All seven of us are gathered into a compartment of the train with a large flat screen television hanging on the wall. I'm on the edge of the magenta couch, smushed up against the side by Cato. I try not to let on how much my side aches, knowing it will only fuel his already gargantuan ego. We're about to view the reapings from each district, and I can feel Cato's body vibrating rapidly, probably exhilarated to see his victims before he takes them off to slaughter. I hate how much I can relate, but the thought of how many of these people's lives are in my hands, how I can decide their fate, slightly excites me. It almost makes me feel as if I've already won. I push the dark thought deep down inside myself, for it reminds me to much of my father. There's no way that I would ever end up like him, a sadistic, cruel person who enjoys the torment of others. I would've shuddered if it wasn't for the fact that I'm in a room with three people who will eventually become my enemies in the arena. I can't show them any sign of weakness.

I jolt forward as the District 1 reaping begins. This one I'll have to pay attention to, for they will most likely become my allies, and will later become my competition. Unlike District 2, when District 1 tributes volunteer, it's not nearly as brutal. The claim for tribute simply goes to the first person that manages to yell it out.

The first female tribute is a small, beautiful girl with flaming red hair and sapphire-colored eyes. By her size, I judge her to be about fourteen years of age, which is a fairly young age for a volunteer, especially in Career standards. I wonder how long she'll last with the rest of us careers.

I can easily tell that the first male tribute is trained. He's tall, athletic, and has the typical cocky smile of a Career tribute. When his eyes meet the camera for a split second, I see something glint in his eye. Something dangerous, something... almost eerie. I make a note to watch out for him in the training center.

I almost laugh out loud at the sight of the second female tribute. She's your typical District 1 tribute. Tall and beautiful, shining blonde hair and sparkling emerald green eyes. She's almost too pretty, and I begin to question whether she will be of any use in the arena. I guess I'll just have to let whatever happens in the training center decide that.

The second male tribute didn't volunteer, and it's clearly shown on his face how weak he is. He's very young, and it may even be his first reaping. My guess is that he'll last a day, at the most, in the arena.

When our reaping's shown, I smile to myself. I don't look as weak or pathetic as I thought I was going to look. I look strong, confident, cocky. Exactly what everyone expects and wants from a District 2 tribute. I look victorious as I take my place on the stage.

I pay no attention to the rest of District 2, proud of myself, knowing that I had made some sort of impression so far. It wasn't amazing or anything, but it was at least a start.

I pay no attention to District 3's reaping either, knowing that District 3 will most likely be of no use to me.

District 4's reaping comes next, and I make sure to pay close attention. District 4 is another one of the Career districts, so I'll most likely end up in alliance with some of them.

The first female tribute is called, and there are no volunteers to take her place. She appears to be about my age, and the look on her face was shocked and appalled, rather than the usual triumphant expressions of Career tributes. She leaves her face blank and expressionless as she walks toward the stage, hundreds of eyes on her back.

The first male tribute volunteers. It's hard for me to tell whether he's been trained or not, but he definitely has the build of a career tribute. He's a bit of a "pretty boy", with sandy blonde hair and eyes the color of the sea.

The second female tribute also volunteers, but it is definitely clear that she is untrained. She sounds distressed and worried when she volunteers, and her light brown hair is a frantic mess as she climbs onto the stage. I can't help but notice the worried expression on the first male tribute's face.

The second male tribute is a young boy, around the age of twelve. He's shaking and nearly crying as he makes his way to the stage. I remind myself not to feel pity. Pity only gets you killed when it comes to the Hunger Games.

I barely pay attention to the rest of the Districts, until the second female of District 12 comes up. The courageous young girl, who seems to be around my age, volunteers as tribute, which is extremely odd and barely ever happens in District 12. She doesn't even look distressed as she walks up to the stage, she looks enlightened, triumphant. She reminds me of a Career. I make a note to consider this girl.

The screen goes black and Anais stands up from her seat beside Ajax. "Alright then, everyone, off to your compartments. Might as well get some rest before we arrive at the Capitol, shall we?"

Everyone slowly begins to file out of the room, leaving me and Cato. I try to get up, but I'm still smushed against the side of the couch by Cato's mountain of a body.

"Do you mind?" I manage to mutter, my tone disgruntled and annoyed. He gives me that stupid cocky grin of his and moves slightly to the right, and I'm able to squeeze myself out.

I head for the compartment door, but then turn around and ask him what I've been wondering ever since he'd chosen me. "What's your angle, Cato?"
He gives me an eerie, almost sadistic smile that almost frightens me. "What angle?" He gets up from the couch and I begin to tense up. I don't like the way he intimidates me, the way he makes me want to curl up in my bed. It's too much like my father.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." I say with as much strength and power as I can muster. "You could have picked Elaina, but you chose me. Why?" I cock my head to the side, letting him know that two can play at this game.

He shrugs slightly and begins to walk toward me slowly. I don't move, my feet planted firmly to the ground. "You got there first, didn't you?"

His reasoning makes sense, but something in those cold eyes of his makes me believe that there's still more to it than he's letting on. He takes a strand of hair hanging loosely in front of my face and tucks it behind my ear. The gesture seems caring, but it makes me shudder.

Although I'm not satisfied with his answer, I simply nod in response and turn away, stalking off towards my compartment. I can feel my heart beating rapidly in my chest, his cold eyes still vivid and real in my mind. He was too close to me, so close I could have sworn he could see right through me. The thought terrifies me and makes me wish that he'd never picked me.