A/n: hey guys! This is my first story here on fanfiction and naturally I'd make it about Cato. I've always felt there was something more to his character than just pure evil, so this is my attempt of showing it without making him soft or unrealistic.
This chapter is set a little later in the story, so you might not understand everything now, but naturally I'll go back in the next few chapters to 'catch up.' If that even makes sense (LOL)
Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. If I did I'd be too busy vacationing on my private yacht to write fanfics
P.s. Make sure to review if you like it and want more. I wish I could read minds, but sadly that is not a gift I'm blessed with. Enjoy!
Today was, quite possibly, the best and worst day of my life.
As the ashes dwindled I attempted to drag to my scraggly body to its feet, but was met with more resistance than I could handle, collapsing back to the ground in a quivering heap.
Utterly spent, and covered head-to-toe in soot.
He was still beside me, the Herculean boy from District 2. I could feel the heat radiating off his body, could hear his labored breathing as he wheezed for breath, trying to recover from our near-death experience.
"9." he rasped, turning his head towards mine. His blue eyes were electric, crackling with palpable rage and deadly promise, "Prepare to die a slow, gruesome death for that little stunt you just pulled."
I remained silent.
He threatened me.
That meant he hadn't noticed yet.
I watched with a sort of detached curiosity as he attempted to haul himself up, only to be hindered by some unknown force. He frowned, a deep ridge forming between the brows of his handsome, grit-caked face.
"The hell?" He hissed as he sat up and tugged his arm once again—only to find the action proved far more strenuous than it was supposed to. He continued to repeat the motion, each yank rougher and more savage than the next, cursing and swearing as the appendage refused to budge.
It was amusing to watch, and I felt my lips curling at his desperate antics. He, the revered warrior of the careers, resembled a trapped animal, complete with inhibited snarls and fruitless clawing.
I snorted, feeling a little smug.
It had been rather risky on my part, but it had worked.
No matter how hard you struggle Cato, you won't break free.
Regardless, I knew better than to let him catch me grinning, and did my best to conceal it beneath my hand.
He noticed anyway.
"And just what the hell are you smiling at 9?" He growled, skin coloring with rage. He looked two seconds away from snapping my neck, and I would have been terrified a mere five minutes ago, but the new twist of events emboldened me, giving me courage to for once speak the words on the tip of my tongue without restraint.
Lifting a patronizing brow, I quipped smartly,
"You do realize that the repetition of the same action and expecting a different result is considered insanity right?"
There, I said it.
No sugarcoating.
No fear.
And Cato looked ready to tear me to pieces.
With deliberate slowness he reached for the machete at his hip, frosty eyes glinting murderously as he slipped it from his belt and rose his arm.
"That's it." He voice was lethal. Menacing. "You die here. Now."
Pssh, as if.
I shook my head, enjoying the confusion twisting his expression at my perfectly calm demeanor. He was used to people cowering before him, begging for mercy, or running for their lives. Usually I'd be the latter, expertly evasive by nature, but he had driven me into a corner and I was forced to fight back.
And I'm glad I had—the look on his face was absolutely priceless.
"You might not want to kill me." I advised, pulling myself into a sitting position. I pointedly ignored how close his knife was to my face as I inserted casually, "Not if you want any chance of winning that is."
He face went rigid, almost as if he was struggling to contain his utter disbelief.
"And why the hell not?" He demanded stiffly, arm still raised. All his muscles were bunched and coiled, ready to deliver the finishing blow that would end my existence.
Not today Gladiator Boy.
I didn't answer him with words, instead directing my eyes pointedly down his immobile arm, watching as he tracked their path from his defined shoulders, curling over his broad chest and skittering down his taut forearm to rest at his wrist.
His wrist that was slathered with a prickly green substance.
A prickly green substance that encased both our hands together in an intimate little cocoon.
His eyes darted to mine when he realized it, the widest and most thrown I'd ever seen them. He wasn't used to being outmanoeuvred, least of all by someone like me.
He swallowed, slowly lowering the machete a fraction.
"Who's to say I can't just slice your arm off?" He proposed. His gaze ensnared me, keeping me still as he searched for something, anything that would expose a possible weakness. He was a trained hunter. I was his prey.
