The train chugs along the tracks. The rolling plains of District 8 are only sparcely broken by the ruins of dead, long-forgotten cities. They are a long way from the Capitol.

Coriolanus sighs and looks away from the window. He is pondering his life and his future, and he knows he should stop, since it only makes him more depressed. He looks out the landscape again.

Suddenly, the door to his cart open and close. A familiar voice is heard.