The Galactic Games

Name: Kasumi Harada

District: 2 (1 or 4 also works)

Gender: Female

Age: 17

Personality: Kasumi is an honorable and kind person, and although a highly skilled Career with deadly abilities, she does not enjoy or even wish to fight. Though she is kind and a little meek, she is not afraid to speak her mind and is quite intelligent. Unlike majority of Careers, she does not pine for the carnage and bloodshed that the Games offer, and and does not want to give the other tributes painful deaths, preferring to kill them quickly. Kasumi has been taught to believe that it is a great honor to compete in the Hunger Games and that one must be respectful and honourable whilst competing, thus she harbours a great disliking for people who desire to kill just for the sake of killing. Despite this, she'd still rather refrain from fighting or killing at all, though she knows this to be impossible in the Games.

Backstory: Kasumi was born in District 2, the child of Daisuke and Alexis Harada. Her family was a very traditional and strict household, with her parents requiring for her to be the perfect embodiment of both a respectable lady and a skilled fighter. While she was taught the most ladylike pursuits since she was very little, her weaponry training did not start until she reached the age of ten. The Harada family had a long and esteemed relationship with the Hunger Games, and Kasumi was expected to volunteer for and win the Games.

This was by no stretch of the imagination an easy task, and Kasumi ofen struggled with learning the basics she was taught, floundering the simplest of skills. Her Father often led the training himself, refusing to send her off to the Career Academy when she could gain more skills at home. He also believed that the Academy had long ago forgotten the true meaning of the Games--to bring glory to one's family and District--and that their tactics were too bloodthirsty and cruel. He passed these beliefs off to Kasumi, and she accepted them as truth, for everything her Father said was true. Along with this, her father instilled a hard respect for honor and responsibility

Kasumi's training regiments were hard and often times brutal, sometimes lasting the entirety of a day. Sparring sessions would not end until she had disarmed and incapacitated her opponent, no matter how many wounds she received in the effort. Kasumi was encouraged to continue training with vigor, lest she fail and bring shame and eternal embarrassment to her family. Encouraged by both her parents and the servants they employed, Kasumi continued with her training, though she secretly despised the fact that she was destined for the Games. She thought that, while they were a great source of pride and glory for the winning District, they were not something she'd enjoy. Kasumi did not like fighting, and absolutely despised the idea of killing. Yet, she knew that her opinions meant little. While her parents loved her with all their hearts, they also hoped for her to represent the Harada family name in the Hunger Games and bring the honor that came with it, something that was even more important to them. Accepting this for what it was, Kasumi devoted herself wholly to the training.

As the years passed, Kasumi gradually began to excel at the skills she was taught, becoming an expert with each weapon she was shown. Despite being hardened from the years of training, Kasumi did not change her opinion on the Games, yet it did not matter. When she turned seventeen, her parents insisted that she volunteer a year early, a precaution in case someone else were to volunteer ahead of her. No one did, and Kasumi wound up entering the Hunger Games as District 2's female tribute.

Height: 5'3

Appearance: Kasumi is a slender, physically-fit and slightly petite teenage girl. She has copper hair, often tied in two braids, oval brown eyes and tanned skin.

Weapons: Katana, Bow & Arrows. A very traditional weapon, Kasumi's skill with a katana has been passed down from her family from generation to generation. Her Father ensured that she would learn the proper techniques, and she has grown to be highly skilled with the weapon. Her secondary weapon would be a Bow, something that gives her a ranged advantage. The type she was taught to master was a composite bow, and while she is an expert with one, other types may throw her through a loop.

Strengths: Kasumi is highly skilled in the art of Hand-to-Hand combat, something that she was taught by her father. She knows how to use an attackers strength against them, and how to disarm even the largest of opponents while using minimal strength. Being both smaller and lighter then most other tributes, Kasumi can easily be overpowered if she let's her guard down, which is why she's so agile and fast. Her Speed is remarkably high, stemming from the knowledge that one cannot defeat their opponent if they cannot catch them.

Weaknesses: By far Kasumi's biggest weakness is the fact that she is so much smaller then majority of the other tributes. A single hit from a larger, stronger tribute could quite easily incapacitate her. Another weakness is the fact that, despite being a Career, she does not wish to kill anyone. Yes, she will kill if her life is threatened, but the thought of killing a young, innocent tribute is abhorrent to her.

