Suzanne Collins is acknowledged as the creator of the Hunger Games characters and story.
This series is told from the point of view of Katniss. The same events told from Cato's point of view are told in Cato and Katniss: Lust, Love and Danger (Fan Fiction story ID 10861757)
Episode 1: A risky adventure
1.1: The lacy nightie.
It's nearly midnight and I can't get to sleep. Tomorrow is the last day of training in preparation for the arena. Not that a few days training is going to make much of a difference to the life expectancy of most of the tributes. The training programme is designed to enable the gamblers to assess the odds, and to keep enough of the tributes alive long enough to prevent the 74th Hunger Games from finishing too soon. The Careers … the tributes from Districts One and Two … have an overwhelming advantage. This year the Careers are Cato, Marvel, Clove and Glimmer. I can even remember their names. Apart from Peeta, my fellow District Twelve tribute, and Rue from District Eleven, I can't remember anyone else's name. The Careers have trained for this event for five or six years to the extent they are four lethal killing machines about to be set loose on twenty underfed kids who have probably never held anything more dangerous than a bread knife.
I suppose I'm an exception. I can hunt and use a bow … against animals. I don't think I can kill a person and in hand to hand combat I wouldn't stand a chance. Even Peeta seems resigned to meeting his death in the arena. He just wants to die with dignity. I don't want to die. Prim and my mother are depending on my victorious return to District Twelve, even if they know deep in their hearts it is a forlorn wish.
I give up trying to sleep. I slip my short dressing gown over my even shorter nightie and decide to take a walk around the apartment. My choice to wear skimpy clothing has more to do with a sudden burst of rebellion than any shortage of clothes. There is plenty of sleepwear to chose from in the wardrobe in my room. But I've never had the chance to wear lacy clothes before and if I'm going to die in a few days then I think I'm entitled to indulge my fantasies for once.
The apartment is quiet. Everyone else must have had no trouble falling asleep. In Haymitch's case that will have more to do with the quantity of alcohol he consumed during the evening meal. Suddenly a movement catches my eye. I duck behind a door in case it is Peeta. I'm not certain I want him seeing me dressed like this. I watch the figure at the other end of the apartment for a few moments before realising it is one of the Avox's who wait on us and clean up after us. They try to be invisible, hovering just out of sight unless one is needed to serve us. I don't think I can ever get used to someone serving me in that way. This girl is using our absence to finish clearing the empty glasses and plates from our evening meal.
We are told that Avoxes are criminals who have been sentenced to have their tongues cut out. They are then put to work doing the menial and dirty tasks nobody else wants to do. But there seem to be so many young Avoxes here in the Hunger Games Training Centre.
The girl leaves the room through a side door. It dawns on me that there must be a service elevator somewhere in the apartment to enable deliveries of food and to let the Avoxes come and go. The main door and elevator to the apartment is locked and monitored at this time of night to keep the tributes in their place and to provide security against intruders. For some reason I feel the urge to explore.
I go through the door the girl entered and find myself in a short narrow corridor with a single elevator at the far end. The panel by the side of the door indicates the elevator is descending to a lower level. Undoubtedly it is the Avox girl going to the kitchen. I wait until the elevator stops and allow time for the girl to leave before pressing the call button on the panel. The elevator starts ascending at once and moments later the door opens. I quickly enter and press the button for the ground level. Nothing happens. I try again with an equal lack of success. My adventure is going to be short lived if this elevator needs a security card or something to operate. I try the button for the basement level where the training rooms are located. Success! The elevator starts descending and soon arrives at the basement. The door opens and I tentatively peek out in case anyone is around. Everything seems quiet. The kitchens must be located in the lower basement, one floor down.
I walk along the short corridor and peek through the glass in the door at the end. The door opens into the main corridor on this level, not far from where the main elevators are located. I know my way to the training rooms but not what lies behind the many other doors off the main corridor.
The lack of security guards concerns me for a moment before it dawns on me that everywhere is monitored by cameras. My little adventure is probably already being observed by the security guards in a control room somewhere. Any minute now I can expect to hear the sound of running feet and being faced with two burly officers wanting to know what I'm doing. My best plan is to ignore the cameras and just walk as though I belong here. Sneaking about will just raise suspicion that I'm up to no good. Fortunately my dressing gown is the same colour as the Avox uniforms, so an inattentive guard may mistake me for an Avox.
I walk along the corridor not daring to breath in case I trigger an alarm or my actions make the security staff decide to investigate. I haven't thought about where I want to go other than I don't really want to go to the training rooms. A door off the main corridor is ajar and on impulse I go through it into another short corridor with a door at the end. There's plenty of light streaming through the window in the door. The lighting has been dimmed everywhere else, but the room on the other side of this door is fully lit.
The window in the door is misted, and the smell of chemicals makes me think it is a laundry. I open the door and peek inside. Not a laundry. It's a large swimming pool. The room is warm and the water looks inviting. At least to someone like me who can swim. I walk around the pool to check that nobody is about. I come across some racks with towels but there are no swimming costumes. I don't recall seeing a swimming costume among the Capitol supplied clothes in my room. Either I'm not expected to go swimming, or the practise in the Capitol is to swim naked.
The water seems warm and inviting, but I'm also aware the pool, like everywhere else, will be monitored by cameras. I can see at least three around the walls. What I can't understand is why I've not been accosted by security guards by now. Even the dopiest guard must surely have realised by now I'm not an Avox. But I push concerns about that to one side and prepare to enter the water. I slip off my dressing gown and dive into the water wearing my lacy nightie. I'm not brash enough to strip myself in front of whoever is monitoring the cameras, although the way my wet nightie is clinging I suspect very little is left to the imagination.
I swim a couple of lengths of the pool before I realise I have company. Someone else has entered the water. I make a sudden cry of alarm. Who is it? I'm in two minds whether to leave the water and make a hasty exit, or to stand my ground. The thought of running around the complex in nothing but a wet clinging nightie helps me make my mind up. I turn to face whoever is here with me.
The swimmer heads in my direction. As the distance between us shortens I realise the swimmer is male and he has no clothes on. Suddenly running around the complex in a wet nightie doesn't seem such a silly idea any more. My indecision causes me to waste my only chance of leaving without confronting him. I suppose it could be one of the complex staff taking a midnight swim.
The swimmer comes directly for me. He stops a few metres from me and treads water.
"Well, this is a surprise," he says. "I didn't think any of the other tributes knew about this place, and be brave enough to take a midnight swim. I can see you are someone I'm going to need to be wary of in the arena."
"You had best keep your distance from me, Cato," I say, trying hard to keep the tremor out of my voice. "We're not allowed to fight before we enter the arena."
I'm alone with a trained killer and my only means of defence is to quote from the Gamemakers' rulebook.
