Ambrox Linden

District 1 Male, 18
30 Days before the Games
Training Centre

"Faster, faster, punch punch, ah ah, ah, and then spin and skewer the opponent like you mean it! One two, one TWO."

Jasmyn nods satisfactorily and almost twirls as I absolutely obliterate the piece of junk that's now splayed out in front on me like some dead asshole. Because that's what it's simulating. A dead asshole that brings me closer to home.

Jasmyn's excited for these Games, I can practically feel her vibrating with energy. She actually likes both of us, me and Imogen.

Imogen and I, I correct myself involuntarily. That can be so goddamn annoying, but it's true, I need to have good grammar and vocabulary and whatever other shit these posh Capitol people expect from District 1. Jasmyn stressed that a lot. She doesn't want us sounding like uneducated barbarians like some of the other districts, she wants us to be eloquent. I can be an eloquent as she needs me to be. Does it make me sound like an elitist asshole? Absolutely. Do I care? Absolutely not. Maybe Imogen cares, but I absolutely do not.

I'm…I don't know enough about Imogen. She's …prickly. But she's very talented, so it makes up for it.

"Ambrox, climbing now, quickly, get your head out of your ass!"

Even though I'm already sweating balls, I shrug it off and run across our newly refurbished Centre, getting a running head-start on the climbing wall. V8 level, hardest one there is here in our facility. As I run, my hands splay out and I grip onto the tiny protrusions. It's muscle memory at this point, as I scale the wall in 36 seconds, reaching the top protrusion with both hands and winking down at Jasmyn. I think that's part of why she likes me. I am actually good, but I also know how to show that I'm having a good time. Some of the hopeful trainees are just too damn serious all the time. I give her a lopsided smile just as she gives me two thumbs up.

And then my sweaty ass hands, which are dripping rivers at this point, slip.

I fall. I hit the mat hard, but I'm trained to fall, that's the first thing they beat into you. You don't go into the Games knowing you can win it. People like that usually get cut down to size pretty quickly. Vintage knew, but he's a special kind of crazy and I'm not exactly ready to associate myself with a guy like Vintage.

Jasmyn struts up to me, looking smug as ever.

"You slipped."

Thanks for the information, I hadn't noticed. I swallow my answer and resist rolling my eyes at the obvious. That's the problem with me, my knee-jerk reaction is always the snark. Jasmyn really had to hammer the idea that being an asshole all the time doesn't help. She's right though. I have to tone it down at least a little.

"Sorry, hands were wet."

She nods, still with that shit-eating grin on her face. Her arms are crossed, but she manages to keep tapping a perfectly manicured nail on her arm. Her eyes narrow slightly.

"You know that in the Games, there's a hypothetical scenario where you just killed a tribute, you've got blood on your hands, literally. And then a mutt comes chasing you and your only way out is scaling a wall or a cliff. What…you're just going to fall down and make the death of the person you just killed meaningless?"

I have a feeling she's had that spiel prepped, from the absolute overdramatic effect of it all to the head movements she clearly rehearsed to add effect to her words. That's just Jasmyn for you, she's got everything perfectly planned out from A to Z. That's how she won her Games, by figuring everyone's moves and making sure she was ahead of whatever anyone else had thought up.

I just sit up and shake my head, not falling for her trap. I'm gonna play nice today.

"I'll be careful next time. I'll be prepared."

Jasmyn nods approvingly.

"Good. You've got 30 days to be the best you can be. When the Games start, it'll all go downhill for everyone, so you gotta make sure you're declining at a slower rate."

She pats me on the shoulder and I involuntarily lean into her hand.

She notices, of course she fucking notices and smirks again.

"Say hi to Libra and Ani from me," she says as she leaves.

She always knows what's on my mind. Whether it's family, or parties or other shenanigans that make up my life. Maybe it's because she's trained and shaped us for the last 5 years, me and the other students, and knows us better than our own parents. Maybe it's because I haven't mastered the art of deception yet and she reads me like a book. Whatever it is, I need to make sure I get rid of this weakness before the Games are in full swing.

I stay behind. There's really no point to getting home this early, especially if I can get a few more hours' worth of training. A tiny annoying voice in my head reminds me I promised to pass by the pharmacy for Ani's medication, but I suppress it. In a month, I won't be here to do it, so my parents might as well get used to this. Either I'll be back, I'll be a Victor and I won't have to be their stupid medication bus-boy, or I'll be dead and they'll have one less thing to worry about.

In the back of my brain, I know I'm being too harsh on them, on my brother Libra, on my sister Ani. I know they've got their own shit to deal with. With the Games only a month away, I can't shake the feeling that they're all slowing me down. I know they're not, practically-speaking, but it sometimes feels like if they were a bit more concerned with how I was doing, maybe my mindset would be different, and I wouldn't be so high-strung or stressed out. Maybe Jasmyn would finally stop grilling me with unnecessary questions I already know the answer to, would stop tip-toeing around the obvious and pretending like I'm not the chosen volunteer. Would focus all her efforts on Imogen and Ambrox, the best District 1 has to offer this year. We are the best, after all, we just need to tough it out for the next thirty days and then we're off.