I smirked.
But all his fancy training wouldn't help him now.
"Sure go ahead," I advised, gesturing to our infused limbs, "If you wanna lose yours too."
His stare was unrelenting.
"Explain."
I met his look boldly.
Gladly.
"This type of bacteria merges their captives' DNA while infused," I recited, remembering the passage from one of the Capitol textbooks I had flipped through. "Whatever I lose, you lose and vise-versa."
Cato was floored. I could see it in every courtier of his chiseled face as he finally dropped his knife, mouth slack as he eyeballed me warily. Like I were mentally unstable.
He was probably right.
No one in their right mind would have attempted what I had done.
I had trapped us together, binding our fates into one.
"Shit." The expletive was harsh as it puffed from his mouth. He clenched his free hand in his straw-colored hair, "Shit, shit shit!"
"Cato?"
He stiffened.
"Cato? You alive?" The same voice repeated. I recognized it, it was that homicidal Clove girl with the knives.
The one I had caught him in a compromising position with in the hallway before the parade.
Cato immediately scrambled to his feet, yanking me along behind him as he attempted to put some distance between himself and his district partner. Low branches scratched at my face and arms as we sprinted through the foliage, shins smarting when knocked harshly against various logs and rocks. The tip of my boot caught a stray root and I stumbled, slamming face-first into the earth and being dragged nearly ten yards before Cato noticed.
'I bet the Capitol was having a field day with this', I couldn't help but think sourly, face pressed firmly in the dirt. No doubt my ungraceful tumble had garnered quite a few laughs from the viewers.
Hopefully I didn't lose sponsors because of this.
"What are you doing 9?" Cato's deep voice was right beside my ear. I didn't get to answer however, because the next moment he had roughly grabbed my bicep and yanked me to my feet.
"Let's go." He snapped, tone threaded with such urgency I followed without question.
His reaction was beginning to unsettle me, especially when he started to ease us into a fast-paced jog. I stared at the back of the large boy's head, noting his hunched shoulders and the frantic way his head constantly swiveled from side to side.
He seemed almost...nervous.
I dug my heels into the ground, forcing him to stop and look at me.
When he noticed me not moving he glowered, giving our arms a sharp pull.
"Are you deaf 9?" He hissed scathingly. Even now his eyes refused to stay still, "I said we have to go. Does that word mean something different in your district?"
I ignored his barbs.
"Why are we running?" I demanded. We were headed in exactly the opposite direction I heard Clove's voice."Isn't she your ally?"
Hell, I thought they were together with the way she was grinding into his pelvis.
Cato's face darkened.
"Clove is ruthless," he murmured, mouth pinched,"Even for District 2. She wouldn't hesitate to kill us both after the predicament you put us in."
I scowled at him, not failing to notice the way he emphasized 'you.'
"Actually it's your fault." I sniped, indignant—because c'mon, really? "If you weren't trying to kill me then I wouldn't have had to resort to this in the first place!"
Cato's expression at that moment could only be described as stupefied, like he couldn't quite believe the words had actually left my mouth. After a few moments of silence it became uncomfortable, and I had to stamp down on the reflex to fidget.
I couldn't show him any weakness.
"What?" I snapped, finally sick of his staring. It was doing weird things to my insides I didn't appreciate, especially since I hadn't eaten in nearly two days.
Cato scowled.
"Are you blind?" he hissed, throwing his arm out, "Saying some idiotic shit like that. Look around you. Look where we are. This is the fucking Hunger Games—I'm supposed to kill people! I want to live."
His words resonated deep within me, like that spear to my gut. Because damn, he was right. That was our only out. Our only hope of ever making it out of this horrible nightmare.
But that didn't mean I had to agree with it.
"Well," I quipped, having nothing to rebuff with, "As of now you can't kill me."
But I was bluffing.
There was no telling how long the bacteria would fuse us together. I was treading dangerous waters, as any minute my little victory could wear off, and then he'd slaughter me in cold blood.
I bit my lip, just the mere thought causing my stomach to bunch uncomfortably.
How did it come to this?
But to even begin answering that, I'd have to go back to the very beginning.
a/n: so what do you think? Remember to review!
~Imagination's Keyboard