"A rat in a maze is free to go anywhere, as long as it stays inside the maze."

Madge was not supposed to relieve herself. Though she'd only had a few sips of water, the only liquid she was allowed to drink, she had to pee, and she was thirsty, and there were still three hours left before her appointment.

"How was it?" she asked Katniss, who had already gone and could again drink and urinate as much as she pleased.

"I still feel violated," grumbled Katniss. She picked at a splinter of wood with her pinky nail. Madge's gut clenched at the thought of what awaited her. She'd rather never pee again than be evaluated by Capitol medics. Seeing the terror in her friend's eyes, Katniss stopped scratching at the table.

"It doesn't hurt," she said. The words came out stiffly conciliatory, despite her efforts to sound soft and comforting. "And it's quick," she added.

Madge didn't particularly want to know any more; however she believed it was always best to be as prepared as possible. She took a deep breath, opened her mouth to ask for details about the procedure, but then Gale Hawthorne appeared.

"How'd it go?" he asked, acknowledging only Katniss.

"Fine," she said.

"Got your results yet?"

"Not until tomorrow."

Gale's eyes flooded with sympathetic warmth, ill-matched to his nonchalant tone. "Well, hopefully they come back negative."

"Hopefully," said Katniss. If the results were positive, then the torture had only just begun.

Gale turned his gaze, all sympathy gone, to Madge. He smirked at the way she squirmed on the bench, crossing and uncrossing her legs.

"What's wrong, Undersee?" he asked. "Gotta go?"

Madge scowled at him, but said nothing, refusing to rise to the bait this time. She had more important things on her mind than him. Gale tossed back his head and laughed. As he left, he mimicked the sound of running water. Madge clamped her thighs together. Her bladder throbbed, painfully full.

Cold air blasted from the overhead vents. Madge shivered in her thin gown as she lay flat on her back, with her knees rising like mountains.

"Open wide," said the medic. A man. She wished she'd gotten a woman. She tried to part her knees. They seemed stuck together by a force beyond conscious control. Why did it have to be so cold in here? Her skin puckered with goosebumps.

"I don't have all day, girl," said the medic, prying apart her legs with impatient hands. He reached for the tray of gleaming, steel instruments. Madge squeezed her eyelids closed. She didn't want to see which of the instruments he picked up. Icy air struck her thighs and crept into her through that little doorway down below.

Katniss had been right. Whatever the medic was doing down there didn't hurt. Neither was it pleasant. She grimaced as he inserted one of his tools. His poking and prodding fingers burned hot in sickening contrast to the cold steel mystery instrument. Protests clawed at the back of Madge's throat. She trapped them behind her teeth, determined not to make a peep, not to breathe, not to move, until the medic finally withdrew.

"I hope I get Delly again this year," said Thom, as he and Gale walked home from school.

"She's a townie," said Gale, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"Town girls are all sorts of wild," said Thom. "You don't even know."

Gale couldn't deny that. He'd participated in the annual breeding twice. Both time he'd been assigned seam girls. It was bad enough that the Capitol forced them to procreate. The thought of having to do it with a townie made him nauseous, even though he'd never see the resultant offspring, assuming there were any. Only children born to married couples became automatic citizens of Twelve. Those born to the breeder generation, anyone between sixteen and twenty-one, were parceled out across Panem where population growth was most needed. No children were ever sent to Twelve, since they were virtually useless in the mines. The majority were given to Eleven, for field work, or Two, to be trained as Peacekeepers.

Thom was still raving about Delly Cartwright, but Gale had stopped listening. He didn't want to be assigned a townie. However, his greatest concern this year was being partnered with Katniss. Pairings weren't random. There was some biology to the system that went way over his head. If Katniss was chosen to breed and they were matched, he didn't know what he'd do. Refusing to copulate was against the law. He'd seen others whipped into submission. Those who still refused, a very small number, were never seen again. His family wouldn't survive without him. If he was paired with Katniss, he feared their friendship wouldn't survive.

Madge picked at the flesh toned bandage taped over the crook of her arm, where the Capitol medics had drawn blood. She imagined them running her fluids through machines that spit out pages of graphs and numbers. Town girls were twice as likely as seam girls to be chosen for breeding. It was the price they paid for privilege. Regular meals meant regular periods. Mrs. Undersee procreated twice before marrying. It was something she never spoke of. Madge had learned the truth from her father, who'd also told how Aunt Maysilee died giving birth at the age of sixteen.

"Maybe you won't be chosen," said Mrs. Undersee. Madge winced. If she wasn't chosen, there was probably something wrong with her and she'd never have children, not even if she married. Then again, as she considered her own dread, waiting for her test results, she couldn't help wondering if that was better. What if someday she had a daughter of her own, who she'd have to sacrifice to the great labor machine? No, this world didn't deserve children. The Capitol produced and used them like commodities.

"Maybe I won't," said Madge. She squeezed her mother's limp, bony hand. They both knew she would be chosen. She was healthy. Her cycle always came on time. She was already thinking of herself in terms of livestock. In District Ten, breeder women were called Sows. In Three, the technology hub, they were called Conveyors...as in conveyor belts. Thankfully in Twelve there was no special term to describe them.

Madge ripped off the bandage to feel the quick sting. She glared at the tiny puncture hole, remembered the medic jabbing her with needles, stealing her blood. Lab rats, she thought, We're all just lab rats.

AN: I know, I know, I've got like a millions stories going on. Inconsistency and over imagination, my fatal flaws. But I've been wanting to write something dark, more off-script, and this ideas been stuck in my head, so bam-wham-thankyou-ma'am, here goes. This is probably just going to be a mini-fic. I'm still working on my other projects, so fear not if you're reading them. I just tend to jump around a lot :)

P.S. I got this idea from Margaret Atwood's "The Handmaiden's Tale" and all the introductory quotes come from that powerfully beautiful book (which you should definitely read if you haven't!)