Cato slid his finger over the edge of the spear, daring the sharp metal to pierce his skin. Not even the spear dared oppose him and, with the type of smug smirk only a career can muster in the games, he lifted the weapon and flung it with ease. The spear shot forward and slammed dead center into the human outline used as a target. His expression didn't alter from the same self-important look it had portrayed prior to his achievement. There were no missing targets in his world, to be perfect was the only path to take and anything less was total failure.

A scoff sounded to his left, causing an eyebrow to immediately lift, his head remaining steadfastly faced toward the target. Marvel's voice rose up from the silence.

"I think you're a centimeter off. Losing your game, Cato?"

The double entendre wasn't lost on Cato, who finally turned to face his ally and opponent.

"Willing to be the guinea pig to see if that would make a difference, Marvel?" He responded, the upward turning of his lips looking more like a wolf anticipating blood than a joking gesture.

Marvel's right eye subtly twitched; his only outward showing of fear. After that he waved the spear clutched in his own hand, lifting and aiming before throwing it with a vengeance. The weapon struck at the inner edge of the circle under discussion, causing a disgusted frown to cross his face before he stormed away. The predatory look on Cato's face remained until Marvel was out of sight. He moved to pick a sword for further training when movement nearby immediately triggered his attention.

Katniss, the volunteer from 12, was attempting to knot a rope as she walked, remaining unsuccessful even while moving with a stealthy grace he could admire. He wasn't sure how to take her. So far her skill set left nothing to consider a threat, but inwardly he was hesitant to dismiss her so readily.

Suddenly her gaze turned toward him, slight discomfort crossing her face at his scrutiny. Her back straightened and she increased her pace, refusing to give him the satisfaction of confronting or antagonizing her. Cato's face remained impassive and he turned away, reaching for a heavy sword from the rack and moved toward the mini army of mannequins even as his thoughts remained on the slum girl who volunteered

Cato watched the screen closely, the silence in the room a result of the warrior lifestyle all in the room represented. Marvel's score would have made him laugh if he wasn't so concerned his own would barely pass muster. His worried contemplation was cut short when his own face slid to the screen. An inhaled breath strengthened him until the relief of the number 10 filling his vision ended the agony. Approving nods came from the otherwise stoic figures around him, but he paid little attention to them as he relished the victory. So far he and Clove were the highest scoring tributes, not completely surprising to him, but it would give him the respect of his district and potentially more sponsors. All he needed was a parachute here and there and there would be no way for him to lose. He ignored the faint twinge of regret he felt knowing even Clove would have to fall for him to win, but he refused to contemplate any other result.

Instead he continued to form a tactical plan, hardly concerned with the outer districts scores (although he was slightly tempted to peek at the score from the male in 11). It wasn't until sharp inhalations around him forced his attention back to the screen in time to see the number 11 dissipate along with the unsmiling visage of Katniss Everdeen.

"How did that scum get an 11?" Clove snarled beside him. "I can't imagine the judge's willing to sleep with dirt like that."

Cato experienced a moment of irritation directed solely at Clove, though he refused to acknowledge why. As soon as had felt it, the emotion flickered out, beaten into oblivion by his pride and the blatantly displeased expressions surrounding him. How did she get that score? What talents was she hiding and of what was she capable? He almost would have admired her if his hands weren't involuntarily itching and curling to be around her throat. The questions swirled within his mind, an angry growing beast uncurling from within, demanding to be the best and to dominate those who might threaten him.

"Your father is barely going to be able to lift his head after this." His mentor muttered, a lip curled in disgust both at him and what he believed to be an error in the judge's results. "You make sure to kill the girl as soon as possible or your own district is going to think you a worthless fool."

Cato hefted the axe high into the air, his eyes focused on the thin trunk of the tree barely visible behind the line of thicker, heftier trees before it. He breathed in slowly, chest rising and falling as little as possible in order to keep his form from shifting out of place. The muscles in his arms burned, the result of hours at this task with few opportunities to rest. With a low growl he dropped the axe back enough to build up counter-momentum before heaving the axe forward. It glinted in the harsh sun before flipping between the trunks already barely several marks and planted firmly within the flesh of the target tree. He would have grinned if not for the gulping breaths he was taking after the prolonged moment of shallow sips of air.

"Fine enough. It took too long this time. Remember, in the time you wasted staring down that tree, your enemy could have spotted and unleashed something at you. Time and accuracy, accuracy and time. They are interwoven and both are necessary for you to get out of there alive."

Cato turned toward the speaker, his father, who lounged nearby. His body was still powerful, barely contained strength and an aggressive nature that made him even less tolerable. Cato only nodded respectfully in response, knowing to take the criticism and advice with solemn silence rather than risk his father detecting his irritation.

"Now do it again. And make it worth seeing this time."

Another nod before grabbing the last axe from the stand, agony shot up his arms at the weight. He had the feeling if his muscles were capable of sound, he would hear the screams as they tore and strained to continue his training. Another full breath before he heaved the axe up again, feeling the burn of his exhaustion like a knife scraping through him. His breathing became subtle again and he focused fully on the trunk. Aim. Throw. Hit, but farther to the side.

A sigh from his father.

"You know what's so brilliant about the Games?" The now blatantly blasé voice said from the shade, "The only one worth anything goes home, the rest are expunged from this Earth like the waste they are. Prove your worth to the world, Cato, since you haven't proven it to me."

With that his father stood and left him standing there, a lone figure in pain whose only solace came when his achievements made the District swoon in pleasure.

He awoke, sweat running from his forehead, slipping from every pore in his body and sticking the sheets to every curve. The unbearable heat made him fling the covers away, a grunt of anger emitting as he nearly slammed his feet to the floor. It was a cruel joke to be from a Career District. You were treated like champions when the cameras were aimed, but like a bumbling soldier, still wet behind the ears and more likely to get your comrades killed, when no one was there to witness your humiliation. If you weren't the absolute best, and that included amongst those of your own district, then you might as well go digging in the mines of 12 for all the worth you had to offer.

Cato looked to the windows; still hearing the cheers of the Capital citizens watching re-runs of past victories in the Games. Deep down, when no one was there to see him, he wondered if it would be his death that the world watched in years to come.

This is my first fan fiction ever, so I'm a little nervous. I have some interesting plans in the future for this, so hopefully all of you enjoy taking this journey with me!