I need to watch things die from a distance

Vicariously I live while the whole world dies

You all need it too don't lie

-Vicarious TOOL

The Victor Memoirs

1-Cato Arsinius

The one-hundredth anniversary of the hunger games. Once upon a time I would've thought of this as a glorious occasion. Sure, there are many things that could be considered great about the games. The struggle between one tribute and another, the fight against the environment, and even the battle against the gamemakers themselves.

The one thing I never realized though, the one thing that no tribute, no matter who they are or where they come from, realizes was that the biggest battle is against yourself. The constant war of consciousness against animalistic survival is one that breaks most tributes.

I didn't realize just how damaging that war would be, and I fought it twice.

To this day, I am not sure which side won. Some days I find myself reflecting back on my time in the arena with regret and even anger. On others, I recall the conflict with pleasure. If there's one thing the games do, it's make life simpler. It's kill or be killed, and that's that.

All the killing though, the constant battle, it takes its toll on all of us who survive.

I remember, before I volunteered, my eagerness to fight in the games. It was an unquenchable unwavering desire. I had to prove myself to everyone.

I've always had a competitive streak, a need to win at whatever I do. To this day, I have that need.

That was what made me pursue success in the games so relentlessly. I had to win, to show everyone that I was the best.

I worked my ass off. Hour after hour, week after week, day after day, I trained. My new normal became the blood and sweat invested at the career academy. I didn't care about anything else except victory.

After years of training, the opportunity came. I was selected as the chosen representative of District 2. I was the best of the best. Nobody in the district could beat me.

I seized that opportunity with gusto, walking up on the stage like a peacock waving its tail feathers. I proclaimed my intent to earn victory loudly and clearly, with no hesitation.

Twenty-five days later, I earned that victory. The change that occurred in me over just Twenty-five days was incredible.

When I returned, I was no longer a brash, arrogant boy. I was a broken man who had seen more than his fair share of pain.

I didn't show it. No victor does. We all have our scars. The physical ones are left out in the open for the world to see the struggle we endured, but the mental ones are buried deep within us, never to see the light of day.

As I toured Panam, visiting each district, I became convinced that there was something wrong with the way I felt. Why was I suffering? I was a victor. I had achieved everything I ever wanted. Yet there was an emptiness inside me, something I couldn't quite define.

After months of suffering in silence, an opportunity knocked. It was the third quarter quell, the seventy-fifth hunger games. Each quarter quell has some special rules that fundamentally alter the games. In the seventy-fifth games, it was decided that only victors would compete.

That meant that not only would there only be twenty-three tributes, as District 12 only had one victor alive, but that the winner of the seventy-fifth games would be indisputably the greatest tribute in the history of the hunger games. That title was enticing.

For me, it was a chance to fix myself. I was broken and unsatisfied, but now, I could claim the ultimate victory. No longer would I or anyone else doubt me. I would be the greatest tribute ever, no matter the cost.

In the end, I was chosen for the second time in two years to compete in the hunger games.

These games were shorter, probably due to the skill of each tribute, but after fourteen days in the arena, I was once again the victor.

Afterwards, I was referred to by personalities around the Capitol as the greatest tribute to ever live. I was unquestionably the greatest of all time. I was the only two-time victor in history. I had eleven total kills to my name. I'd survived a total of thirty-two days in an arena designed to kill you at any moment. Yet, I still found that hole inside me.

It was only after the festivities, the parades, and the tours were concluded that I realized where this emptiness and pain was coming from.

I was laying on my bed in the victor's village. Though my family was close to me and I had achieved everything I had ever wanted in my life, I felt purposeless.

I looked back on my time in each arena, remembering the face of each tribute I killed. I tried repeatedly to tell myself that it didn't matter. My actions weren't going to make me weak. I did what I had to. Then it hit me, I chose to do what I did.

At every stage in my life, I chose victory in the hunger games. As a child I didn't play with my friends, I learned how to swordfight. In middle school, I didn't fawn over photos of naked women, I got my ass kicked repeatedly by older kids in my quest to get better. In high school, I didn't rebel against my parents, I spent my time in a sweat box honing my killer instinct. In the games themselves, I chose not to make friends, not to attach myself to anyone, making it easier to kill them later.

