Ottilie Blackwell, 15

"I'm not doing it because you told me to."

(One Month Before the Reapings)

If there is one thing Ottilie has wanted her whole life, it's to make history.

All she has ever wanted to do is something substantial. One day, Ottilie is going to die. It doesn't bother her, never has and never will. But what does bother her is dying without making her mark. She needs something for people to remember her by. The last thing she wants is to die and immediately be forgotten as a nobody, a nonentity, just another headstone in the Graveyard of Great Sacrifice.

And what better way is there than to win the Hunger Games?

Not only that, but to become the youngest chosen volunteer in District 4 history to make a decisive Victory.

Thus, Ottilie has to make some sacrifices. There are only so many ways for a girl of fifteen—barely, just barely fifteen—to convince the trainers of District 4 to choose her as the volunteer. Especially when she's going up against someone like Matira Kendari. It's not easy. But Ottilie has always enjoyed challenges.

If it means she has to sacrifice some sleep and general bodily health to reach her goal, then so be it.

So, yeah, it's one a.m. and the training center is closed. Ottilie is supposed to be in her dorm—key word being "supposed". Technically, they don't lock the doors in the dormitories, which makes sneaking out insanely easy. Even though most of the time when a trainee sneaks out, it's to go fuck someone or commit petty crimes.

Ottilie is certainly not someone to commit petty crimes or go fuck someone in the bushes. She's someone to steal the keys from Aran, one of the head trainers at Faustus, sneak out of her dorm room at midnight, and spend the rest of the night beating punching bags to pieces. At least she remembered to bring the tape this time.

It's become something like routine ever since Ottilie got ahold of Aran's keys. She ninety-point-nine-percent certain that Aran knows she has his keys but he doesn't do anything about it. He probably wouldn't care if Matira Kendari was doing the same thing.

Ottilie likes to think that her midnight training sessions propel her closer to her goal. It just shows her dedication to her goals. It just proves that she is the best option for the job.

By the time Ottilie leaves the training center, her knuckles have started to bleed through the tape and the sun is peeking over the ocean in the distance. Just as she turns the key in the lock, the morning alarm sounds. She glances up at one of the clocks on the wall on her way to the cafeteria, noting that it's six a.m. It's funny to think that most of the trainees wake up in the morning wishing for more time to sleep, while Ottilie has been up for hours. In fact, it's been nearly thirty-six hours since Ottilie last slept, and that was only because Audrina demanded she lay down. It was a rare time when Ottilie didn't immediately refuse to do whatever Audrina told her to do; maybe it was because she was, deep down, kind of tired.

She sweeps into the cafeteria, finding it nearly empty. The trainees that don't live in the dormitories are slowly trickling in, but most of the live-in kids don't show up for a while. Ottilie being one of the exceptions, obviously. While everyone else is waking up and getting ready, Ottilie never usually went to sleep in the first place.

It's not like she really eats in the cafeteria. She doesn't eat a lot in general. It's nothing but a huge waste of time, in the same vein as sleep. She's got better things to do than sit in the cafeteria and eat whatever food they provide to the trainees. She's got a life to live, things to do, weapons to master, people to meet, goals to be reached. She's got a Hunger Games to win, after all.

The only reason to shows up to the cafeteria every morning is to be present for announcements. There aren't announcements every day, but when there is one, it's important. Ninety percent of the time, it's about the chosen volunteers, and those competitions are coming up soon…

"Ottilie, can I speak to you in my office for a moment?"

Ottilie looks up, surprised at being addressed. She finds herself sitting across from Aran, the same guy she stole the keys to the training center from. "Um…yes. Sure."

She carefully gets up, looking at Aran's face and trying to read what this conversation is going to be about. She gets the feeling it's not going to be a happy one. Maybe he found out she stole his keys? She was under the impression he knew she had his keys, though. Maybe it's something else?

They pass several trainees as they walk through the open-air halls of Faustus. Ottilie glares daggers at anyone brave enough to meet her eyes. After a few minutes, they arrive at Aran's office. As the door closes behind her, Ottilie thinks of the keys back in her back pocket. Maybe Audrina ratted her out. If she did, well, Ottilie will, one way or another, find out about it. And Audrina will pay.

"Ottilie, please take a seat," Aran says, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. His eyes are dark and stormy, which does not make Ottilie feel extremely confident about this meeting.

Ottilie cautiously slides into the seat, looking skeptically at Aran as if he's about to pull out a knife and stab her in the neck. "What do you want?"

