No matter how far you run, your brain stays in the same place.

- Anonymous

Recap / Clove tried to make amends with Cato, but he blew her off. He continued to read through Mars' journal and found that his brother might have been the wrong person to idolize, as he'd become paranoid, cruel, and possessive towards the end of candidacy training. It was also revealed that candidacy training involved prolonged solitary confinement, bathing in blood, and hallucinogenic drugs, as Cato began his descent into madness. Dicey came to visit Clove and had asked her to go running. She pondered several things while on her run, including the quarries, living conditions, and the outline districts. Their run ended in River Mountain Park, where the two had first became friends, and Dicey revealed his true intentions, as their younger siblings Callan and Magnilda were on a date together. The mischievous duo ended dumping a bucket all over the pair right as they went into their first kiss.

April, Hunger Games Year 74

"Dicey?" a quiet voice piqued from the wooden door frame.

He looked towards the sound, forcing a smile onto his face, "You missed an adventure today, Hal."

Halle stayed in place, hesitating. He was stalling, and she didn't want to coax him into an unwilling discussion without his consent, but there were things that needed to be said. "Can I talk to you?"

Dicey nodded, less than enthusiastic, and patted the spot beside him on the bed, "Yeah, sure. Close the door."

She stepped forward, briskly pulling the door behind her, and sat down. All the things she wanted to say seemed insufficient, not enough to absolve her of her sins against him. Halle grabbed Dicey's arm, and leaned against it, hoping to leech some of his strength. He had always been her rock, and she felt he had paid too steep a price.

"What's wrong?" he asked, gentle and full of grief.

"It's my fault you had to kill her. If I hadn't ruined everything, you wouldn't have been in that situation in the first place." It all came out very quickly, as if she was afraid to hear his response. Halle didn't even want to explain how she'd found out about the whole thing to begin with.

With a morbid crudeness, he laughed, "It doesn't work that way, Hal. I wouldn't have been in that situation in the first place if I hadn't fucked her without asking questions. Always ask questions."

"Might have killed the mood," Halle teased, giggling.

"Halle Wilder, what do you know about 'the mood?'" he replied, "You don't know anything about sex."

She giggled even more, "Maybe."

"Halle Wilder, you don't know anything about sex," he said, this time seriously.

She leaned against him again, nestling into the crook of his back, and wrapped her arms around him, "Only because you've protected me. I just wish... I just wish someone was protecting you."

Dicey's first instinct was to agree. Though it took only a few seconds for him to realize how pathetic such a thought was. He was among the best in his cohort, and was quite capable of handling anything that came his way. He shouldn't need anyone to protect him, and yet... "I knew what I was doing and I will have to stand by my decision, because it's been done, but all these messed up thoughts won't give me a minute to breathe, or think. I've been having horrible nightmares."

Such a small admission seemed to lessen the emotional burden and he exhaled in relief.

"I keep wondering if it would have been a boy or a girl. If they'd have had my hair. I'd always been picked on for it, but I never really minded, and..."

Halle kept listening, holding him still.

"I could have used you as an excuse, but it was more than that, Hal," he rubbed his face. "I'm used to having people depend on me. I kinda like it too, I think. But, if I'd had an infant of my own I would have only had Ashleigh. I kept thinking what if I became like dad? I'm fucking terrible at biology, but half of my DNA is his and that means half of me is fucked up, irresponsible, selfish. Hell, the way I've been acting the last few years, I'm pretty sure all of me is."

Her eyes glistened with tears, and she squeezed him tighter.

"I told her I couldn't do it. I was almost to the point of begging. I wasn't trying to cruel in the end. The kid would have been better off without me, but she was so determined. So I got rid of her, got rid of it," the heartbroken look in his eyes hurt her. Halle had to bite her tongue to stop a sob.

He gazed off into the distance, "I've killed 123 people. 125, now, I guess. Not exactly anything new to me, but this was different. I could have had a kid. After it was all said and done, I told myself that I'd be more careful. I really thought that that would make me feel better, but it didn't."

