Warning: Minor swearing in this chapter. The characters called for it. I'll try to keep it to a minimum.

Fun Fact of the Chapter: When describing this tribute, the creator said, "Basically, read the TV Tropes page on Heroic Sociopath. That's pretty much Luka in a nutshell." Hence the Chapter title.

...

Luka Saroque, District One

"W-what?"

My trainer looks around confusedly and I press the knife closer to Ivan's neck. "Good morning, Ivan."

I hear him sigh and his defenses back down a little. Good. "Stop that, Luka. You know how frayed my nerves-"

"-get when I'm sleeping," I finish in unison with him, signature grin spreading across my face. "So am I volunteering this year or what?"

He blinks for a few moments before responding, rather hesitantly, "No. Of course not. Why would you think that?"

"Oh, gee. I wonder. Well, I have a knife to your throat." I roll my eyes.

"And..."

Honestly! How obvious do I have to make it to this guy?

"And," I sigh, "if you don't make sure I'm the only one who'll volunteer, I'll slit it open. Fairly standard procedure, actually. So there you have it. A death threat hanging over you. Somehow I think that your concern for your own self-preservation outweighs the consequences of me going to the Hunger Games, don't you?"

"What would you get out of it?" he snarls back, sitting up. "Killing me, I mean. You'd still be shut out by the older volunteers. There's a particularly vicious eighteen-year-old who's determined to get in this year, and I'm gonna let him. Besides, you'd be charged for murder and hung in the blink of an eye."

"Hanged," I correct with a smirk, knowing that's just the thing that would bug him the most. "And I'll already be halfway to the Capitol by the time they even find your body."

"Really? This is the first place they'll look for me. Especially with me being the mentor this year."

"I'll be sure to hide the body." I circle around him, adjusting the point of the knife to a slightly-more-threatening position. "And I have no qualms about possibly murdering my future mentor. It'll just be practice for when I'm actually in the games."

A shadow clouds over his eyes, and he shakes his head. "One in twenty-four," he finally says, quieter. "Maybe higher odds, if you're lucky. But still just the same, everything evens out. The Gamemakers like surprises, even if you give them a good show. It takes more than just strength to win the games, Luka."

Yeah, yeah, yeah. He's said some variant of that speech twice this week and countless times over the years. About how external factors can mean everything in the arena, and bring down the most ruthless of players. Whatever.

"In order to heed that advice, I'm gonna have to be in the Games," I say, nicking Ivan's skin and watching the small droplets of blood trickle down. "You've got five seconds."

He looks down, swallows, and his face immediately hardens. "When you're in the arena," he says slowly, "don't go annoying your allies like this, all right? 'Cause they're not gonna give in. They're gonna try and kill you back." He snaps forward, lunging for the knife handle. I skirt away, sprinting over to the sword rack in the corner of the room, throwing in a handspring for good measure. Within a few seconds, he's caught up to me, pulling out a knife of his own from a nearby pile. We duel for a minute or two before he kicks me over and snatches up my knife.

"Get the bloody hell out of here," he snaps, face without a minuscule drop of hilarity. "And I hope you get slaughtered in that arena."

I smirk and somersault back, mostly just showing off to irk him, and walk back to my house, which is nearby, to get ready for the reaping. The girls all make a big deal of whatever dress they're going to wear (and it's the end of the world if anybody wears the same one as them! Gasp!), but we boys basically just throw on whatever nice suit we have and make sure to look decent for the cameras.

My little brother Kiero rushes into my room and I actually stop thinking about the games long enough to hug him. "Hey, bro."

A grin spreads across his face. "Ready for the reaping?"

"Ready as I'll ever be." I don't tell him about the whole volunteering plan because a) I want it to be a delightful surprise, and b) he's not supposed to know that I sneak in extra hours at the training center. Or that I regularly threaten normally fierce Victors in order to do so. Or that my sanity is dubious at best.

Hey, people in the lower districts say you've gotta be insane to volunteer for the games. I just take it up to the next notch. Which works out pretty well for me, with my tendency to smile maniacally and my fondness for pointy objects.

"Let's go," I tell Kiero, and for the second time this morning I'm headed off to the training center building, this particular time knowing that I'll emerge victorious.

Once we get there, Kiero heads off to the twelve-year-olds class—none of whom are allowed to volunteer—and I join the other sixteen-year-olds, practice some more with my knives, and wait for Ivan to come in and announce that Luka Saroque would represent District One in the 191st Annual Hunger Games. Along with the accompanying half-hearted applause and occasional daring boos.

After that, we all head off to the reaping together—more district tradition, not that I care—and sign in. I head off to my age section, tune out the mayor's speeches, roll my eyes at our overly-loud escort, Nera Verona. She then pulls out the girl's name and I can hear several of the nearby girls groan.

It's the Raine girl, Emily, I think. Apparently there were orders from the Capitol that, if she or someone from that family were to be reaped, nobody was to interfere. Typical of them, really. Victors, the whole lot of them, and rebels too, if my suspicions are correct. Ivan rants about how pathetic they are a lot. I could care less.

I can see her confident facade crumble as she realizes that nobody is going to volunteer and save her skin. Good, she's unprepared. Lovely.

And then comes my moment.

"BATIK-"

"I, Luka Saroque, volunteer as a tribute." I stride over to the stage without being asked, head held high, and repeat what I've just said, louder.

"GREAT!" Nera shrieks. I widen my smile for the cameras, adding a little cock of my head which hopefully makes me look devilish. We go through all that post-reaping rah-rah treaty of treason shake-hands stuff, and then we're off to the Justice Building for final goodbyes.

My parents just kinda stand there likes sticks, occasionally muttering a, "you'll do great," or a, "don't forget to ally with the other Careers." Yeah, as if I'd forget that. Fortunately, Kiero has a lot more to say.

On the way over to the trains, I overhear Ivan swearing loudly at somebody nearby. Spark Raine, that stupid victor and one of my partner's relatives, seems to have been arguing with him. And winning, judging by the ferocity of Ivan's curse words.

"Oh, what the hell," says Kaety, the female scheduled to mentor for this year. "He can take my spot, 'kay? And you two can continue your stupid dueling war in the Capitol." She proudly tosses her thick red hair and sprints off, leaving Ivan and Spark glowering at each other.

Hm. So Spark's gonna try and mentor his niece or whatever. And, of course, I get the advantage of more training with Ivan, who knows me better than anyone else here.

As I board the train, something Kiero said sticks in my mind. "You'll come home, right?" he asked. "You'll win, and we'll get to live in the Victor's Village?"

I'd never really thought much about winning the games, more like making it interesting and creating chaos. But, now that I think about it, I have to get back to Kiero. Kiero, the clumsiest, most forgetful, most optimistic person on the planet, who thinks I'm the best brother ever and can do no wrong. I'd hate to prove him wrong by dying.

So I'll win, then.

And it'll be fun.