It was only then, twenty-four years ago, as a twenty-year old, that I realized my mistake. I had given up my life and the chance at real meaning, all in the pursuit of some foolish wish to earn recognition as "The Greatest".

I earned the recognition I wanted, but I had lost something maybe even more important: the chance at a real life.

Still, to this day, I find myself sitting in the back corner of restaurants, keeping an eye on each exit like my life might depend on it. I search for signs of deceit in every conversation I have. I didn't trust my own family anymore.

I had lost the capacity for joy, enthusiasm, and even love. And I was only twenty years old.

My relentless pursuit of greatness had cost me everything.

The most important lesson I learned was that everything has its price. It's said that "There ain't no such thing as a free lunch." I didn't fully comprehend just how true that statement was until that night lying alone on my bed.

I've mentored many tributes since then, some won, most lost. All the while I find myself thinking, "Why?"

"Why does the Capitol do this?" "Why do the tributes do this to themselves?"

Life isn't fair obviously, but there's a difference between unfairness and flat-out tyranny. What had previously been indifference towards the capitol quickly became resentment.

After travelling to the Capitol multiple times, I grew to hate the people there. Most of them didn't care about anything but their fucking clothes or what brand of wine they were drinking. Some of them were hard working and honest, but those people were few and far between.

My problem wasn't with their success, it was with the disingenuous way they behaved. Most of them were nothing more than power hungry politicians, only out for themselves.

Ninety-nine years and two thousand three hundred and one dead tributes, all to show just how powerful they are. Soon it will be two thousand three hundred and twenty-four dead tributes, and who knows how many affected family members, friends, and other loved ones.

That's why after all these years I still haven't taken up the position of head trainer at the District 2 academy. I've been asked multiple times, but I can't accept the offer. I can't lead anymore kids to their deaths.

Inevitably, a young and ambitious tribute approaches me every year, asking for advice. They want to know secret techniques to survive the games, how to kill tributes, and when they should leave the career pack. I don't answer their questions. I always provide the same bit of advice.

"Don't volunteer."

Hello all! Welcome to my first SYOT! This should be one hell of a ride.

Sorry this first chapter was a bit short, but things should get longer as the story picks up.

In this world, Cato was the victor of seventy-fourth hunger games and seventy-fifth hunger games. In between chapters of the main story my plan is to fill them with excerpts from an imaginary book called The Victor Memoirs, which was compiled by most of the living victors just before the one-hundredth hunger games. It was received with tremendous backlash from the Capitol and immediately banned. The authors were harshly reprimanded, but not executed.

Anyway, to the actual rules of submitting tributes.

1: Please submit by PM. I want to sort through tributes on my own without anyone else being able to see.

2: You can submit as many tributes as you want. I'll let you know if I am not taking your tribute. Also, I will not limit the number of tributes you can have in the games.

3: I will pick the tributes I like, not the first ones submitted. As I said though, submit as many times as you want.

4: I'd appreciate some submissions as bloodbaths, though this isn't necessary. I can just decide which ones to make bloodbaths, but that could be potentially more difficult.

5: Please follow the template I provide.

Template:

Name:
Age:
Gender:
Sexuality:
District:

Face Claim:
Appearance (Any edits to the face claim?):
Personality:
MBTI:
History:
Strengths (No more than 4):
Weaknesses (No less than 3):
Weapon of choice:
Other weapons:
Family (Include significant others):
Friends:
Special Skills (These are things that they do well that might make them stand out from the other tributes):
Alliances?:
Open to Romance in Games?:
Volunteer/Chosen?:
Reaction to reaping:
Token:
Chariot Outfit (I will probably use these since I'm shit at outfits):
Interview Outfit:
Interview Angle (i.e. aloof, flirty, dangerous, mysterious, etc.) :
Reaping Outfit:
Training room strategy:
What skill did they show to gamemakers?:
Score estimate(10-8 for careers. 7-8 for strong outer districts. 4-6 for average outer districts. 4 for rare cases.):
Interview Quote:
Victor material?:
Creative Liberties? (Is it okay if I change some things about your tribute to fit him or her into the story better? Things like district, age, weapons. Nothing major like personality.):
Other (Anything else you want to add?):

So, there it is. Send your tributes!