Hello! This is my first crack at a Hunger Games fanfic, and I just HAD to explore the enigma that is Cato. Why is he so cold? This is my interpretation.
I really love reviews, especially the constructive kind, so please be amazing and leave me a few! That way I can decide whether to upload the next chapter.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games or Cato, just the characters you don't recognize and my interpretation of the Academy.
The small, soundproofed room glinted with the reflections of dozens of blades. Trainees from all over District 2 stood in lines across the floor, each carrying a sword and wearing terrifying expressions. They stared at the front of the room, where instructors stood with their hands behind their backs and glared out at their students. The only sound was the quiet release of breath.
The lines were staggered by age, ability, and readiness for the Games. The oldest, most proficient trainees stood closest to the instructors, their heavily muscled bodies spaced an even six inches apart. There were twelve boys in this line, their arms bulging and their mouths twisted into vicious smirks. The girls numbered fewer, only five, and had lithe, agile frames that looked so small in comparison to the boys' towering forms.
In preparation for the 72nd Reaping, the instructors had gathered the group of elite trainees for a briefing session. They would inform them of their plans for the final weeks of training, as well as give out the rankings. The highest ranked boy and girl would be given the opportunity to volunteer for the Games and bring glory to their families and their District.
After the mundane task of handing out training schedules was complete, the head instructor stepped to the front with a small digitized notepad. His dark eyebrows were shot through with grey, and one of them had been sliced with some wicked knife many years ago. He was more intimidating than any other instructor, given his propensity for violence and punishment.
"In the eighteen-year-old division," he began, not bothering to clear his throat or even announce what he was reading, "we have Julius and Talia."
The two tributes in the front row grinned, eyes gleaming in a feral manner as they looked at each other briefly. They exchanged a glance of malicious happiness, the closest anyone in the room would come to laughing with joy.
"For the seventeen-year-olds, the leaders are Jacob and Laine." The instructor didn't pause for backslapping or congratulations. "Sixteen-year-olds, Cato and Natalie."
Cato couldn't contain his smirk, barely managing to stop himself from turning to gloat. He had been fighting for two years to secure a top position in his age group, slowly cutting down one bit of competition after another. This moment was his crowning glory, to that point, and he wanted to revel in it.
As the rest of the rankings were read, Cato ran an inner monologue, trying to decide how to tell his parents the good news. His father was a quarryman without much hope in life other than his son's future as a Victor. He had trained him from a young age, even before the Academy began accepting students, and forced him to become brutal. Because of his father, Cato was already a killing machine by the time he was ten.
The tall blond almost missed it when the assembly was dismissed, but he managed to depart with the rest of his row without needing a poke in the ribs. The trainees filed into the hallway with strict precision, holding their swords across their chests in a sign of respect for their instructors. Once they were in the next building, they were able to relax.
"Congratulations!" Jacob called, moving over to Cato and thumping him on the back. Cato tried not to appear jarred by the crushing blow from the older boy, but he couldn't stifle a grunt.
"You too," Cato replied, turning his noise of protest into a cough. "Been a long road, huh?"
The boys laughed, sharing a secret joke. Everyone knew that Jacob had always been at the top of his age division, what with his startlingly imposing physique and deadly accuracy with every weapon he was presented with. He was almost guaranteed a house in the Victor's Village, and he'd already picked one out. Cato, on the other hand, had had a little more trouble with his ascent.
The entire group of trainees moved to the dining hall for their lunch period. It was a good day when no fights broke out in line or at the tables, and an even better day when none of the instructors had to be called in.
Cato strolled casually through the line, allowing the nutritionists to sample his blood and then dole out the proper meal. Today, apparently, he needed more protein and Vitamin C because he got a larger portion of meat than usual and an extra helping of dried oranges. He scowled at the orange slices, knowing he would have to eat them but hating the prospect.
"Buck up, youngblood," Jacob chuckled, moving off with his tray of high-protein granola and other assorted healthy items.
"Fuck you," Cato snapped good-naturedly, settling at their usual table.
Cato, Jacob, Natalie, Talia, and four other trainees always sat together for the daily meal. It had been ten of them, but two had graduated from the Academy and only one had come back from their Games. Kellan had gone in as a seventeen-year-old, the first one to do so in a long time, and as a result of his cocky attitude he had gotten his head chopped off in the Bloodbath.
Natalie smiled at Cato with her usual bubbly demeanor, but he saw past her pink cheeks and pale blue eyes. She was brutal, maybe more so than himself, and she wasn't to be trifled with. He gave her a quick nod, sharing the silent communion of two people who realized they may or may not be killing each other in a matter of years.
The trainees ate in silence, shoveling in food at the pace set by the Academy for optimum digestion. When they were released for afternoon training, everyone rose at the same time and cleared their trays with the same movements. Cato was the only deviation, looking over his shoulder to get a glimpse out the window.
Darkening with a coming storm, the sky looked like a whirl of coal dust. A fork of lightning split just ten miles away, judging by the space of time between the flash and the bang. Cato counted, just to be sure, and felt satisfied when the thunder shook the building.
He enjoyed storms, even when he was inside the training center. The sensation of thunder rolling up through your feet and humming along your arms was much like an adrenaline rush. The raw power of a storm fascinated him, and he wanted to be like a storm in the arena when he took part in the Games. His instructors would have disagreed, telling him to be disciplined and calm, but he still imagined.