"Ottilie, please," Aran says tiredly, holding up on his hands. "I'm going to level with you—I'm worrying about you, Ottilie."

It's certainly not what Ottilie expected. She expected…well, she's not exactly sure what she expected. "I don't need someone worrying about me. I'm just fine on my own, thank you very much."

Aran bites his lip and looks down at his desk. "See, that's the problem. I know you have my keys and have been using the training center in the middle of the night, and while I admire your dedication…you need to care about yourself for once."

Ottilie gapes at him. "Care about myself? I am! I'm caring about myself by making myself stronger! I'm caring about myself by ensuring I get this spot and that I win!"

"That's not what I mean," Aran says. "In doing those things, you are neglecting to eat, sleep, and do anything a normal human being needs to function properly."

"So what?" Ottilie demands. "I'm training. I'm improving—"

"—and you're starving yourself in the process," Aran interrupts. "Ottilie, training ability is not the only thing we take into consideration when choosing our volunteers. We look for smart, accountable trainees who understand their boundaries. At the moment, you aren't displaying any of those qualities. So, I'm going to have to ask for my keys back."

Ottilie is on her feet in an instant. "I will get that volunteer spot, even if it's the last thing I ever do. You don't understand how much this means to me—"

"The same amount it means to everyone else," Aran answers. "Ottilie, I know you've got this hang up about legacy but you have to understand that sometimes it's not about making history. Every one of our trainees knows well and clear that entering the Games is potential suicide. If you go in at fifteen, that's what it probably will be."

"I'll prove you wrong," Ottilie swears. "I'll show you that I can get that spot at fifteen, and that I can win!"

"You have to keep in mind that there are many talented trainees in their last year of eligibility. Think of Matira Kendari." Ottilie can tell that Aran is getting tired of this conversation, that he thinks it's getting nowhere. And maybe it is. But Ottilie isn't going to back down. She's not going to be the first person to concede. "I know this means a lot to you, Ottilie. But there's nothing stopping you from waiting another year or two, in order to polish your skills and—"

"No one will care about me then!" Ottilie shouts, clenching fists at her sides. "You don't get it, do you? I have to be the first fifteen-year-old volunteer to win! This has been my goal since I was a toddler and I'll be damned if I don't get it! If I don't volunteer at fifteen, then no one will care. I'll just be another Faustus trainee, no one deserving of attention or praise or sponsors. But if I volunteer at fifteen, people will talk. I'll be someone to pay attention to, because people will admire my bravery and my talent when I tell them I'm the chosen volunteer. That's why I have to get this spot, and I have to get it now."

"While I admire your confidence and your dedication, I really would advise against this—" Aran starts, but Ottilie starts talking over him.

"You know what? You can have your keys back." She angrily slams the key ring onto the desk. "I don't them. I don't need anything to prove that I can be the chosen volunteer, and the Victor, at fifteen. Now thank you for this insightful meeting, but if you'll excuse me, I have training to do."

With that, Ottilie sweeps from Aran's office, slamming the door behind her and leaving Aran standing shell-shocked inside.

Shad Marcum, 18

"I'm better than you'll ever be."

(Four Years before the Reapings)

Well, he lost again. It's not the first time Shad has lost a sparring match, but damn, it's going to be the last. He hates losing. The feeling makes his blood boil—he is supposed to be perfect. That's all he's ever been. He's been the best of the best, the cream of the crop, the only one in this entire Panem-forsaken academy that is actually going to win the Hunger Games. Okay, yeah, there's still four years before he's even going to think about entering the Games, but the problem still stands. And, okay, sure, he's only been training for eleven months, but soon it'll be a year, and he'll have nothing to show from it! If he keeps losing…

It's times like these that Shad feels compelled to show off his superiority somehow. If he can't beat other trainees in sparring matches, then he'll have to prove his worth in another way.

And what's the best way to make Shad feel good about himself? Why, by belittling other people.

And it's so easy when it comes to Troy Ortun. The boy is a walking disaster, practically tailor made to be picked on. You take one look at him and you can pick out seven things to tease about him. It's so easy. It's an honest-to-Panem miracle that Troy hasn't invested in some plastic surgery or something by this point.

"Hey, hey Troy," Shad says as he follows Troy toward the cafeteria. "Didn't look like you were trying too hard out there, Troy. Maybe you should try harder, Troy."

Troy splutters out something that sounds similar to "I am trying".

Shad just laughs. "Maybe you should learn how to talk properly first, Troy." He sticks out his foot, landing it right into Troy's path, which the boy promptly trips over. It only makes Shad laugh harder. "Actually, you should probably focus on being able to walk, like a normal human being first."