The blonde clutched to him tightly, and he smiled, briefly, sadly, and removed a strand of hair from her eyes, "One day, when I do have a kid, I'll be the best damn father in this place. Not just for them, but for this little one too. I'll make it up to him."

Halle sifted through his words, and gently, she whispered, "You're nothing like him, Dicey. Nothing like him at all." He buried his face into her shoulder, and his chest began to heave, crying once again.

April, Hunger Games Year 74

Adie Fox combed through her notes, scribbling furiously.

Every few minutes, she'd look down too far, and what Cato had originally thought were only reading glasses would slide off her face and onto the limousine carpet. In reality, she needed eyeglasses all the time, for images both near and far. He discovered that for several years, she had forced herself to train without them to avoid stigma. Begrudgingly, that had earned her an ounce of goodwill.

Today, he'd ascend to a higher plane of living. He'd transcend his limits, and take another step towards attaining the highest honor one could.

Perhaps carelessly, Cato had decided to give his attention to the moving scenery outside of his window instead of to his work. Two East was different, he'd ascertained. Less abrasive, more artificial, modern, and plenty wealthier. He'd yet to see an unpaved road, and there were less single households and more compressed living quarters.

Adie had called them high-rises.

Instead of a single city center, the region was comprised of several markets of all sorts of different trades. The buildings had been plastered with pasty stucco, the climate remained warm, and one couldn't travel more than a single block without encountering palm trees, walkways, and crispy, dry air. In other words, it was another cover for the same book.

The tournament he was to attend rotated locales each year, with each region competing for the potential lucrative gains to be made from hosting the event. He'd been only once before. In Year 69, when his brother had vied for the title. That had been in Two North.

"Do you really think reading that nonsense will help you win, Fox?" he asked, watching the unfathomably high skyscrapers with awe as they drove closer to the facility.

She ignored him, leafing through her books even faster. Now, she decides to be quiet, he quipped annoyed. Their coaches sat silently, enjoying glasses of wine with smug expressions on their face. To them, it was just dinner and show. Either way, they still got paid.

He could have been nervous like Adie, but that would have been counterproductive. You were either ready or you weren't, and any last minute studying wasn't going to make you stronger, or quicker, or even smarter. The ring was pure adrenaline, strategy to the wayside. In such an environment, he thrived.

"When I win, I think I'll come back here. Maybe take a dip in their concrete lakes," he said to no one in particular.

"They're called pools. Do you even know how to swim?" she asked, looking up at him from her textbook for the first time in nearly an hour.

Cato glared at her, "So what if I don't?"

The long-haired girl sighed, returning to her materials with a shake of the head. "It's not that big a deal, Elroy. Try to relax."

If he didn't know better, he'd have thought she was being kind. Adie Fox wasn't kind, though, and it was a big deal. He knew that when the game makers found weaknesses among the strongest tributes, they liked to level the playing field, to tip the scales. In an arena like the one Annie Cresta had won in, he'd have surely been lost at sea, and some other tribute, maybe a untalented fisherman from four, would have probably won.

"You picked a talent yet?" one of his coaches jibed.

He had, long ago. He'd only told Clove. She'd smirked, playful telling him it was a good choice. A good choice for someone like him. He wondered now if that had been meant to insult him. Cato could never be sure. Though, truthfully, he didn't mind a challenge and that's exactly what his Clove had always been.

"Who cares about that nonsense? I'll be too busy to care about flower arranging or modeling."

Those were the respective talents for Annie Cresta and Finnick Odair, resident District Four scum. Odair in particular, as he'd mentored Dylan Sanders personally.

"Feisty one, we've got here," the younger of the coaches said to the other, with a devilish smirk on his face.

"Arrogance is unbecoming, Elroy," the older woman added.

