(A/n: Thanks for the reviews! All the camels under the sea definitely love you, promise! :-) Here's a short train scene. Enjoy! 'x' to indicate you've read.)

I have to stand in between Boggs and Jed as we link arms to sing the Anthem, in accordance to the new Snow Laws. Haymitch said it's supposed to be a Capitol parody of the Victors-Linking-Arms Movement during the last Quarter Quell.

Boggs's crushing grip is sickeningly clammy. I have to remember not to rub my eyes with my left hand later. In contrast, Jed's hold is firm and cool. During the Anthem, he uses his finger to trace stars on the inside of my palm. My body tingles, most of the stage fright beginning to seep away already. From my peripheral vision, his eyes are glittering as he faces the cameras, almost like he's proud of being reaped.

Flash! Flash! Flash!

I swallow two things – a snarl, and a look of disdain that was about to be hurled his way.

Flash! Flash! Flash!

The camera lenses shift their attention and record a burly Peacekeeper carrying an unconscious Effie Trinket to the Infirmary.

Her candy-pink blob of wig falls to the ground, and the Capitol people fight to film that too. Beside me, Jed chuckles.

My frown deepens.

It's the same old. We board the Death Train V3.5, which they had just upgraded with a barrage of new tech equipment from the Capitol.

Tributes no longer can have conversations without being overheard. All doors, I discover, are sealed shut with a fingerprint-sensitive code. No chance of tributes hurtling themselves overboard.

One compartment per participant. Peacekeeper Mimosa guides me to Room #11.

"Search me here, then," a bald woman sneers, "I'm not afraid."

Friz, the Peacekeeper from earlier this morning, looks uncomfortable, but the woman I recognize as Johanna Mason has already whipped off her top.

"Nice, eh?" She taunts Friz, rubbing her breasts into his uniform. He blanches.

I break free from Mimosa. "Stop it," I hiss at her, knowing Friz will get whipped – or shot at by Crusade – if he was caught not being able to handle a mere tribute.

She eyes me up and down, then throws her head back to laugh hysterically.

"Big girl now, little Katniss?" Johanna struts towards me, still nude from the waist up. "Where's your mommy?" She whispers, then breaks into a shout, "Where's your mommy that landed us into this SHIT HOLE?

"That's enough," Mimosa states. Just as she drags me away, Johanna orders Friz to 'search her now, right here, coward'.

In Room #11, I am stripped and searched, before being allowed to rest. When he leaves and locks the door, I plunge into the soft bedding and inhale.

Velvet. Sweet.

It's not like we don't have velvet or any other luxury back at Camp, but it is rare. I snatch up the translucent remote controller and do my best to go wild. After scanning the cyber-menu, I order goose liver strips, beef stew, an assortment of fried potato sticks drenched in different condiments, and a pot of hot chocolate with little bobbing marshmallows.

My head explodes with all the rich, new tastes lingering on my tongue. It feels like the time wooden shards had embedded themselves into my kneecaps during training and the Peacekeepers injected me with something that sounded like Anastascea.

The train cabins shake and darken as we pass through an underground tunnel. As I lie on the bed, encircled by the result of my unsanitary habits – crumbs, half-chewed liver – I look at the mural on the wall clearly for the first time.

The velvet is inviting sleep. The room blurs.

5…4…3…. I close my eyes.

The girl in the mural looks like… Katniss?

3…2…1… and I jerk awake as a universal scream loud enough to wake the dead pierces the air outside.

All the lights in the cabin go out.