Cira Dupont

District 1 Female, 18
29 Days before the Games
Training Centre

I hear a pained dog whine just as Imogen and I finish wrapping up our picnic blanket and packing up the remains of our early breakfast.

"Is it Cotty?" Imogen asks, concern tainting her voice. I would be lying if I didn't feel a little bit of pride because she literally would never use that kind of tone with anyone but me. Because she's my best friend and I'm the only one privy to how awesome she really is. I shake myself out of this spiral of thought, because we've got bigger problems on our hands. It's definitely my baby dog.

"Yeah it sounds like Cotty," I answer, panic constricting my throat as I throw my book aside and start sprinting towards the sound.

Imogen catches up easily. Her legs are longer than mine, so she overtakes me almost as quickly, nodding back to me. We have this silent agreement. She can charge the problem headfirst and I'll mediate the consequences.

As I round the corner, I see Imogen, her fists curled at her sides. I see my dog Cotty. I see Tamara, a girl from training, I then witness her kick Cotty across the yard, my poor baby dog hitting the side of the shack with a pitiful yelp. Cotty doesn't get up, and I stifle a scream.

"Leave the dog alone," Imogen growls, as Tamara swings a wooden stick while pacing back and forth, a stupid smirk never leaving her features. As though Imogen would be afraid of a fucking stick.

"Or what, you'll fight me? I doubt even the great Imogen," Tamara spits out the name as though it's poison, "can fight off five people at once."

In my desire to get to Cotty, I didn't see the other three girls and one tall boy standing at the edge of the shack, eyeing us menacingly.

"Try me, you stupid ugly cow," Imogen spits back, adjusting her fighting stance.

"Stop it guys, there's no need to fight, just let my dog go please. Cotty didn't do anything wrong," I plead, realizing shit will hit the fan and we probably won't end up winning this fight. As I said before, Imogen's the fighter, I'm the mediator and I know when a battle is a lost cause.

"Or what," Tamara singsongs, approaching Cotty.

"Please stop Tamara, I really really am asking you," I practically beg her. For a second it looks like she's considering it. And then she whacks my tiny little dog with her stick.

Imogen practically tackles her to the ground, as Tamara's minions descend upon my friend. Practically forgotten, I run up to Cotty. My baby is wheezing. The stupid bitch probably shattered his ribs.

I want to kill her. We're outnumbered though, we can't do anything, even though Imogen is the strongest out of all of them by far, and I could probably stand my ground as well.

I bury my anger deep down inside and scream from the top of my lungs. "STOP." Imogen punches the boy, Venuto, once again in the throat for good measure and stands up. They're all covered in dust and tiny pebbles from the road. Tamara's practically screaming for blood.

"Attacking my dog won't change the fact that Imogen's the selected volunteer and if you want to provoke us, you'll have to do it some other way. If you don't leave right now, I will call the Peacekeepers on you," I add shakily. I'm sure Tamara takes pleasure in the way my voice trembles, attributing it to the fear she imagines I feel. My voice shakes from anger.

"I will shatter your teeth if you come near us again," Imogen warns, her voice low and dangerous. I know she can't go ahead and hurt Tamara for real, since Tamara is the runner-up volunteer. If anything would happen to Imogen, Tamara is the one going into the Games, and sabotaging her would be a move that Jasmyn would definitely frown upon. It would maybe even be enough to disqualify Imogen, for acting upon impulse like that. That's probably why Tamara's been itching to hurt us, to get some sort of significant retaliation. Hurting my dog just escalated the conflict ten-fold, but we're not idiots.

Imogen watches warily as the five people limp away, Tamara throwing daggers at us, out of her big blue eyes.

"I could have killed them, you know," my friend says conversationally, as we both kneel next to Cotty. The dog's getting old but I still love him more than anything in the world. He's been my only friend for a really long time, and I adopted him when I was 5, right after the war. Cotty's a chiwawa, probably escaped some rich household in the Capitol during the bombing, and wandered a lot before being found by me. I nursed him back to health and I got so attached to him that I convinced my parents to keep him. He's been with me ever since, through thick and thin. He was there for me even before Imogen.

She roughly palpates his ribs, causing him to whimper.
"They're bruised but he's fine," she concludes, as I push her hands away. She can be so rough sometimes, but I know she means well. To me and Cotty, at least.

I'm not delusional, I know Imogen isn't a good person, strictly speaking. She's bloodthirsty and actually derives pleasure from hurting people. Both her parents are dead though, and mine are both alive so I guess that tells you something about nurture being important in the whole "making an individual a balanced member of society" situation. I love Imogen fiercely. She's been with me throughout the years, and she's always protected me. I know I'm not the easiest person to be around, nor the most interesting and somehow, she still stayed all this time. And I admire her…she wants to go into the Games, for the violence and the blood, yes, but also for the glory of having saved someone like me, someone who wouldn't be able to murder and survive without shedding all of their humanity.

I pick up Cotty, and bring him close to my chest. He nuzzles closer, his little nose wiggling towards me.