Adie snorted, not bothering to look up from her book for that conversation, and he grinned slightly at her response.. They'd shared few pleasant conversations, but one thing they had in common was a mutual loathing for their coaches. Still, there was no sense of camaraderie between the two. He didn't doubt for a second that Fox would have joined the strategic attack against Felix had she been a contender in the previous game. She was a slippery little snake, easing its way along the playing field, and the minute the alliance disbanded, she'd be his to kill.

The previous year's tournament had been hosted in Two West. Though, among their close-knit group, only Clove and Nero had attended.

As they pulled up to the stadium, his eyes roamed to the day-lit neon sign. They'd arrived at Aries Morgan Field. The amount of people in the condensed area was overwhelming on its own, but as he stepped out of the limousine, their cheers only heightened his senses. Adie was entirely nonplussed, adorning a discreet pair of ear plugs. Why hadn't he thought of that?

The coaches lead the way, and the pair were swiftly swept away into a medical office located within the stadium. There, the doctors recorded height, weight, body fat percentage, cholesterol, insulin levels, even blood type. Adie had tried to bait him with that one, "O+, Elroy? You really are just like everyone else."

He didn't bother dignifying that comment with a response, but reveled in the knowledge that she was O-, which meant she would be screwed if she got hurt before the reapings. It'd be everything she deserved, he thought.

When they were done, a representative dressed in a tie and suit, and quite attached to his electronic device, began leading them towards the stadium. "Miss Fox, you'll go first, against the candidate from Two North."

Adie asked for her competitor's name, but their representative answered so quickly neither of them could understand what the upright man had said. As they walked down the long hallway, Cato almost wanted to laugh at the way the Eastern folk styled themselves. Hardly anyone bothered with discretion. The girls wore cropped t-shirts and barely-there denim shorts, while the boys were all in muscle tees, each and every one of them, even if they didn't have any muscle in the first place.

Where was the dignity?

One of the observers, a long-haired redheaded girl, stopped him, and gushed, "I hope you win, Cato Elroy!"

He shot her a dazzling smirk, before continuing behind Adie and their representative. Adie rolled her eyes at the display, "Jealous, Fox?" he asked her cockily.

"Of you? I thought we settled that possibility a long time ago."

"Smile, then, you frigid bitch. Today's the best day of your life."

April, Hunger Games Year 74

The ride over had been abysmally uncomfortable and her only saving grace had been that once they'd arrived, Felix had been asked to sit in the front row. He had bid her and Dicey a dismissive farewell, before reminding Clove that she owed him a favor. He was the last person she wanted to owe anything, but being here was essential. Nero had set up a meeting spot for them and then hastily left to join Felix in the front row.

Last year, she'd had nothing to lose. If Felix had lost, she probably would have laughed. He'd have deserved it, the rat bastard. This year, there was more at stake. To her fortune, or maybe her misfortune, (she wasn't sure which) Cato had won his first round.

The rules were simple, or so the commentator had said: Last one standing won their round. But, there was a catch. The only weapon allowed in the ring were one's own two hands.

The candidate from Two South had been smart, agile, but it was clear from how quickly he'd gone down that he wasn't used to losing a fight, wasn't quite used to competing against someone on his own level. Cato, on the other hand, had lost several times throughout his life. It had shamed him then, but inevitably shaped him into a quicker healer, making him more durable and resilient than the dark haired teen that lied on the floor, holding his knee in complete and bitter agony.

It had only taken Cato twelve minutes from start until finish. A terribly unsatisfying fight, in Clove's opinion. Dicey had given her grief for complaining when Cato's life was at stake, but she didn't miss the expression of boredom on his face either.

With a nightmare-inducing smirk, Cato made a final uppercut punch to the other candidate's throat, instantly shattering his vertebrae. The hit had been fatal.

Clove had developed a long list of complaints as the coaches took Cato from the ring with hungry smirks. He was replaced by another two candidates, both carrying themselves arrogantly, snorting at the medic's attempts to clean up the leftover blood and swiftly remove the deceased candidate from his final resting place on the mat. As the match between the candidates from Two North and Two East began, Clove inconsolably hoped that whoever won this round would give Cato a run for his money in the final round.

