Amazon Stonn, District Two (18)
Nothing is free in life. Everything you have you take. You fight for what you want and if you're strong you get it. If you're weak, there's no place for you in Two.
I didn't need school. Books and art are useless ornaments. I left them for the weaklings in Three. All that mattered was the Academy. The Academy taught us what we needed to know and made us who we needed to be. I took my place in formation and the morning drills began.
"Who are we?!" the drill instructor shouted down at us from his platform.
"We are District Two!" a hundred voices shouted in unison. They resounded together and made us one solid force.
"Why are we here?" he yelled. His voice was high and thin from years of shouting. It was like a ragged, bloody whistle.
"To fight!" we responded.
"Why do we fight?" the instructor yelled.
"To kill!" we answered.
"What do we do?" the instructor yelled.
"We kill!" we shouted. Over and over we repeated it. I felt my blood boiling as our voices rose to a fever pitch. My muscles ached to break out and tear something apart. The instructor silenced us by holding up a single arm.
"At attention!" he commanded. A hundred arms raised in the air, waiting for his command.
"Reach out and touch someone!" he shouted. We all sucked in a breath and launched our fists forward, stopping inches behind the student in front of us. We all released our breath as we did, channeling the exhaled air into power and fury. We practiced our strikes and our dodges until the instructor released us to the track. We marched to the lanes in perfect formation, and the instructor ran ahead of us as he kept us in time.
"Up every morning with the rising sun!" he blared in a rhythmic chant. We repeated the lines back at him and the ground shook as our feet drummed on the ground.
"Gonna fight all day till the day is done!" he continued. Marching was one of my favorite parts of training. I loved the precision and the staggering unity of it all. It always showed me how Two could have so many Victors.
"Kill them, maim them, cut them through!" the instructor continued. We picked up the pace and anticipated the final line.
"Bring it home for District Two!" we echoed. We sprinted through the last line and halted at the final note. As much as I loved marching, I couldn't wait to begin the close combat training. Every day we learned something new, and every day I was stronger.
We paired off and I knelt in front of my partner. We were learning blood chokes. The instructor told us they were much faster, more damaging, and more reliable than oxygen chokes. Then he jabbed a finger at us and snarled.
"Remember, when you feel it working, tap out. I do not want one of you worms to faint like a little baby. If you forget to tap, I will personally drag your unconscious carcass around the room in front of everyone!" he said. I felt humiliated just thinking about it, and I made an extra note to tap. I mentally begged my fellow students to obey as well. I'd be embarrassed just watching someone else go through that.
My partner, a hulking boy with a beard, hooked his arm around my neck and adjusted it to the spot the instructor indicated. I felt my artery pulsing against his arm as he slowly tightened his grip. It was like a snake constricting around me and I started to feel the effects. My head seemed to grow warmer and pressure built behind my eyes. I started to see stars and tapped my partner's arm. He let go immediately and I tipped forward like I'd nodded off. My head jerked back and I caught myself against the ground. I hauled myself up and we switched places. I wondered how long it would take and was thrilled when my partner tapped out after only a few seconds.
Nothing was better than training. I felt in my bones that I was doing what I was meant to do. I was contributing to my District and making a difference. Everything I needed was right there. For the glory, for the power, for the honor, I would always fight.
Bragging alert: This one came right from my weekend with the Marines. I loved the marching, and I just changed a few words from our actual chant. That's also my exact experience with learning to choke a guy, right down to my drill instructor's threat. I really did almost faint, which was actually a rush. Looking back, Marines are hardcore. This is what they must look like to their enemies.