"I'll see you at training Cira, I gotta go. I might have to do damage control, since only Satan knows what kind of shit Tamara is going to tell Jasmyn," Imogen says quietly. She brings her arms out for a hug, and we linger there, Cotty snuggly squished between the two of us.

"Sounds good 'Gen, I'll hang out here for a little bit longer, and bring Cotty home. Even though his bones aren't broken, I might need to do something for this," I say, as I remark a little bit of blood under his fur.

"See you Cira."

I wave at my best friend as she sprints away. She's always running, Imogen. It's like she's made for this training, for this kind of life. I bring Cotty back to where we sat, and slowly pack up our stuff.

After I drop off Cotty at my house, I take the long path to the training Center. I'm in no hurry. We used to show up there as early as possible, when Imogen still hadn't secured her spot as the designated volunteer. Now that it was only a month ago, she actually told me she was trying to avoid the place as much as possible, because of the potential for conflict to arise. Clearly, conflict found us wherever we were, but if it helped her, I didn't particularly care. She was the training fanatic, not me.

I walk up to the Center, smiling at the younger kids enjoying the weather. Most of them, like me, will probably end up in the Peacekeeping force. Or somewhere else. I can't claim that at the ripe age of 18, I know exactly what life has in store for me. In that regard, I'm quite envious of Imogen. She's so sure of herself, so confident… and she knows exactly where she's headed. As though I'm her complete opposite, I've always struggled with certainty and commitment. People's opinion mattered too much to me, I took things too personally, she used to tell me. When we were thirteen, that's how we became friends…we both enrolled in training, she took a special liking to me, and kept insulting me in the most creative ways until I broke down in tears and finally admitted how hurt I was by what she said. And then she actually felt bad and basically adopted me and we've been inseparable ever since. The strongest friendships arise from the weirdest experiences, really. I thought she was a heartless asshole, and she thought I was a spineless people-pleaser, and eventually we met somewhere in the middle. As the sun warms my face, I realize I will miss her like crazy when she leaves. It's hard to believe that all our hard work, all the hours lifting weights and imagining hypothetical scenarios are leading up to this momentous moment in her life. I actually can't quite believe that she'll be going into the Games so soon. I'm not delusional enough to think that her death is impossible, but I am confident that she'll do her best, and her best has always been enough. I'll just have to really hope she'll come back. By all means, she's the best District 1 has to offer, and I'm glad she's going in with Ambrox. He's a really dedicated guy, too, just like Imogen. He's a little too obsessed with training, if you ask me personally. It's almost as if he lives in the gymnasium, but you know what, live and let live is a motto I adhere to. He's not a full-blown psychopath either so we know he won't be one of those tributes to lose his shit early in the Games. From what I've heard from Imogen, it seems that she trusts him, at least marginally.

When I come into the gymnasium, I know already something is wrong. Imogen is arguing loudly with another trainee, the guy that was with Tamara this morning. Most suspicious of all, I see Tamara lurking in the background, a spear in hand.

At first, my paranoid brain plays out a scenario that isn't even possible. Not here anyways.

And then it happens in real time, as the guy grabs Imogen by the face, and as she struggles away from him, confusion and annoyance marring her features, Tamara sprints up behind her and lacerates the left side of her throat with the spear, lightning quick. It all happens too fucking fast to even comprehend.

The blood starts spilling everywhere. And Imogen's just standing there, a hand on her throat, trying to stem the blood escaping her severed carotid artery.

Ambrox, our male volunteer who just came in, looks on wearily at the situation. The door slams behind him. As silent tears roll down my cheeks, I step forward. My breath catches in my throat as my brain struggles to come to terms with what the fuck just happened.

"What the fuck did you do," I demand, my voice eerily calm. It almost sounds squeaky, like a petulant kid inquiring about a damaged toy they know they'll never get back. My heart feels like it's going to fucking explode. McCarthy smirks as my friend, my only friend in the whole fucking world, chokes on her blood. Jasmyn is standing there, looking almost-shell shocked. She recovers quickly, though, calling in the medic team with a voice that could almost be described as frantic. I can't hear any of it. It feels like I'm underwater.

I can't move properly. It feels like an ocean has swallowed me whole, like my body is a meat suit I can't shrug off, and it's confining me, choking me as my grief tries to escape. I can't fucking move and my best friend is dying. Imogen's not struggling anymore, her throat leaking red everywhere on the mat.

The only thing my brain can muster is the fact that they weren't even supposed to be fighting, this isn't the fighting mat, how the fuck did McCarthy get her hands on the spear so quickly?

I step forward mechanically. Tears are still leaking down my face and I can't help it.
"WHAT the fuck did you do?" I ask more loudly, approaching the girl who just killed Imogen.
She has the gall to openly laugh. She's laughing, she's breathing and my friend is dead. My friend who deserved the fucking world. My friend who was going into the Games in less than a month.

"The bitch got what she deserved," Tamara drawls and circles me like the predator that she is as I hug myself, my long nails scrapping at my arms spasmodically, just to feel anything else but the grief that is threatening to overwhelm me. I can't. I fucking can't.

