All around me, the training arena was drenched in chaos. The rank scent of sweaty bodies mixed with the chemically, hospital-like sterilizer smell still lingering from the pristine white walls, giving the impression that the supervisors here were quite used to cleaning up the mess from countless tributes, long since dead. Scattered across the arena, dozens of people were either locked in combat, or listening intently to instructors at their various stations. As my gaze swept over the pandemonium, I felt the iron cross resting under my shirt stutter, as my heart rate sped up a bit.

High above, in the rafters, I spotted a lanky teenaged girl, clad in faded Greek armor, crouched in the center of her own billowing mini-hurricane, trading blows with an unhealthily pale guy, dressed in all black, hovering in mid-air effortlessly. Over in the corner came sharp flashes of light, as a staggered column of witches and wizards slashed out at each other with their wands, flicking off jinxes and counter-wards like gunslingers of old. Towards the center of the arena, a few massive, oversized wolves wrestled with each other, biting and clawing at exposed necks and stomachs until eventually, one perched atop the other, triumphant. And there, over by the sword racks, a pair of teens was hammering down on a willowy girl with machine-like coordination. She parried and blocked as best she could with a long, narrow knife, but the two were slowly driving her back.

I growled under my breath, picked up a training spear from a rack, slipped my way through the dueling partners, and dodged an “accidental” swipe from one of the werewolves. Call me old-fashioned, but I hate bullies, particularly when women are the victims. Suddenly, a crack of electricity sparked ahead, sending the third swordswoman hurtling back, crashing into me, and we fell into a tangle of limbs and weapons. I staggered to my feet, and offered her my hand, but she swatted it aside, and glared up at me with ice blue eyes.

“Back off, mortal. You don’t know what you’re dealing with here,” she snarled, fumbling for her blade. Despite the circumstances, I smirked.

“You would not believe how many times I’ve been told that, little one,” I said, as I turned to face her attackers. “And you wouldn’t believe either how many times I proved to be contrary to that.” Before me stood two teens, clutching wicked-looking blades. One was tall and muscular, his sweaty pale skin glistening underneath the arena’s lights. The other was slightly shorter, with shaggy dark hair, muddy brown eyes, and a permanent scowl plastered across his face. And both were glaring at me.

“Stand aside, skinny boy,” the sweaty one snapped. “A mere human doesn’t belong in magical affairs.” My smirk grew into a wicked grin, and I stood my ground.

“Don’t you know mate?” I asked, casually shifting my grip on the training spear. They shook their heads hesitantly, confused, yet still keeping an eye on me. Perfect. “You see, lads, you two forgot-” I began, before I swung my spear, scything the legs out from under Sweat-boy. The second attacker, Shag-rug, hesitated, just distracted enough for Knife-girl to leap back into action, hacking away with a renewed vigor, pushing him back. Just as Sweat-boy tried to push himself back up, I pressed my foot down on his chest, and leveled the spearhead at his throat for good measure. “Never mess with a gentleman,” I finished. “They’ll whup you, and be nice about it.”

I stood upright, pulled my spear away from him, and offered him a hand up. He hesitated a moment, before accepting my hand. I looked over, and saw that Knife-girl had her target pinned to the ground, her notched blade at his throat.

“Oi, lass, I think that your Mop there has learned his lesson,” I said, smiling. She glanced up at me, smirked, and shoved her target back down, before getting to her feet, and delicately stepped over him.

 “You did a good job there,” she said, with a hint of mischief and disbelief in her eyes. “For a human.” I snorted, and shouldered my spear, like a walking stick.

“For a half-blood, you aren’t too good at picking your fights,” I retorted, stepping closer. “So I figured you could use some help. Besides, it’s the way I was taught.” In my peripheral vision, I could tell that there were a few who had stopped in their training to watch the scuffle, particularly a tall, tanned girl with wild dark hair and gleaming green eyes.

  “What’s your name?” Knife-girl asked, as she tucked her blade back into her belt.

“M’name’s Will, miss,” I said, eyeing her knife carefully. “And yours?” She contemplated this question for a moment, before nodding.

“Cate,” she said hesitantly. “But don’t you go quoting Taming of the Shrew or anything.” At that moment, a handful of juicy lines presented themselves in my mind, but I resisted the urge.

 “A pleasure, Cate. Now, would you want to pair up with me? We’d make a deadly team, you and I.” A gentle, almost teasing smile crept across her face.