Other kids in the hallway have started laughing as well, which makes Shad's smirk grow. It's clear to see just how much better he is than everyone else. So what if he can't win a sparring match against one of the best trainees in the Academy? He's still got time. He's got four years before he has to present himself for volunteer consideration. And this is going to be the last time he ever loses a sparring match. He just can't handle the feeling of being lesser, of not being good enough. He is good enough, damnit! He's better than good enough! He's the best!

"Maybe you should just cut your losses and go home now, hmm?" Shad suggests, leaning over sideways so he's right in Troy's face. "Might make things easier on ya, huh?"

"Well…" Troy stammers. "Well…maybe it's you who—who should go—go home!"

Maybe if it was worded better, it might have made Shad angry. After all, no one injures Shad's pride without some sort of repercussion. But when it comes to Troy…well, it's honestly just more hilarious. "Finally growing a spine, are you? Sure took you long enough!"

Troy visibly swallows. "W-well…I did it before…before you!"

That makes Shad mad. That makes his blood start boiling again, because he'll be damned if he lets Troy Ortun do something he hasn't! Shad is the best at everything, especially when compared to Troy, and he can't let anyone have the upper hand but himself.

So, Shad does the only logical thing in this situation:

He reels back his fist and punches Troy square in the nose.

Troy goes stumbling backwards, his hands coming up to protect his face as blood starts to trickle from his left nostril. He crumples against the wall, sliding toward the floor and looking up at Shad with fear in his eyes.

It's a feeling Shad could get addicted to. Troy knows his place. The other trainees know their place—on the sidelines, doing nothing but fueling Shad's superiority. Shad, of course, has always known where he belongs: on top.

The other trainees continue laughing as Troy bolts to his feet and shoves his way down the hallway. Shad is ninety-nine percent sure there were tears on Troy's cheeks, to top it all off.

Shad heads down the hallway toward the cafeteria, his failure in the earlier sparring match forgotten by not only himself, but all of the other trainees as well. After all, they know that Shad is king.

(Three Months Before the Reapings)

Well, he won again. It's been a long, long time since he lost, ever since he started really taking this stuff seriously. And ohoho does it feel good to win. He wins a lot, yeah, but that doesn't stop him getting a high every single time it happens. After all, it's just another reminder of Shad's place. He's on top, and it's his job to remind everyone as often as possible.

As the kid he was sparring goes off to the medics to get treated for whatever cuts or bruises Shad left on him, Shad himself heads over to the leaderboards. Whoever is at the top is usually chosen as the volunteer, and the second places are the reserves.

Shad compulsively checks the list. Every day, more than once, he goes to the leaderboard, just to make sure he's still on top. Not once in three and a half years has he been bumped from the top spot. If he ever were to be shoved from his well-deserved place on top, he would hunt down whoever took the glory from him and…well, he's not exactly sure what he'd do, but it wouldn't be good.

When he reaches the leaderboard, which sits just outside the main training center, he starts at the bottom and goes up. It's a secret fear of his to just walk up to the board one day and find himself in last place. Of course, then he'll have to find a way to shoulder his way back to the top. He is the best, after all. And anyone who says other wise can take his fist to their face.

His eyes dimly skim over each name, reading each daily placement without really processing it. He notices the names of his friends, Davy and Hurley, in the same place they usually are. Even three months before the Games, the placements generally don't move around much. He may as well already be the chosen volunteer. Honestly, it's unlikely that there is anyone in all of Court that doesn't know for certain that Shad is the volunteer, and has been for years now.

First, he checks the girls. Silvera Prowess is still in first place, and Nephrite de Sapphiro is still in second. Just like it was yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that…it hasn't changed for months. Those two have been locked in place for ages, and Shad doubts either of them will be moving anytime soon.

Still, he doesn't really mind going into the Games with Silvera. She's not…ideal, per say, but she's doable. He'd much rather go in with Silvera or Nephrite than Chalice Jamil, Raediance Vance, or Panem forbid Calista Abbey.

After he makes sure that Silvera and Nephrite are nestled safely in their top spots, he moves over to the boys.

He breathes out a breath he didn't know he was holding when he sees that he's still in first. Below him is Kyanite Alexandria, like normal. Shad isn't worried by Kyanite. He's beat him hundreds, maybe thousands of times in sparring matches. He knows that Kyanite is no competition for him, and could never hold his own in the Hunger Games.