Either way, the few times my parents actually pretend to be concerned is when I remark that my position isn't fully locked in yet, regardless of what Jasmyn officially declared. That's when my dad unloads the pile of crap he considers a pep-talk, telling me I just have to work harder in order to prove to them once and for all that I'm the one the district is sending in. He doesn't understand how even though Jasmyn said it's happening, we're locked in, it doesn't mean I can let my guard down completely. Especially in the last few months, when the number of contenders has winnowed down to a minimum before Jasmyn announced Imogen and myself as the final candidates. I've just been unable to properly let go of the feeling that something will go wrong at the very last possible second. Again, that annoying voice keeps nagging me that Jasmyn's only been out for seven years and that isn't enough time to perfect the whole "training and choosing a volunteer" process. Maybe she doesn't know any better and I'm just a lab rat, a Guiney pig.

She does probably know better, and this is the way to prepare the volunteers. While ruminating on this as I complete my third set of pull ups, I realize how utterly stupid my concerns are. They don't even make sense. Jasmyn is the only Victor to have brought back another Victor the year right after. If anyone knows what the hell they were doing, it's Jasmyn, and I had to stop being a spazzing piece of shit about it. I trust Jasmyn, more than most people at least, so I have to let my perceived complaints about her methods slide.

After twenty laps around the center, and a few bouts with the jump rope, I decide to finish the day off with some weights. It's already 6PM and I'm drenched. I've been training harder than ever before and it's not like Jasmyn's not happy. On the contrary. She's just…giddy? That's an admittedly weird word to use when describing Jasmyn but she does get like that sometimes, when the Games are particularly close and she likes the tributes she's sending in. It happened two years ago, with Dustin and Rulia. They still died, but they were formidable.

I dust off my hands that are full of chalk and head for the lockers.

No one is here, as per usual for this time of day.

I peel off my shirt that is permeated with sweat and grime, and start focusing on my locker combination. And the someone bangs their duffel bag right by my face and I don't flinch because fuck, I'm the designated volunteer, but I mentally file away a come-back revenge jump scare for this asshole. It's Oulondo. Classic.

"Hey man, what's up?"

Oulondo's an okay guy, don't get me wrong. He was also the runner-up for the designated volunteer spot, when it was still up for grabs, so the man kind of worries me. No, he doesn't worry me, I correct myself, he's still competition up until the moment you're on that stage, saying your name as the designated volunteer, so better be safe than sorry.

Oulondo took the whole thing in stride too, didn't scream or cry or try to kill me like some of the other hopefuls. Maybe he's just a really nice and talented guy who doesn't have his head in the game, but the fact that he's still out in the Center so late makes me a little weary. I make a quick inventory of all the objects around me that I can use to protect myself, so quickly Oulondo doesn't notice.

I put on my least scrutinizing most relaxed-how-are-you-doing-let's-have-a-locker-conversation facial expression ever.

"Not much, just training, you know how it is. How are you?"

Oulondo smiles, stretching.

"Same. I actually stayed back because I thought hey, we're having a party in Diamond's place and we wanted to invite you."

A party sounds fun. Especially after a long day like this. Especially as an excuse not to come home to the same dumb questions and the same half-assed signs of affections which are contingent on me regaling my parents of my success in training.

"Yeah sure! I'll quickly go shower and I'll be there!" I say enthusiastically, smiling back at Oulondo. He waves at me, as he exits the room.

"See you there, dude!"

I am left alone in the humid locker room, for real this time. Parties are…they're alright. Once in a while, they're a great way to unwind, to meet new people and forget the stresses that come with training. I still remember the day when Jasmyn took me into her office and told me that coming into training with a hangover every three days was unacceptable. I had just turned sixteen then, and had just discovered the whole prospect of partying and underage drinking. I remember talking back at Jasmyn, retorting that even with a hangover I was still the best trainee. She just smiled at that and made me run twenty extra laps without possibility of hydrating, with my head pounding behind my eyes. I was a snarky bastard back then.

Nowadays, I'd say I've definitely cooled down. I still go to parties…I just don't particularly like the whole blaring music, the kissing and the groping, the fact that I have to lower my guard in front of people that would potentially gut me for the privilege of being District 1's volunteer this year.

And I mean, kissing's fun, it's alright, but who the fuck implemented the idea that you have to close your eyes when you kiss someone? That's weird. When we got old enough to discuss girls and sex, we literally had a whole debate about kissing, Libra and I. Again, I'm pretty sure it plays into the whole "I am paranoid around people that could potentially harm me" thing, but it all boils down to the fact that there's 30 days left until the Games, and I'm not wasting this opportunity just to close my eyes while making out, and getting shanked for my troubles.