Clove found to her gratification that this match had definitely satisfied her blood lust more than the one that preceded it.

Candidates from Two South were typically the poorest, the least well-fed, and rarely made it past the first round, so it'd been expected for the blonde to have won his fight. Two East and Two North were wealthier, with East being the center of commerce and development, and North being the military hub and weapons manufacturer.

The announcer's commentary was mostly useless. He knew very little about technique, and even used the wrong terms at several points throughout the matches, but Clove appreciated the statistical information.

The candidate from Two East, Chase Van Buren, had been born November 21st, 55, and stood at 6'0 and 220 pounds. His hair was a platinum blonde color, and he was nearly as tan as Cato himself. His competitor Taurus Winchester, however, was strikingly pale in contrast. Though, to his luck, was inordinately tall at 6'5, and weighed 245 pounds. Better yet, he was born October 5th, 57, making him the youngest of the four teens contesting for the tribute spot.

Clove scanned the front row for Cato, but found the blonde was nowhere to be found. That level of blind arrogance infuriated her, and Dicey had to steady her shoulder to calm her down.

The fight between the candidates went on for twenty-nine minutes, and towards the end, the fight had been extremely close, but Van Buren had won, and would go on to be Cato's final competitor. "Feeling better yet, Clo?" Dicey asked, bemused.

"Cato is going to eat that pretty boy for dinner," Clove predicted.

A black-haired girl stomped her foot behind her, "No, he won't! Chase is the best in our entire class," she pointed to herself, and her (in Clove's opinion) band of trashy minions beside her.

"Considering how you're dressed, I doubt you understand technique well enough to know who's the best of your class." Clove remarked, completely nonplussed.

The girl only scowled in return, sizing up Clove, and determining her odds of defeating her in a match. Dicey glared at the row of girls, and viscerally threatened, "Fighting in the audience is against the rules. So sit down and shut up."

The girl only looked scandalized in return and Dicey rolled his eyes. A moment later, he growled, turning back to the steaming girl, and muttered, "I just saved you from a premature demise. Clove-" he pointed to the girl beside him, "is especially ruthless. She knows hundreds of inventive ways to kill, so unless you want her to give a live demonstration right now I suggest you shut the fuck up and stop kicking the back of my chair."

A second intermission took place, with more statistical data that was mostly irrelevant and only seemed jarring in contrast to the overall tone. No one gave a shit that Chase Van Buren played for his school's soccer team, or that he was voted most likely to become the next Finnick Odair. Clove found it insulting to her intelligence that this is what the commentators thought she cared about him.

Cato's face flashed on one of the screens, where it was revealed he had an 8% body fat percentage and a straight A average in all his courses. She wished she had a way to keep the a snapshot of the screen indefinitely, because the thought that his school average had been written for all to watch amused her to great ends.

"I cannot wait for this fight to be over," Dicey complained, glowering at the screen that taunted him. "Even here, everyone knows."

Clove teased him. "You can't actually be jealous of Cato. If he really were that smart, he'd trade every A for an ounce of common sense. Unless the arena is set inside of a math book, I doubt any of that will really help him much."

"Now, who sounds jealous?" Dicey joked, elbowing her.

As they brought the last contenders back into the ring, Clove was astonished to see how quickly the medics had repaired Van Buren's arms. She shook her head, thinking to herself that if they really wanted the best tribute, it would have been smarter to leave them with their wounds and see how they'd have made do, but whatever, at least the fight wouldn't be over before it started. That'd have been really miserable.

April, Hunger Games Year 74

If Chase hadn't been nearly two years older and two inches shorter, one might have thought they nearly identical twins. He was a pretty boy, and as the screen had broadcast, attractive enough to be the next Finnick Odair. Most of his repertoire came from the fact that the young man knew how to play a crowd. He was the ideal tribute in the same fashion as Finnick had been, but he was missing something.