Really, no one else in Court is any competition for Shad, and they all know it. He could best any of them any day, including both Nephrite and Silvera. That's why he's going to win the Hunger Games. No matter who goes into that arena with him will be no match for Shad Marcum.

Shad makes his way back into the main training center and catches sight of Troy sparring with Kyanite in the corner. Oh, this'll be good, he thinks as he makes his way over to them. He feels the eyes of the other trainees on him as he walks. It's another reminder of his place on top. But, for good measure, he glares at a pair of girls that were staring. He has to remind everyone, not only of his own place, but theirs as well. They can't have anyone around here getting a big head, now can they?

As he approaches Kyanite and Troy, he notices that the latter is shaking slightly. Just imagine how terrified Troy would be to spar with me!

Maybe someone else would admire Troy for fighting despite being afraid. But Shad doesn't admire anyone but himself, and Troy definitely is not worthy of anyone's admiration. It's a surprise to see him show up for breakfast every morning.

It only takes Kyanite a few moments to best Troy. Of course, Shad could have done it faster. He barely would have had to raise a finger in order to knock Troy down. The kid's practically a twig with legs.

Shad shakes his head as he watches Kyanite good-naturedly help Troy to his feet. Pathetic, he thinks. Troy doesn't deserve anyone's help. Especially not the guy in second fucking place in all of Court Academy. Kyanite sure needs to let go being a "nice guy".

You'd think that after so many years of training, Kyanite would have learned that. Shad sure has.

Darwin Abner, 15

"Stand up, push on, or face the assholes who knocked you down. If you don't, you'll always stay down."

(One Year before the Reapings)

Darwin has a…reputation, of sorts. Not as being the "bad boy" or the "heartbreaker" or the "popular kid". No, what people tend to think of Darwin Abner as is the "social-justice warrior". He's always there, always ready to stand up for what he believes in, no matter how many words he has to use, how many insults he has to dole out, no matter how many times he gets punched or sent to detention. He never backs down. He stands up for he believes him, no matter the situation. He is known as someone who will fight anyone under any circumstance if you insult him, his friends, his family, his grades, his friends' grades, his family's grades, his district, his house, his friends' houses…the list could go on. He'll fight anyone over anything, and you can bet he's going to get the last word in. He'll use so many words it'll make your head spin, because Darwin loves his words. He'll never falter, because he always knows what he is going to say, and you can bet it's not going to stroke your ego.

Of course, it leads to some…unforeseen complications. Basically, it leads to Darwin sitting in the principal's office with an ice-pack over his new black-eye, receiving yet another stern talking-to by Mr. Ott. He's just lucky that his glasses avoided being broken. His family doesn't have the money to pay for a new pair.

"Mr. Abner, I'm afraid that by this point, detention is doing nothing," Mr. Ott says, folding his hands in front of his chest. "And that means we're going to have to suspend you for two weeks. We'll call your parents to let them know—"

"Personally, sir, I don't think I should be suspended," Darwin says cordially. He can't deny that the prospect of getting suspended is slightly scary, but he powers on despite any of his worries. "First of all, I was only standing up for Nikola, whom, I might remind you, is an orphan. Second of all, I didn't throw the first punch. I didn't even throw any back. I believe that any argument that is started, whether it be my fault or my opponent's, can be resolved peacefully. The only reason any of us are in this mess is because Acer Stephenson can't keep his hands to himself and play nice. Granted, I was the one who confronted Mr. Stephenson and started the argument, but if he hadn't picked on Nikola, I would have had no reason to argue with him. Therefore, if anyone should be getting suspended, it should be Acer Stephenson, not me. I'll gladly take another detention period but I feel that suspending me is going a bit far. Honestly, I don't think I've done anything wrong. I'm the one in the room who was socked in the face, and all I did was stand up for one of my friends. I don't think that we should punish people for standing up for themselves and those around them, especially seeing as Mr. Stephenson is the one who is in the wrong here." Darwin crosses his arms and locks eyes with Mr. Ott. "So, in conclusion, I should not be suspended for standing up for what I believe in."

For a long moment, Mr. Ott is silent. At last he says, "While I acknowledge that Acer may have been the first to turn the argument physical, you are also in the wrong, Darwin. It would be much easier on everyone if you had simply told a teacher about Acer's teasing habits rather than taking matters into your own hands."

"I'm forced to take matters into my own hands because no one else will do anything. Teachers will see it happen, yet they'll still do absolutely nothing to stop it. I've even told my teachers before, and they continue to sit there on the sidelines and do nothing," Darwin says, fighting to keep his voice calm and level. That is one part of arguing that Darwin can really pride himself in; no matter how angry his opponent gets, Darwin will always remain calm, diplomatic and even. He will always have a comeback, no matter how angry he is.

