These guards, regardless of Firo's urge toward caution, always have been - well, not kind. Roland, when he was in the condition to think on such things, thought it might be their Capitol upbringing showing through. A guard in any other land in any other world might do any number of things to his prisoners, enjoying his power over them. But these, they watched the arenas with the rest of the people of this land. They watched the arenas and the tributes and there is no respect there, not a bit of it, but perhaps are a few crumbs of something, the smallest leftovers of hero worship. Not enough to keep them from doing great evils, because they are of Panem, after all. Evil, to the men and women of Panem, is just another word, and one which does not apply to them, and never would.

Signless always had loved these people, tried to sympathize with them. Roland has never tried to understand why. It's just Signless' way, and not one Roland has to agree with, himself. He doesn't.

Signless. "Loves, and lost loves," he says in that voice he can't hear, a voice rough from screaming. "Have I called their names yet? Of course I have. I hear it now. Have I added yours, Firo, to my list of loved dead? Perhaps beside Eddie's. You are so like him. He might appreciate the company."

Roland's guards send looks at each other overtop Roland's bowed head. While he rambles on beneath them, their expressions share one, identical thought: done with this shit.

"You'll have to drag him," one of them says. "You wouldn't think such a skinny fucker would be so damn heavy."