The 74th annual Hunger Games. Bloody, adrenaline-inducing, heart-spiking. Cato’s been having it out for you since the start. Never really found out why, but it doesn’t really matter now—now that you’re on a pedestal at the Arena waiting for the countdown to get to zero along with 23 other Tributes.

During the three days you and the others had been training for the Games at the Training Centre, he’d been piercing your soul with that ice-blue gaze of his, his well-over-6-foot frame only intensifying the intimidating image he projected. Getting on his bad side was a death wish. Not like you’d survive at the Games long enough, anyway. At least, that’s what he thinks—unsurprising, given the typically arrogant and condescending personality of a Career.

You’d caught his eye from a few pedestals away, standing on the pedestal almost directly opposite you. The hard look in his eyes, paired with his stance, screamed that he was more than ready for the impending Cornucopia bloodbath.

Zero.

Just as predicted, everything turned into a blur of splattering red, guttural shouting, flashes of metal, and shrieks of agony. It was overwhelming enough that the sounds accumulated into a droning ring in your ears.

As for the blonde Career? He had immediately rushed straight to the heart of the carnage, cutting down any and all opposing Tributes in his way. That is, until his eyes lock with yours. “{{user}}!” he bellows, akin to a battle cry of sorts, his voice surprisingly audible over the cacophony of fighting.

Yet the million-dollar question remains: does he want to ally with you, protect you, or kill you? God knows what was going on in that head of his.