A/N: Next chapter! I keep thanking my reviewers, and thank you to you lovely reviewers again, but what really makes me happy is when I'm looking at someone's profile and my story is on their Favourites list! So thank you to reviewers, alerters and favouriters.

Hope you like this chapter.

Disclaimer: Surprise, surprise! I don't own the Hunger Games.

Doctor Parwhite glared at me for a few seconds before answering.

"Maybe later," he says in a cold, ominous voice which is strangely calm, "Maybe now."

"Or maybe never," I whisper.

"We'll see," he says coolly, and departs.

I don't have to wait long for my torturers. A team of men, normal at first sight, albeit quite tall and muscular. They could be from District Seven. But when you look again, your eyes spot the differences. A strange glint in their eyes. The way they walk in unison, left foot, right foot, left foot, all at the same time. The strange audible sound their hair makes as it sways in the non-existent wind. Their teeth – sharp, pointed and deadly – revealed when their lips curl back. And then it comes to me in an awful surge of terror.


I've seen or even heard of them before but the instant the words spring into my mind I know they're true. Doctor Parwhite hasn't accompanied them here, so they must be even deadlier than the usual mutt. Of course they're deadlier – they're more human than animal – they can think.

I want to say something witty or sarcastic but the words stick to my throat and I know they would have been wasted anyway. No words of wisdom could sway these part human creatures which have probably been designed especially for me. Well, I must say I do feel spoilt. A whole team of mutts, designed just for me. Yay.

They begin to growl. Low, menacing growls which make their top lips curl back to reveal those teeth. I'm sure they're not meant to kill me, at least not until I've spilled the secrets. My stomach begins to quiver in fear – I hate mutts. Tracker jackers, the awful wolf mutts they had at the 74th Games, jabberjays, you name it, I hate it. But these are … different. Because all the other mutts that I can name, they were all mostly animal. Some of them had a bit of human in them but they were still mostly animal. Unlike these.

The one in front, the largest one, takes the first swipe at me with those out-of-proportion hands. Right in the chest, making me fall and sprawl on the ground. My chest hurts, it aches, I can tell that there will be a massive bruise there later.

It lets out a growl. "Tell me!" it commands, its voice loud and menacing.

"No!" I cry, gasping for breath.

The other mutts get down onto their hands and knees while the largest remains standing. They suddenly become more animal-like. I'm not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing. They hiss, long, drawn out and terrible. I can't make out the words at first. Then it all suddenly clicks into place.

Tellll meeeee …. Tellll meeeee ….

"No!" I cry out again, "Never!" All the mutts are on hands and knees now, no, not knees but feet, and they're prowling around me and hissing in those awful voices.

Tellll meeeee …. Tellll meeeee ….

Occasionally on of them swipes out at me with a paw. Not a hand, a paw. They're rapidly deteriorating from fairly normal humans to nightmarish creatures in the fairy tale you wish you'd never heard. Their blows are powerful and each of them is so painful that I'm sure I'll be as colourful as the Capitol attire by the time they're finished with me.

Tellll meeeee …. Tellll meeeee ….

I'm lying spread-eagled on the floor of my cell; too broken and battered to do anything more than stare up at the ceiling and wish for it to stop. The mutts circle me, hissing and sometimes howling a long, terrible howl, like the howls we sometimes heard late at night when we were in bed at the orphanage. The mistresses would rush in and cover us in towels. They'd beg us not to say a word, and to scared to do anything but obey, we'd sit bolt upright in our beds, clutching the towels and blankets and cowering against the walls until the howling stopped. Even then we'd often not get any sleep that night.

I suppose I pass out at some point, because after a nightmare in which everyone I knew turned into human-mutts, I come to. The mutts are gone. The only trace that they were ever there in the first place is the streaks of blood on the floor and the words, which seem to still be echoing around my cell.

Tell me …

"The impact ruptured your spleen. They couldn't repair it. Don't worry, you don't need one anyway." Johanna Mason, Mockingjay.

I really liked writing this chapter, so I hope you liked reading it. It was good to have some action after a couple of chapters of Jo being just depressed.

Please review! :D