He was missing the most important thing: the viciousness needed to be a tribute.

Cato grinned, smugly licking at his teeth in delight. Chase Van Buren was about to be served to his people on a golden platter.

The audience was screeching, chanting commands. He'd never been appreciative of noise, preferring himself to a small crowd, a walk at night across the city line, or a paperback novel. Right now, though, he relished in their cheers, because they doubted him, they questioned whether he could win, and he was about to show them how much an error in judgement could really cost them.

Chase Van Buren was nothing more than a caricature. He symbolized everything Two East stood for: media attention, celebrity obsessive behavior, and devouring eyes. He seemed just as happy as the audience that surrounded him, clearly used to the undivided attention, but even that wouldn't save him.

They were given a count of three.

One. Look, mother, what I can do. Two. You're at rest now with your grief, Adie. Three. My glory shall be a reflection of Panem, and the pride of District Two.

The first ten to twenty minutes of their fight consisted of punches, kicks, and a repetitive cycle of breaking one another's holds. It was tedious and uninteresting. They were too similar. In all regards, truly. Their builds were similar, their fighting style suspiciously close, and even their facial expressions were uncanny.

About twenty-five minutes in, an audible gasp came when Cato knocked over the heavier teen, and held him down with his right leg. When Van Buren made a gesture to break his hold, Cato grinned maliciously, and proceeded jump on top of his ribs several times before Van Buren was able to knock him away with his right arm.

At around thirty-two minutes into the fight, they'd wrestled with each other, both taking heavy blows. It soon became difficult to find a spot in the ring that wasn't completely drenched in their blood, but Clove was enthralled.

Cato mocked Van Buren as the platinum blonde attempted to lift himself from the ground. With his ribs in pieces, it was too much effort for him to manage. Cato grew bored of his competitor's lack of movement, strolled over to him, and yanked him by the roots of his well-cared for hair. With a malicious smirk, he released his competitor's locks and went for his throat. In a last attempt to save himself, Van Buren knocked Cato away, and gouged his eyes with just a pair of his dirty finger nails.

Cato cried out in rage, and swung aimlessly until he found his competitor, grasping so tightly on Van Buren's throat that he asphyxiated on his own vomit before Cato could snap his neck. His gray eyes rolled to back of his head.

A few of the audience members were quick to voice their dissent, but their complaints were drowned out by the cheers as the rest of the crowd went absolutely wild.

Having achieved another step in his path to glory, Cato stood up, and tried to look out towards the audience with as much resolve as he could. He was only able to manage this for but a moment before the pain became nearly unbearable and he threw his fist into the air as a last sign of victory, nearly wobbling out of the ring. The second he was out, a medic rushed to his side, and the blond forced a worn smirk onto his face.

"And he lives to see another day," Clove said, amused.

"And he lives to see another day," Dicey agreed, warily.

May, Hunger Games Year 74

If one didn't reside in District Two, they'd have thought a day like this was uncomfortable and uninvited. Despite the excessively warm temperature, it was hard for the citizens of Two to suppress their excitement. Even Clove was bubbly and cheerful, smiling as the group made their way into the square. Magnilda rested piggy back style on Callan's back, with Halle shooting them flirtatiously silly expressions.

Clove's leather cowboy boots could have almost been an homage, a tribute to the old days, their history. In her green, cotton sundress, she was as dressy as she was going to get, but Nero thought she looked passable.

He and Clove had agreed to accompany the kids to the square, while Dicey and Felix decided to escort Cato.

She'd have never voiced the thought aloud, but Clove thought Callan and her sister were a nice pair. That didn't stop her from emotionally torturing him, though. Often, Dicey would have to pry her away, but he always did so with a laugh.

As she got into line, the scanners took a small blood sample, and she was lead away to the sixteen year old section. Nero and her parted ways, while the younger kids walked to their respective sections, debating with one another about what they wanted to do for lunch.

