Archibald Cognum D3 {fin}

Name: Archibald Cognum

Age: 18

Gender: M

District: 3


Perfection.

Perfection.

Perfection.

That is all that mattered.

Not in looks necessarily, at least not for Archibald Cognum. He accepted early on that he’d never be the most physical guy around, neither the strongest nor the best looking. He was pretty lanky, and he didn’t have too much muscle on him, probably because he spent his days focusing almost exclusively on electricity and machinery. His features were pretty angular, but he didn’t put too much effort into his appearance, so his hair constantly lay like a mop on his head. He hated when he grew it out too long, for then a strand or two would hover above his deep brown eyes, and he wouldn’t be able to focus as much on the work he was doing.


No, all that mattered was perfection in knowledge and skills. Archibald had spent his whole life working to be perfect in every subject taught in school, making himself a useful member of society. Those who did not follow the same mentality served no purpose in District 3, or Panem in general. They had nobody to blame but themselves for any suffering they endured as a result. For people like that, who did not dedicate themselves to perfection, Archibald had nothing but disdain. Maybe that’s why Archibald had never had any his friends. He couldn’t possibly grow close to anyone he didn’t respect, and nobody could gain his respect unless they bested him intellectually. That had never happened, and it never would. That one time, when he was but a child, certainly didn’t count. If anything, that had shaped his mentality. The burn of being embarrassed was the worst thing he had ever felt, so he had become determined to stop himself from ever feeling it again, by becoming the best. Besides, the girl who had shown her superiority was no longer among the living, a terrible accident involving a loose wire in her house that had set the place ablaze, so for all intents and purposes, Archibald had always been and would always be the best.


Unlike his brother. How could they possibly be related? His parents were like Archibald, driven by success and perfection. Both were executive heads in District 3’s technology firms. His dad led the military division, and so Archibald was quite familiar with the tools the Peacekeepers used to secure order. His mother was head of the electrical department, responsible for all of the computer mechanisms in Panem. His little brother, Bartholemew, was nothing like them. Bart, as he preferred to be called, was inherently intelligent. He could have shown so much potential, but he had no drive, a quality Archibald despised. Whenever he saw his brother come back from a drug-filled day instead of spending an afternoon developing his skills, Archibald wanted to smack him. Even calling his brother “Bart” filled him with anger. His parents were as perfect as he, Archibald, was. The names they had granted his brother and him were powerful, names that belonged someone destined for greatness. As such, Archibald hated whenever someone tried to call him anything else, especially “Archie”. It sounded so powerless, a name befitting a street urchin, not someone like him. And yet Bart refused to answer to his full name, insistent on being just another commoner. Archibald, like his parents, could not and would not understand.


Whereas Bart lived his life freely, every move Archibald made was cold and calculated. Life was just one big equation that needed to be solved, and everyone’s worth was determined by the variables in their lives. Archibald was born with some constants decided. His parents’ positions in the district had certainly given him a boost. His intelligence was great enough that he must have been gifted at birth. He had inherited with a keen eye for detail. His goal, though, was to increase the value of the rest of his factors and improve the skills he had an inclination for. Every decision was made thoughtfully, and once he committed to a course of action Archibald would not stop until he had attained his goal, or until he had mastered a skill to perfection.


All of Archibald’s work had been worth it, fueling his mentality. He was at the top of his class, ready to take on one of the best positions available to him in a few months, working under his father in the military division, particularly with remotely-controlled weapons. His job, as it had been the past two summers, would be to take old, crude tools, such as swords and knives, and embed them with modern technology, giving the Capitol the tools it needed to arm its Peacekeepers with weapons for close combat. Over the next few years, he would rise up through the years and eventually succeed his father at the head. Until then, though, Archibald would continue perfecting himself.