on his arm. "They've been like this since the beginning. Start worrying when Constantine doesn't respond to an accusation and keep in mind that if Fife ever attacks it won't be front on."

Keane stared at them before shrugging. Mags winced again at his passivity. She didn't have the energy to try and confront him about it. He wouldn't survive the week anyway and caring only hurt.

Fife flashed him a grin. She then began poking at the pile of covers with the pike. "Careful there's something corrosive on the wooden end. You shouldn't have tapped it on the ground so much," she muttered, changing her grip on the weapon. She then brightened despite looking nauseous. "There it is."

She pulled a backpack out of the heap. It was made of the best leather and decorated with colored feathers. She emptied it out and let out an incredulous breath. "A portable microwave. No joke. And...-" the girl frowned - "rolls... to microwave evidently." At odds with her shaking hands, Fife's tone grew increasingly flippant and detached. "This was probably the man's idea of high adventure. I doubt life is thrilling in the Capitol for someone who doesn't enjoy fashion and parties." She arched her eyebrows and pulled a small book out of the pile of equipment. "And he kept a diary, how cute." She flipped through the pages. "Nothing confidential at first glance. This guy left days early to explore around here. He was totally psyched by the phantasmagorical atmosphere and it's definitely his first trip outside the Capitol. He speaks of President Achlys in awe and he's thrilled at the prospect of being given information she will find useful."

Mags let go of a breath she hadn't been aware of holding. At least the man had been neither a fugitive nor a rebel.

Fife had stopped on an entry, her lips twitching until a mocking smile graced her lips. "The contact will know he's alive because of the tracker in his bag. Apparently, if he were dead, his bag would have been moved from the rendez-vous point by his murderers and the contact would know there was a problem."

Mags frowned. Contact, not contacts. Hopefully they would be dealing with a man -or woman- alone.

"Burying him and taking his supplies would have been a terrible idea. I'm glad you listened to me," Constantine said, keeping a straight face.

Fife flashed him a grin. "We'll make a point to always listen to you just as carefully."

Constantine shot her a withering glare, but his lips were definitely twitching. It was ridiculous how handsome he looked even after an explosion and days since their last bath.

Mags failed to repress a small smile. Keane just stared at them in disbelief. Mags' smile grew sad. Five days before, she would have been outraged at seeing them so flippant about this. This man was a Capitolite but they had killed him. It was no joking matter. Except nothing was a joking matter anymore. Humor, no matter how misplaced, was a shield against terror. It kept them going.

The vision of a shaking Fife curled up on the ground, barely moving when Mags had all but ripped her bag open for grenades, was still vivid in her mind. Now, despite the dark shadows marring her face, Fife's eyes were sparkling with mischief.

Survival. Life slapped you down and you pulled yourself back up. It really all came back to that.

"So how do we quickly incapacitate a person, who could potentially be a very muscular man, and armed with a gun?" Mags said.

Author's Note: any guesses on who that mysterious contact may be? Clue: We have already seen that person.

Keane is really beaten down because of what happened to him. I hope you still got a sense of personality from him.

Please review^^