Inside the training center, Cato moved over to the obstacle course with about twenty other trainees. The course consisted of a rock wall with a rope on the back for repelling down, a large tire that the trainees would have to flip down and back a total of thirty feet, a puzzle that needed quick solving, and a twenty-five foot pool that they had to swim in under forty-five seconds. He had done it many times, but they kept changing the puzzles and putting the handholds of the wall in different places. If he had thought about it for very long, he would have found it all very monotonous.
"Go!" the instructor at the station cried, kicking Cato into gear. He ran the course with a girl named Azalea, though he usually ran it with Natalie. As he scaled the rock wall, he thought absently about how stupid her name was. He bet her parents hated her, that they had wanted a boy or something. Why else would they name her Azalea?
She kept pace with him up the wall, though; he would give her that. Her hands were sure, keeping her moving at a steady clip, and her feet were bending easily around the holds. However, Cato saw her swallow hard at the top of the wall.
Her seconds of hesitation would cost her in the rankings, but Cato could see her steel herself for the descent. If he had been a different person, from a different family perhaps, he would have encouraged her. In light of what he was, which happened to be a vicious competitor, he took advantage of her pause and leapt down the wall faster than normal.
Azalea's hazel eyes followed him down, narrowing in determination. She decided that she would catch him, and soon. Her feet struck the wall with light bounces, carrying her closer to the floor with each tap of the rubber sole. She breathed a sigh of relief when she was down and running, off to the tire station.
Cato was already there, dropping into a squat for the second flip of the tire. She settled in beside him, moving her smaller tire with a strange ease. It was as if the adrenaline had kicked in and made her insanely strong, though she knew that wasn't true. She had never been the strongest, not even after years of weight training. She would always be the average one, the girl with the flowery name and the inability to crush someone's head with her arms.
Cato looked over at the girl next to him, screwing up his face with the effort of pushing his tire the last few feet before hopping through it to turn around. This girl, this Azalea, was catching up. He thought she'd be done at the wall, with her obvious fear of heights, but here she was. If he'd had time, he would have been slightly impressed.
The two trainees worked in near tandem until their tires were back at the starting point. Both seemed to need a break, but neither was willing to give the other any sort of advantage. They rushed over to the puzzles, turning their backs on one another and trying to shake the jitters out of their overused limbs in order to work the pieces.
Azalea concentrated, rubbing her twitching right bicep as she worked out the problem in her mind. Once she'd figured it out, she quickly slid the pieces into place and watched as the last one clicked in satisfyingly.
Thinking she'd have the advantage, she began sprinting to the pool. The cool water would feel nice on her sore body.
As she prepared to launch herself in, Cato flew past her in a devastatingly perfect dive. She rushed in after him, becoming frantic, and pushed with everything she had for the far end of the water. Her arms and legs cramped, her lungs burned, and her eyes streamed from the chlorine, but she managed to keep going until she reached the edge.
A hand stuck down into her face, open and calloused, and waited patiently. She knocked her head against the concrete softly, breathing harder than she ever had in her life. Finally, after a few moments of scolding herself, she grasped the offered hand and allowed herself to be pulled out of the water.
Cato looked down at this soaking wet girl, the one who had come the closest of any girl ever to beating him, and felt a grudging admiration. Her hand was small in his, and more fragile than he was used to. All the girls at the Academy had rough hands from handling the weapons and getting hurt, but this girl had managed to keep hers fairly smooth.
"Thanks," Azalea muttered quietly, still breathing rather hard. Her body shook so badly from exertion and adrenaline that she thought she might fall over, but Cato's hand kept her grounded.
Cato opened his mouth to say something, anything really, but was cut off by the instructor.
"Good race, Azalea." His face hardened as he turned to look at Cato. "Next time, Cato, I expect you to try a little harder. This little girl almost beat you."
Azalea reeled from the double-edged compliment, feeling like she had been slapped. She yanked her hand out of Cato's, forgetting for a moment that the large blond boy had been about to speak to her, and started after the instructor. He had a lot of nerve, being that sexist right in front of her.
"Where do you think you're going?" Cato asked sharply, cutting through her murderous thoughts. "You'd be kicked out so fast your head would spin."
"At least I'd have the satisfaction of knowing that I was instrumental in his castration," Azalea replied, turning to face him.
Cato let out a barking laugh, surprised by her eagerness to assault an instructor, even if it was Thaddeus. Everyone wanted to kill Thaddeus, including the other instructors. Azalea, however, had gotten the reputation of being a bit of a pacifist.
Guess we were all wrong, he thought, smirking to himself.
Azalea crossed her arms, content to observe Cato for a few moments. His hair dripped into his face, longer than it appeared normally, and his shirt stuck to his chest. He was massive, bigger than any sixteen-year-old had a right to be, and Azalea realized just how mismatched they had been. She was used to training with the other average trainees, not the top of the age division. Even with all the physical presence, he was different than she'd thought. Though his face often remained impassive, his eyes danced with mischief and amusement.
"Like what you see?" Cato asked, tilting his head back slightly to make himself look more impressive.
Azalea scoffed, grinning in spite of herself. "Please. Instead of preening, how about you teach me that dive? It was pretty amazing."
"I think I can do that," he said, smiling back at her.
Reviews are lovely! Especially since this is the first chapter.