Okay I'll say it upfront and please take it seriously: This installment is much more messed up than the first two. There, I felt it was just canon-typical violence. This is... well, it's much worse than the first two and I think it might be worse than Mockingjay, too, so please take the rating seriously.

There will be many upsetting subjects discussed or alluded to, including contemplated and attempted suicide, sexual violence and varying methods of torture. (then again, most of that was very much alluded to in Mockingjay, so maybe I'm being overly cautious... might still be canon-typical horror, then)

I won't go into detail with anything, but be aware that it will be mentioned. This mostly applies for later chapters, but I just want you to be aware. Most such chapters/paragraphs can probably be skimmed or skipped without missing too much plot so yeah. Maybe it's not even as bad as I think it is, I've read much more upsetting stuff. But I just want everyone to be safe, so yeah...

Also, character death galore, but nothing new there.

If mention of selfharm might be triggering to you, please proceed with caution as it is mentioned/implied from this chapter forward.

*Effie voice* And now, welcome, welcome, to Inferno.

)o(

I make my round of the hospital almost mechanically, day after day, shadowing my mother from bed to bed or deviding patients between us. They offered a 'real' doctor for me to assist, as they see my mother as more of a nurse, a ways of starting my medical training, but I turned them down. I don't want to owe these people anything. I don't want them to think they're forgiven for not saving more of those in Twelve. Most of all, I don't want a load of strangers treating our wounded. They're here, of course, and they're helping, doing their best. But I can see it in the eyes of everyone from Twelve that it's a relieve when my mother or I are the ones to take care of them.

There's so much pain and suffering around me, I wonder how any of us can even bare it. But I suppose it's as Haymitch said when I visited him in the room he's confined to while in withdrawl: We're survivors, we grit our teeth, soldier on and stay alive.

He was refering to the Victors, really, but I guess it applies to everyone here.

I move to the next bed and a small smile steals its way onto my face at the sight of Laureen Mellark and her baby. I missed the birth but my mum was there to deliver the little girl last night."Hey, you two. How's the little lady doing?"

"She's perfect,"Laureen replies, tearing her gaze from her daughter to look at me."They say we can move to our compartment tomorrow. Rye'll even get special leave to help get her settled in."

"That's great,"I say, even though I can't help thinking how silly the schedules on everyone's arm are. You even get time allotted to see your own newborn daughter... But, on the other hand, the people in Thirteen are almost obsessive in the way they take care of children and young mothers, so they aren't all bad. A refugee from Ten, Dalton, leaked the real motive to me. "They need you. Me. They need us all. Awhile back, there was some sort of pox epidemic that killed a bunch of them and left a lot more infertile. New breeding stock. That's how they see us."

Back in Ten, he'd worked on one of the beef ranches, maintaining the genetic diversity of the herd with the implantation of long-frozen cow embryos. He's very likely right about Thirteen, because there don't seem to be nearly enough kids around. But so what? We're not being kept in pens, we're being trained for work, the children are being educated. Those over fourteen have been given entry-level ranks in the military and are addressed respectfully as "Soldier" and so am I, even though I'm technically too young. Perks of being the symbol of rebellion, I guess. Every single refugee was granted automatic citizenship by the authorities of Thirteen. Still, something about the structures here and especially about their President gives me the creeps. So far, I have managed to get around any real meeting with her by citing the injured, but I think her patience is wearing thin, especially because so far, Olive is being anything but cooperative from what I've gathered.

"Would you like to hold her?"Laureen offers and I accept, settling down on the edge of the bed and letting Laureen help me settle the tiny infant in my arms. I cradle her against my chest carefully, staring at her in awe. She's absolutely perfect and I can't help myself, I carefully rearrange her blankets so I can count her fingers and toes. Laureen laughs lightly."I did that already. All where it should be."

I look up with a sheepish grin."Good. Does she have a name yet?"

The young mother nods, tears springing to her eyes."Peetra. Peetra Elisabeth Mellark."

Named for two people she'll never meet, Rye's brother and Laureen's mother, an uncle and a grandmother dead before she was even born; just like the rest of her family, except her parents and uncle Taftan. And with that, she still has more left than most people from my home district. I swallow hard around the sudden tightness in my throat, gently brushing my fingers through the baby's blonde curls."I like it."

I hand the little girl back to her mother because I can't look at her anymore, don't trust myself to hold her any longer. I leave the hospital and sink to the floor in the first empty corridor I can find. It seems strange that there could be this new little life, this source of happiness in the world, when so much has been lost over the last two weeks. I curl into a ball on the cold floor, my breathing erratic. Fifteen days since the Capitol took my sister and destroyed my home. Fifteen days since Livia's dad and both of Estelle's parents died. I dig my fingernails into my forearms. Fifteen days since Beetee, Wiress and Chaff arrived on the hovercraft without the other victors and Effie. I feel the first tears stinging in my eyes even as I'm willing myself to keep calm, to stop replaying everything in my mind. Thirteen days since Madge's mother died on the operating table. Ten days since we had to take Carwyn Cartwright's arm because the burns and subsequent infection were too severe. A sob tears from my throat and I press my nails into my skin harder. Eight days since Glamour woke from her coma and had to be dosed with morphling because she wouldn't stop screaming. Six days since they executed Cinna and Portia for the whole country to see. I feel my skin break and the small trickle of blood gives me an odd sense of relief. I can't stop sobbing, though. Five days since Finnick stopped eating and they had to restrain him to stop him from doing worse. Three days since I stopped taking their pills and since I last slept for more than an hour.

A hand on my shoulder jerks me back into the here and now. I manage to choke back a scream and realise that it's Rory. He turns my arms over gently and frowns at the bloodied, raised welts my nails left there, but doesn't say anything about it. Sometimes I can't tell if he's scared for me or of me.

"Primmie,"he says gently,"They decided. You've got clearance to go to Twelve."

)o(

Thanks again for all the name-ideas but I couldn't decide so I went with something completely different ha