 “Perhaps. Just perhaps. But thank you,” Cate said at last, before slinking back into the chaos of the training arena. I smiled after her, and brought my spear back down, as a walking stick. Perhaps things are looking up after all.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Hours later, the time had finally come. There were about 20 of us remaining in the narrow, cramped waiting hall, twiddling our thumbs while waiting for our chance to show the Game-maker what we could do. The tributes from Districts one and two had already gone through. My District companion blast, I’ve already forgotten her name had gone in there half an hour back, and soon, it would be my own turn.

 Eventually, the sliding door hissed open with a whisper, and my fellow District 3’er, a short, petite little 12 year old with luxurious long black hair, shuffled out with a look of horror plastered across her face. I wanted to reach out and comfort her, but she looked like she was far from being in the mood for consoling from a mere human.

“William MacGordon,” a pleasantly synthetic, feminine voice simpered over the loudspeaker. I shrugged, and got to my feet hesitantly. Whether I would live or die would be determined in this room.Remember son, my father’s words echoed in my mind, first impressions are everything. Be polite, be charming, but above all else, be watchful. In spite of what the Capitol demands of you, stay true to the code, and the Author will see you through. I smiled at this thought, and stepped through the doorway.Inside, the cavernous demonstration room stretched high above, bars of halogen lighting up the cold cement floor. To my left, four human-sized targets stood in a haphazard row, with a few hacks and indentations taken out of the vital areas. To my right, various weapons of different types and designs were hung up on racks, or otherwise rested on smooth steel tables. Farther in the shadows, a long sleek table stretched out parallel to the targets, with maybe a dozen fancily dressed men and women, their exotic clothes and hairstyles mildly unsettling in the flickering overhead lights. One in particular stood out from the rest- she was short, but not unbearably so, dressed in an elegant silver dress, with her sleek brown hair fanning out behind her like an oversized peacock’s tail. In spite of this illustrious display, I could tell she was the one to keep an eye on.

I carefully stepped forward, and bowed low before them, keeping my eyes locked on the silver peacock-lady.

“William MacGordon, District Three,” I intoned, before straightening up, and surveyed the weapons racks carefully. A long, iron-shafted javelin stood out between a broad-headed tribal spear and a 7-foot pilum. Over on the table, a short, leaf-shaped bronze blade seemed to glow gently under the overhead lighting, its hilt wrapped in weathered, sweat-stained leather. Next to it, a heavy-looking mace rested on two of its prongs, its iron head darkened with oxidation. A crazy plan flickered through my mind, as I considered these three factors. Four, I corrected myself.

I looked up, and caught peacock-lady’s gaze. I thought I saw a faint flicker around her lips, but before I knew it, it was gone. I broke eye contact, and turned my attention back to the weapons. After a moment of hesitation, I snatched up the spear from the rack, and belted on the sword around my belt. I hefted up the mace, and placed it on the floor gently, before I hefted the table on its side, sending the other blades scattering with an unbearable clatter. With that, I snatched up the table by its central support beam, like a shield, and stepped forward towards the training targets.

All thoughts flushed from my mind, as my father’s training took over. I reversed my grip on the javelin, took a step back, and took aim briefly, before sending it hurtling at the right-most target. I didn’t even stop to see if it had struck before I scooped up the mace, and thundered towards the remaining targets. I slashed out at the next in line, feeling the crunch of its plastic frame crumpling beneath the mass of the mace, before I swung my shield at head-level of the following target, sending it toppling to the floor. I followed through with the mace, crunching down on its vital regions, before slashing out at the final target, sending it toppling to the floor. I unsheathed my sword, and ran the final target through.

I got to my feet shakily, letting my makeshift shield fall with an echoing clatter, as I surveyed the damage I’d done. The javelin had fallen a bit farther than I had planned, but it still was sticking out both ends, around the abdomen region. The second and third targets consequently had large craters indented into their heads, and one of them had a large crushed slash where the shield slashed against the third target’s throat. The final target, however, simply had a clean stab wound through its chest. I looked back at the game-maker’s table, to find that all of them had stood to their feet, staring at the destruction I had wreaked on the dummies.

  “Sorry about the mess,” I shrugged, and walked out. As the door hissed shut behind me, I leaned against it, and in spite of the circumstances, grinned. I will survive.