The dinner table is full of wonderful and colourful food; all of which I ignore. Instead, I spoon some more potatoes onto my plate to accompany the tender, slightly pink meat. Its tinged red in the middle, remnants of blood ooze from the centre, and I can't help wondering if this is what human flesh looks like after it's been ripped from the bone and cooked; the juicy red blood simmering as the skin swells and crackles under the heat.

I pick up my knife and softly carve the meat, watching in delight as it falls apart due to the pressure I'm inflicting onto it. I imagine the slice of beef morphing into the face of one of my opponents, and I start sneering with glee as I speed up my cutting, tearing the meat to pieces, flicking my wrist expertly in an attempt to completely destroy it.

I hear their screams, their pleas, begging me to stop. Begging me to end their suffering. Begging me to take mercy on them. But I won't. I'll carry on, carving and cutting and slicing and splicing. My hands will be stained with their blood. With their life. And as I slowly make the final cut, the one that promises death, I'll make sure to accentuate my hacking, make sure to severe as many nerves, as many veins as possible, and as I do it, I'll wear a smile on my face so that they know that I've won. That I will win.

"Clove."

The calling of my names awakens me from my dreaming, and I lift my head to see three pairs of eyes looking at me; Brutus, Enobaria and Cato. Our Escort, a woman named Juno, is the only one who isn't looking at me; instead, she's looking at my plate with a look of anguish filling her face. I lower my head, and notice that I've carried on carving into the porcelain, causing the plate to become scratched.

I drop my knife, rolling my eyes as Juno lets out a small whimper. The woman confuses me; after all, it's just a plate. The other three are still looking at me; Enobaria's glaring, probably counting down the days until she finally gets me out of her hair, Cato's sneering at me, his usual smirk still on his face, and I have to restrain myself from grabbing the knife again, wanting to repeatedly stab him in the face and causing his skull to shatter due to the excessive force of my savage assault. Brutus is watching me curiously, and I sigh, fed up of being the only source of entertainment on this stupid train. I can't wait to escape the compound; I can't wait to get to the Capitol and start training, start preparing myself for my killing spree.

"What?" I ask, glaring at the three of them.

"You're going to need to learn some manners, Clove, if you want to get any sponsors," Enobaria tells me harshly. I roll my eyes at this; I don't need sponsors. I'm capable of winning this thing without the help of anyone else. In fact, I'm planning on ignoring any sponsors that come my way; I've been looking after myself for fourteen years and I'm not going to stop just because I'm in the arena. These are my Games, and I'm going to play them using my own rules. I tell her this, and she laughs harshly. "With that attitude, you'll be as good as dead," and with that, the conversation dies.

I want to tell her – no, I want to scream at her – that I don't mind if I die. Sure, being crowned victor of the Hunger Games is an honour and all, but the only reason I volunteered to participate was so I could get to kill someone. I want to know what it feels like to hold someone's life in your hand. I want to be able to decide who lives and who dies. I want to make people beg me to take mercy.

A part of me even thinks I'm better of dying. If I do get out of the arena alive, then what do I do? My whole life has been spent focusing on training for the Games. What am I supposed to do afterwards? All I've ever dreamt of is killing. I can't do that afterwards. And I certainly don't want to turn out like Brutus or Enobaria, or any of the other victors and trainers. I want to end people's lives, not help them survive.

But I know there's no point in telling her this, so I bite my tongue. Everyone has begun eating again, apart from Cato, who's still staring at me. I look at him questioning, but he shrugs slightly, turning his attention back to his dinner. I don't even think he understands.

The rest of dinner is eaten in silence. A couple of avox girls come in and start clearing up the table. I look at them, wondering what technique was used to pull their tongues out, wondering if they were conscious or not, wondering if their screams suddenly ceased when their tongues were ripped brutally out of their mouths.

I see the jug slip from one of the avox's hands before Cato does, and I can't help but snigger as gravy falls into his lap. Even though no one is talking, the room suddenly becomes hushed. The only sound comes from the avox who takes a short intake of breath. Cato sits as still as a statue, staring at the mess right in front of him. He wears no expression, but there's a dark glint in his eyes and a vein on his neck throbs intensely. His jaw tenses, and I imagine he's grinding his teeth together.

Suddenly the avox is pinned to the table, Cato's arm throttling her neck. She tries to scream, but no sound leaves her mouth. I watch, amused, as Cato calls her every name he can think of; in fact, I can't help but be impressed by his wide range of vocabulary. He's psychically shaking as he ravages at her.

Taking his time, Brutus slowly makes his way over to the pair, and slowly peels Cato off of the avox. She stay's where she is, cowering, as if Brutus is going to start his own attack on her. Enobaria is sat, drinking her wine, looking bored.

"Out," Brutus says calmly, and I'm unsure who he's referring to; the avox, Cato, or even me. But Cato pulls away and storms out of the compartment, swearing as he goes, kicking every door open. I can't help but snigger, and Brutus shoots me a dirty look, but I don't care.

I don't care because Cato has very kindly shown me his flaw. I smirk, imaging the many ways I can use this against him.

"Me scratching the plate doesn't seem so bad now, does it?" I tell Juno, who looks as if she's about to cry. Stupid bitch. I get up, and follow Cato out; ignoring Brutus' warning of not winding him up. I smirk, because that's exactly what I'm planning on doing.

AN: Not the greatest chapter, but I wanted to update ASAP, so this will do for the time being. No actual Cato/Clove conversation, though we do get to see them both in their psychotic glory.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE HUNGER GAME!