"I killed her, and I'm going to kill anyone who stands in my way," Tamara continues, the display of sudden power doing wonders to her adrenaline rush, no doubt. She'd have never defeated Imogen in hand-to-hand combat. Imogen was too good for that, too smart and too powerful. The only way she could win is through fucking cowardly surprise. The tears keep on coming as I try my best to keep it together. Maybe Imogen can still be saved…

At the back of my mind, I know that was a lethal shot.

Tamara keeps waving that stupid fucking spear around, blood droplets splattering around her, even taking a little bow as her friends actually have the gall to applaud weakly. Jasmyn looks less than impressed as the medic team arrives and starts taking a pulse on what-had-been-Imogen.

And then something happens. There's movement behind us. I see one of the guys, Oulondo, lunge awkwardly towards Ambrox. While Tamara didn't miss her shot, Oulondo's lack of certainty is his downfall. It almost looks like Ambrox is ready for the betrayal too, expertly snapping the short knife out of Oulondo's hand with a powerful hit, gripping his forearm and shattering his radius and ulna with one powerful twist. It almost looks like Ambrox didn't move, but one second he's standing there looking directly at Imogen bleeding out, and the next Oulondo screams, a high-pitched and pained sound, falling to the ground. Ambrox hovers over him, his face wearing a blank expression. He then steps on Oulondo's hand, crushing the fingers underneath it with an audible crack. Ambrox looks at Jasmyn. Even in my dazed state, I know what their exchange means. We don't tolerate fucking traitors that try to capitalize on other people's skills here. Imogen deserved a chance to retaliate. And in that moment, I hate Tamara more than I've ever hated anything in the entire world.

Tamara clearly still doesn't get it. She dispassionately looks away from Oulondo, right at me.

"Not everyone's as successful as I was but mark my words Dupont, I promised I'd kill Imogen the day she snatched my spot, and I promise I'll kill your dog if you ever try anything…"

She keeps going and going. I see Jasmyn cross her toned arms and look at me. If this wasn't happening, if it wasn't Imogen lying on the ground right now, the two of us would be laughing, criticizing how Tamara got caught monologuing, like some third-class villain from a kid's film. But she just had to bring my dog, my Cotty, into this.

Something snaps inside me. Enough is enough.

I may not have been the best in training, preferring books and art and lengthy discussions to the violence this center harbored. But people easily forget that I am as highly trained as the rest of them.

So it surprises everyone and no one at the same time, when I take three quick steps, reach forward with blinding speed and rip Tamara's right eyeball out of her head.

Blood spurts all over my hand as I jump back, in order to avoid the spear Tamara is still holding clutched in her hand. A moment of silence.

And then Tamara starts screeching and all hell breaks loose.

She stumbles down on her knees, cradling her face as the blood spills from between her fingers. The spear clatters to the floor, as she screams profanities. Jasmyn's expression shifts slightly. If I could focus on anything but the rage consuming me, she'd almost look pissed off.

Tamara lunges at me, but her balance is off, and so is her vision. I took her eye, and now, I think grimly, I'm going to take her fucking life for what she did. I sidestep quickly, the moves almost a dance. She's still screaming as I grab her hair and bang her head once, twice, three times into the mat. Her nose is definitely broken now, a mess of cartilage and flesh. She tries to reach backward, get me with the spear she somehow got a hold of, but I flip her over. I hook both my thumbs into her eyes, and push down hard. She screams and rips at my hair, but I feel no pain now. I imagine almost that I am Imogen reincarnated, exacting revenge. Cira would never condone this kind of violence.

I realize halfway through the fight that I'm still crying, technically. My eyes are leaking tears but my face is stone. I let go of Tamara's face, and stand up straight, as I survey the crowd, almost challenging anyone to stop me from doing what I'm about to do. I step on her eyeball, the one lying on the mat, and honest to god, the entire room flinches away.

I'm not sure whether I crushed her other eye or not, but either way the stupid bitch finally faints, her screaming interrupted. I immediately take a few steps back, right myself and my shirt, passing a hand through my hair. I am covered in blood, I realize.

Jasmyn approaches me and touches my shoulder.

"Well…I guess we don't have to wrack our brains to know who our female volunteer is going to be."

Notes: Updating twice in two days, WHO DIS? Next update might not come as quickly, but I will try my best to keep it at 1-2 chapters per week, so that we get through all the introduction chapters fairly quickly.

Well, this was a lot more gruesome than I had initially intended (cricket sounds)

WELCOME TO MY GAMES KIDDOS, YOU'RE IN FOR A FRICKFRACKING RIDE. Did you enjoy Cira's John Wick-esque moment of revenge? Are you happy Tamara got what she had coming?

Guess who totally goofed and thought she was being clever by asking who the D1F tribute was when it's literally on her profile? THIS GAL. Anyways, I'm hoping whoever is reading is enjoying my take on these characters. Reviews are my drug, please pretty please send one my way, it'll make my day Special thanks to those who already did.

Peace and love.