"Be that as it may, you are still going to be suspended," Mr. Ott says.

Darwin clenches his fists underneath the table, taking extra care to make sure that his anger isn't visible to Mr. Ott. The last thing he needs is for the man to see just how furious this whole ordeal has made him…he chews on his lip for a few moments before he raises his head and says, "Sir, I understand that punishment is necessary—" No matter how little sense it makes. "—but I don't suppose there's any way to…shorten my sentence, is there? It will take me forever to catch up on all of that school work and—"

"Mr. Abner," Mr. Ott says sternly. "You made this bed, now lie in it. I can't "shorten your sentence", as you say. I understand it will take time and effort to catch up, but that is the point of suspension. It is, after all, a punishment."

"Sir," Darwin tries again, but Mr. Ott interrupts him.

"You're a good kid, Darwin," he says. "You've got a good head on your shoulders, if only you keep it on straight. I understand your frustrations, but you have to remember there are people who take care of these things for a job."

Darwin opens his mouth to protest, but Mr. Ott powers on over top of him. "What I'm trying to say is that you could go really far in life, Darwin, but only if you keep your tongue in check, your head down, and follow the rules."

"But sir—" Keep his tongue in check? Keep his head down? Follow the rules? Darwin follows the rules, he keeps his head down, until someone gives him a reason to lift it. He stays in check until he has plausible cause to start an argument!

And, Mr. Ott is kidding himself if he thinks Darwin can go anywhere with all of the blemishes on his record. No one wants to hire someone who continuously got into fights during school to supervise a factory or a science lab.

"You can go now, Darwin. I'll have someone notify your parents of your suspension."

Darwin leaves the school quickly. He can practically feel everyone's eyes burning into the back of his head as he walks through the halls. They're all talking about him, about his black eye, about Acer Stephenson punching him square in the face, about Darwin's words. He says so many words, doesn't he? Too many words? Probably too many words. That's why everyone is looking at him. He said too many words.

But Darwin likes words. He uses so many words because he has so much to say. He'll keep talking until the day he dies, no matter how many people he scares off with his words.

District 3 is stark and gray as he stumbles through the streets, unsure of where he's going. He can't go home, that's for certain. He can just imagine the looks on his parents' faces, the "I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed"s, the possible ensuing argument. It's not that Darwin doesn't like a good argument, but that's the kind of argument he can't win.

So he does the only thing he can think of: he heads for the house of his friend Mack.

When he arrives, he knocks on the door. Mack answers after a moment.

"Hey," Darwin says, staring at the ground and trying to hide the shame on his face. "Can I crash on your couch?"

"Sure," Mack says, waving Darwin inside. "So, what happened? Get in a fight with your parents?"

"Sort of," Darwin says noncommittally. "It's kind of a fight that…well, hasn't happened yet."

"Well, you're welcome to stay as long as you want," Mack says. "My parents are away for a while, so it's just me here."

"Great," Darwin says, standing in the middle of the living room, feeling like a ghost who shouldn't be here. "Thanks for letting me stay here."

"Yeah," Mack says, flopping down on the couch. After a moment of staring oddly at Darwin, he says, "Did something happen at school that I missed?" Mack hasn't been in school for years, after dropping out to work in the factories.

"…no," Darwin says after a few seconds. "Why do you ask?"

"You're not using as many words as usual," Mack says, shrugging.

"I'm just…worried," Darwin says, perching on the edge of the one of the armchairs.

"Okay," Mack says slowly. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"No," Darwin says immediately. That's not exactly his area of expertise. He's not the best with his emotions. "I'm good, really."

Honestly, he's extremely lucky to have Mack's house as a place to crash. It's always been an option if he needed it, but this is the first time he's ever had to cash it in. Besides, his parents will be pissed when he finally comes home. Maybe it would just be better to stay at Mack's indefinitely, Darwin thinks. It's strange to him that's for once, he's avoiding an argument.

A/N: I have returned with our second-to-last intro chapter! I'm sure you can guess who our final three are, but in case you can't, it's Geo, Mercury and Larch.

1. Thoughts on Ottilie?

2. Thoughts on Shad?

3. Thoughts on Darwin?

4. Which one of them is your favorite?

Also: shamelessly advertising a new partial SYOT I started called Live. Die. Repeat. Check it out. Or don't. Do whatever you want.

I'll see you for our last intro! Man am I excited to be almost done with these!

-Amanda