The mayor began his annual speech, "Welcome, welcome, District Two. Today is the day that we give glory to Panem, to show our utmost gratitude to the kindness the Capitol has bestowed upon us. Years ago, we made a caustic choice to fight against our inner nature, and betrayed our most generous caretakers, the benevolent individuals in the Capitol. Today, we repent for such actions, and strive to repay our debts, slowly but surely."

Following this, the mayor read a scribe containing the list of the past victors, all 27 of them. Beginning with Slate Adams, 3rd victor, and through the long list that clumped following the implementation of the training system in 25. During the first quarter quell, tributes were selected by public vote, and after one of their tributes won, District Two designed an entire system around the concept.

Nero tuned out most of it, having recited the list of Two victors so many times he still heard the rhythm of the mnemonic melody in his head years later.

"-Mina Carrold, 58th Games victor. Raul Vallejo, 59th Games victor. Enobaria Jamison, 62nd Games victor. Wyatt Almoy, 63rd Games victor. And Felix Grey, 73rd Games victor."

The audience paid their silent respects, "And now, Malee Gold!"

Their escort strutted to the podium with an enthusiastic trill, "Oh District Two, darlings, it is so wonderful to see your beautiful faces again. Now, now, it's time to select our lovely tributes for the 74th Annual Hunger Games!"

The curly, blue-haired woman stepped up towards the reaping bowl and grabbed a handful of names, before dropping all but one of them. Carefully, she opened the slip of paper, and called out, "Mortar Erickson."

A boy stepped out of the fifteen year old section, moving swiftly towards the stage for formality's sake.

"Hello dear, wonderful day," Malee introduced, warmly. Mortar smiled back at her, agreeing, "And where do you reign from?"

Mortar blinked, flushing at the attention, "Two North. In the mountains, mam."

"Splendid. Any volunteers?" she asked the crowd.

In an instant, Cato flew forward, calling out, "I volunteer!"

The crowd began to holler and hoot at that, their applause overwhelming as he made his way to the stage and Mortar left to return to his section. Malee tailed her way over to him with a delighted smile, "And what is your name, darling?"

"Cato Elroy," he grunted.

"That was spectacularly brave, and what a warm crowd. District Two really does know how to enjoy themselves. Ah, well, it's time to select your tribute partner."

She returned to the reaping bowl, fishing for the right slip, and stole one from the very bottom, "And our female tribute is Clove Holloway!"

Cato smirked to himself, imagining how the games would play out if the two went into the arena together. One thing was for sure, Panem would be in for a treat. Clove snorted at the irony, trudging her way up to the stage, her boots clanking with every step.

"What a lovely tribute, and where do you call home, sweetheart?"

To her credit, Clove didn't snarl at the escort, as she would have most certainly done had anyone else called her sweetheart, but she didn't play along as nicely as Mortar, and only responded, "Two West."

Malee tried to to hide her disappointment at the lack of engagement, "Well, now, are there any volunteers?"

The crowd was silent. Pin drop silent.

Cato waited for his tribute partner to step forward, but the silence continued. He knew that Dahlia was excited, but was she really so excited that she'd take this long to come forward? Such slow reflexes were a weakness and he made a note to eliminate her as soon as the alliance dissolved.

His patience quickly waned as he waited for the black-haired tribute from Two South to claim her place, but to his grave misfortune, she never did.

Author's Note (2012) -

This chapter is a doozy, but I said I'd get the reaping in and I did! I know Clato fics tend to be depressing by nature, but I feel like the entire culture of District Two is weighing down on me. I'd apologize for getting so detailed about District Two stuff, but I've gotten nothing but positive feedback, so I guess you guys like it.

I just hope I never get arrested, because in developing this chapter, I literally did a Google search for "How to kill someone with your bare hands."

Written: July 16th, 2012
Edited: April 2nd, 2017