"It seems like they got us in this dilemma, this philosophical- this box, I guess." She sits back on her heels and makes a gesture with flat hands, like walls and a roof and ceiling. "We're all driving ourselves crazy figuring out how not to play. And then it turns out there's no way to not play, but no one wants to actually admit that."

She rubs her thumb over her cut nail, lips pressed together, shadows gathering in her eyes.

"I used to figure that if I killed people, if I did it gentle, it was a net good. That it's better they die fast and gentle and dramatic the way I do it than get ripped apart by Capitol mutts or whatever. But that's hypocritical, because if that's a kindness why don't I afford it to kids or my friends? It's like my subconscious knows I'm lying and is calling bullshit."

It's a knot she's still untangling. Strands are free, but the core is still matted, twisted, frayed, messy. And maybe it'll stay that way forever, all the more splintered the more she works her fingernails into it.

"Killing seems like the only thing we can do, here. If we're protecting people we're just extending how long they get to suffer."