94th public training sessions ✨

In the center of the training center there was a table with a chessboard set up, just as I had requested.

I strutted towards the center of the room, positioning myself behind the chair that was facing the game makers up above. The clicking noise of my heels announced my presence as I held my head high with all the confidence in the world. The whole experience thus far has been one giant performance, a performance of terror and fear. Today would be the day I lay some of my cards on the table, show the game makers that strategy and games were my greatest weapon.

A deadly smile plastered onto my face and my eyes filled with fury and mania.

Games have been an essential part of my life since my first thought. In the store we were surrounded by them, creating our own custom ones. At night I played a game resembling battleship, outselling, outwitting and out terrorizing anyone that came in my way. A theatrical spectacle that kept me in my position.

Today would be a private performance and the warning bells have rung.

action.

"Ladies and Gentlemen", my eyes locked with each of the gamemakers for a little more than a second each. "District One usually produces the fiercest of careers, trained killing machines. I value a skill much more sophisticated than wielding a weapon. Strategy." I slowly pull the chair out and sit myself down slowly without ever letting my gaze down or my smile fade. My fingers ran themselves lightly over the edge of the table. "My mind is more deadly than any armament."

They might be sitting above staring down at me, but in this moment I was a performer on a stage. They were nothing else but spectators in the gallery. I called all the shots; in this very moment I was in charge. The posture I held demanded respect; in this exhibition I was the queen.

My fingers treaded lightly over the chess pieces, I was white, and the opposition was black.

"Back home in One, I often find myself gazing down on my subjects, just as you do now. I observe, I recognize threats and I ensure their elimination. My life is one big game of chess. Old habits die hard, my dears." I gently move my first pawn to d4.

"Making the first move in the arena will establish dominance. However, leaving your options open is a necessity. Never reveal your plans in your first move and always leave room to adjust. Observe how your opponents work and create a specialized plan of action from there. It is vital that you gain an understanding of how they think." my voice is silky smooth as I narrate my thought process of the game. It may appear that I am playing against myself, but my line of eye contact makes it clear that they are my real enemies in this scenario.

I turn the board slowly so that I am now playing black.

I respond by moving the queen’s pawn two spaces forward, face to face with white.

"Black accepts the queens gambit. Allowing myself to take control of the center. I hold the power now. If they were playing with strategy they would have declined, but in the heat of the games one has to assume that we all want to go home. Short-circuited reactions are to be awaited; we all just want to make it out alive."

I continue my game, explaining my thoughts. Each move is made quickly to prove that my mind can work at the speed of the computer, hardly ever glancing down at my board. I know what needs to be done to survive. Fingers moving quick and nimble until…

"…checkmate".

I stand up and push in the chair. My expression changes from a grinning devil to something from the depths of Tartarus. My smile gone and my eyes more intense than they have ever been.

"Game over. I win. I go home."



OOC: Basically Xaa just plays herself in chess and draws parallels to the games. Also disclaimer that I know nothing about chess, except for what I googled so if any of it is wrong then I apologise.

A spear? Out of the question.

A bow and arrow? My aim is shit.

Traps? Not flashy enough.

My conversation with my mentor did not go as planned. I was kind of counting on Nico to have some idea of what I could do for my private training session. He's seen people go through the gauntlet year after year, but each idea he offered is unusable. Fighting is not my strong suit and flashy things are more of Xaa and Will's fortes than mine.

The one thing I really know how to do which could be useful in an arena, stitch up wounds, is not something the gamemakers would really like to see. At least, that's what I was told.

Slumping back in my chair, I lean back and my legs stretch in front of me. They could have at least given us some padding on the plastic seats. My back is starting to hurt. Xaa and Luna went for their sessions hours ago, and as the time ticks by I can sense myself losing my composure more and more. Boredom is a powerful tool to drive someone insane. Elise, my social media marketer and my stylists' one true love, heads for her session. It's just the scary looking one from eleven, Will, and me left in the room now.