I change quickly, fix my hair and walk leisurely to Diamond's. I hesitate when I turn on my street. Maybe…

And then I pick up the pace, because fuck it, I am as much of a breadwinner in this family as anyone, what with the training stipend and the added bonus once I go into the Games. I petulantly remind myself that my parents don't bother to spend their time of day on me, so Libra can take care of things the one night I'm gone. Libra, my little brother, who flunked out of training at sixteen just a few months ago. Libra, the nicest kid in all of District 1. It's the nice kids who get the medication for their sick sisters though, especially since they don't have to worry about all the injury, murder and death that is coming for me in less than a month's time.

A few more minutes and I am at Diamond's place, a spacious and modern house, rebuilt since the war. I take a deep breath and open the door. The warmth and smell of booze is what hits me first. And then I'm dragged in by a pair of friends from training and the explosion of sounds hits me like a wave. Tamara, a runner-up for the girls this year who was beaten by Imogen in the final decision veto-ed by Jasmyn, drunkenly raves about something unintelligible. Suffice to say she didn't take that decision kindly. I spot Oulondo dancing, winking and smiling at me as he spots me. I mechanically smile back, as I head for the kitchen and to help myself to a drink.

There's one month left before the Games and I find myself unable to really relax. So, I just hang back, drink and observe the rest of my peers get drunk and high, with the music swelling and the smoke filling up the large house with a cloud-like fog. I realize I've never felt more alone in my life.

Tamara literally falls off the chair she was standing on, getting back up and continuing to rage about Imogen. Her face is flushed and her eyes are unfocused, but her knuckles are white from the way she grips the back of chair as she stands up, all rage. Her dark brown eyes are clouded and angry. Pools of rage and grief and jealousy, unrestrained now, as the alcohol takes its effect on her body.

"McCarthy, take it easy on the drinks," I yell at her just as she gives me the finger. I notice now that Imogen isn't at the party.

Where I was cocky and naturally talented at weapons and most of the other physical aspects of training, Imogen has always been a machine at working, perfecting and refining her technique. She is an obvious type of dangerous and I know Jasmyn had had her sights on the girl ever since she entered training. Even at thirteen, I remember Imogen being as bloodthirsty as they come. I am pretty sure that the only thing keeping Imogen in check was her best friend Cira. Cira was good too, don't get me wrong. Cira had actually managed to earn herself a spot in the top 5 female contenders for the coveted volunteer spot. She wasn't made for the Games though…Cira is a nice person at heart, just like Libra is. Imogen on the other hand…even I couldn't deny how lethal Imogen was with a spear. She's also kind of an asshole, but once again, I respect that. She isn't an asshole with Cira, after all. Ever since I can remember, they were thick as thieves, mostly keeping to themselves but training and improving upon each other. Imogen always protected Cira, even though Cira wasn't to be underestimated on her own either. Cira's strengths lay in the fact that she was so much more reserved, so much more cunning whereas Imogen wore her heart on her sleeve. Where Cira was much more cautious, Imogen plunged headfirst into conflict and almost always emerged victorious. I know she prefers ranged weapons, but I am pretty sure she could stand her ground with anything that is even remotely considered a weapon. She is a damn great competitor and I would be lying if I said I wasn't proud to be going into the Games with such a competent person to guard my back, at least until the Final 8.

"Looking thoughtful today, Mr. Sunshine," Oulondo slurs as he approaches the place where I sit, observing the party and sipping my third drink.

I bite back an annoyed sigh.

"A little out of it, to be honest. The music doesn't agree with me," I reply nonchalantly as he sits on the armrest of the chair I'm sitting in and leans forward.

"The music doesn't agree with me," he mimics, and I bite back a laugh.

"Dance with me?" he asks then and maybe it's the loneliness or it's the alcohol finally kicking in, but I accept.

The rest of the night is a bit of a blur, punctuated by Tamara's angry tirade about Imogen, Venuto almost falling out of a window and his boyfriend Carlos pulling him back in while screaming profanities and Oulondo smiling at me in a way that I almost buy as being sincere.

I wake up with the sun shining directly into my eyeball. I squint. Shit. If the sun is up, it means I'm late. No Oulondo in sight. Or anyone else of importance for that matter. I mentally berate myself for letting my guard down like this. Imogen made the right call to skip that party, I think begrudgingly as I check the time.

I won't have time to change…so be it. I quickly ruffle my hair, so that it looks at least half-presentable and sprint all the way to the Center. The halls are silent, with all the trainees already in the center, listening to Jasmyn or observing a wrestling match.

I open the door and come into the gymnasium just as Tamara McCarthy plunges the sharp end of the spear directly into Imogen's throat. The whole room erupts into a cacophony of noise.

DUN DUN DUN!

Notes: I hope you enjoyed your first look at the District 1 male tribute! Let me know if you liked this introduction. Reviews are always very welcome and very appreciated, since the Games are being planned so any criticism or remark will be definitely useful in ensuring that I write the best possible story.
Who do you think will end up being the District 1 female volunteer? Do you like Ambrox and how do you think he'll fare in the Games?

Peace and love.