define origin {cato}

    False hope is the mindless mutter Salazar spews at me. He speaks of the spirit of the the other Shims and comments on how close they've come, it annoys the hell out of me. Every moment someone even mentions one of their names my skin shudders not from fear, but from rage. I am not another Shim. My name is Atlas and that's all I care to be known by, however, that never seems to be the case. In the Training Center I'm always just the other Shim or the newest Shim. Shim this, Shim that, why can't anyone understand I don't give a shit about the Shim, I am not a Shim. Eventually the whole dynamic of the dreary discussion with Salazar forces me from my place at the table. I ignore his words as I whisk into the elevator and away from the constant mention of those who were noticed while I was not. This is my time, my story, not theirs'.

    Down in the depths of preparing for death only a few trainers have arrived this early in the day. For the first time I actually take an interest in training, might as well vent my annoyance in a semi-productive way. My fingers force themselves around the man-made metal of a spear and I tenderly toy with the foreign object. Back in five beneath the eternal soot from factory stacks weapons aside from guns were non-existent. In this city of glittering glass and endless enchantments, a wide variety of weapons seductively sings for any tribute's attention. I can't really explain my fascination to the elongated stick of steel but its nature intrigues me. I almost let out a startled screech when I let the tip slip and as it spins sparks fly from its contact with the floor. A sinister smirk enlightens my normally dull expression. 

    Swoosh. The spear slices the ground spurring more sparks now by my demanding actions. Certainly handling the spear in such a manor is poor for its condition but I'm positive this spear will never actually enter the Cornucopia. For a while my fascination with my flickering flames and stretching sparks keeps me from noticing the other tribute within the facility. Only after I decide to try an abstract attack of hurling sparks into a dummy's eyes then striking my "opponent" do I notice the looming Two nearby. Almost instinctively I think to avoid any contact with a person as capable of killing as a Hammerfell, but my less bright brain seems to over power such drives. Why not see what this Hammerfell is like, perhaps he shares a common discontent for his ancestors as I do. 

    "Hey. You're down here early. I wouldn't think a Hammerfell would even need to train."