My escort is the one who offered the most valuable information. You don't necessarily have to be flashy to get an okay score, you just need to show them you can kill. Gritting my teeth, I roll through the set of ideas I came up with in my eternity in the waiting room. Someone told me that tributes like to drag avoxes into the training session so they can show the gamemakers their killing ability. I don't think I could bring myself to murder someone yet, but I know I can show the scorers that I know how to kill at least.

When my turn rolls around, I give Will a nod goodbye. I'll see her later tonight, probably when our scores are released.

The gamemakers look exhausted from a day of lazing about. I can give them something to make them think about, at least. Hopefully I can at least wake them up.

I gather my supplies. Rolling a whiteboard, a wicked knife, and a dummy hanging from a chord attached to its head in front of the gamemakers' booth, I take a deep breath. Grabbing a red marker from the whiteboard's base, I slide it across the white board, writing the words:

Murder 101
Thomas O'Quinn.

"Welcome to murder 101, class." I say, raising my voice so they can hear me. Staring up at them, I make eye contact with the scariest looking one. Mad Dog I heard someone call him. He's got a brutal look in his eyes, but I don't break my stare as I continue talking. "Now I know you all think you know a lot about killing, but do you know how it really works? Today, we're going to go over the vascular system."

With the marker, I draw over the dummy as I allow myself to look away from the gamemakers. Red lines etch their way through the plastic body.

"Now, the vascular system is one of the most important in our bodies. It's what carries blood through our veins. It keeps our brain, our lungs, our limbs, our heart, and practically everything else in our body working. Anything hurting the vascular system can really take a life."

I step back from my artwork. The dummy has veins snaking through its body. It wasn't perfect: I ignored the capillaries and less important vessels, but the necessities were all there. The marker gave life to the lifeless.

Before my parents let me deal with the severely-injured patients, they forced me to memorize one of our ancestral textbooks. The medical book, passed down from generation to generation in my family, has a detailed outline of the vascular system amidst its stained pages. It's what taught me when a patient could or couldn't be saved with our limited resources.

"Let's see then,"

I put down the marker and pick up the knife.

"There are multiple parts to the vascular system which, when injured, could kill someone in ninety seconds or less without proper treatment."

I make the first slash in the right arm, digging it deep. Fake blood spurts from it. splattering me in the face and soaking the marks I made.

"The brachial artery, for instance, is deep in the arm. When it's severed, though, unconsciousness will occur in 15 seconds and death will happen in 90. Interesting stuff, huh?"

I felt sick as I bent down and made a swift cut in the dummy's left leg.

"The femoral artery," I take a second to spit out some of the fake blood which sprayed into my mouth from the cut. They must keep it pressurized in there for dramatic effect. "When severed, can kill you in a few minutes."

"It's the same with the radial artery," I move back up to the arm and slice into the forearm before darting behind the dummy and slashing into it's deltoid, "Or even the cephalic vein." Walking back to the front of the dummy and digging into it's upper chest with another quick strike, I continue as the blood soaks into my uniform, "A cut to the outer pectoral can also sever the cephalic, but we're all about backstabbing here, right?" I try to force a smile through my queasiness, but I close it quickly as more faux blood drips from my lips and into my mouth.

"Fun fact, a cut to the pectoral can also limit muscular movement and prevent a tribute from using their arms."

The blood drips from the knife and puddle forms on the floor. How much liquid could they fit into a dummy?

"Then, of course, the one we're all familiar with, the jugular vein."

The knife slices across the dummy's throat, tearing through the plastic flesh.

I take a step back, looking at the bloody mess I've created. My shoes are soaked, and I realize the ones they give us for the training center must not be water proof. This is not going to be fun to wash off in a few minutes.

Turning back to the gamemakers, I put the knife next to the marker on the whiteboard's base.

"Any questions?" I ask the crowd, but just as I do, my timer goes off. Thankfully I won't need to answer any depraved questions about my murder scene. I leave the training room, a bloody trail in my wake.