Fear(s): Kasumi is frightened by the knowledge that if she does not win her Games, she will bring eternal shame and dishonor to her family. This scares her more then anything else she can think of. For her, losing is not an option.

Token: A small, golden locket attached to a simple black chain. It's side is engraved with the Harada family crest.

Alliance: The Careers.

Name: Kelci Tecida

District: 8 (5 or 6 would work just as well)

Gender: Female

Age: 16

Personality: Kelci is very headstrong and self-reliant, tending to count on herself and is good at working alone, although she does work well with others when she must. She holds great hatred and contempt towards the Capitol and all it's supporters.

She has long since grown contemptuous of the richer citizens of the District, thinking that they are weak, narrow minded and constant suck-ups to the Capitol. They believe that the Capitol is wonderful, though Kelci knows that they are hopelessly corrupt, power hungry and selfish. Kelci has long since believed the words of her elder brother, Tasher, that no one can be trusted and that doing so would only lead to your death. This lesson was further engrained in her head when Tasher betrayed her and left her to fend for herself.

She's a rebel at heart, and whenever someone tells her to do something, she'll often do the exact opposite, just to spite them. The exception being with Tasher, her current boss, or when the situation clearly benefits her.

Backstory: Kelci was born to a very poor and mentally ill woman by the name of Weaver Tecida, whom already had another child by the name of Tasher. An unwanted mistake, Weaver did not endeavour to take very good care of her child, often neglecting them both as they travelled the streets. Kelci never knew her father, and neither her Mother or Tasher would ever speak about him.

Tasher was seven years older than Kelci, and growing up she looked up to him, despite the fact that he was not a very good person. He cared for little beyond his own well-being, always ensuring that he had enough to eat, but never caring if his mother or Kelci did. Despite this, Kelci found him to be the only person whom she cared for--and more importantly--the only person in her life who wasn't completely self-destructive, as gradually their mother became more and more erratic, until one day she attacked a Peacekeeper and was shot to death. Tasher grabbed Kelci, who was only eleven years old at the time and would be sent to an orphanage if captured, and fled the scene.

Kelci and Tasher avoided attention by living in the seedy underworld of District 8, rarely spending more than a year in one place. They traveled the streets by themselves, typically joining up with thieving crews and pulling heists. Tasher beat Kelci if she wasn't quiet and unobtrusive, or if she did anything to jeopardize their survival. He taught her to be suspicious—even paranoid—and to do whatever was necessary to survive. Because of this treatment, she became emotionally aloof and holds an astoundingly low sense of self-worth.

Tasher repeatedly told Kelci that no one could be trusted and that everyone would leave and betray her if given the chance, even going as far as to tell her that one day he too would leave her.

Tasher made good on his word, disappearing when Kelci was around fifteen years old, leaving her with a thief master and his crew. Her wages were docked and she was put into dangerous situations frequently because of her brother's substantial debt to the gang. They kept her alive, however, because she was a skilled thief, and those were in short supply.

When she turned sixteen, a full year after Tasher's disappearance, she and the gang were planning another heist, this time a bigger and more prominent job then they ever done before. However, the day the the job was meant to happen, something happened that made sure Kelci would never take part in it.

She was Reaped.

Height: 5'5

Appearance: Kelci has long, wavy, strawberry blonde hair that goes down to her shoulders, though she often keeps it tied up high and out of the way. She has a pair of dark brown eyes, both of which have flicks of gold in in them. A long scar stretches from the bridge of her nose to the base of her chin, something she received from a thief masters whip after a failed mission. She is scrawny, thin, and very unappealing to look at.

Weapon: There's only one weapon that Kelci has had any prior experience with, and that's the simple Knife. Easy to wield and a staple in the Hunger Games, Kelci should have no problem getting her hands on such a weapon during her time in the Games.

Strengths: A lifelong thief, Kelci is an accomplished pickpocket and exceedingly Stealthy. She knows how to move without being seen or heard, something that should prove useful in the Games. Living a hard life on the streets, Kelci has often gone days without food, meaning that she knows what it is like to go hungry and will not suffer like as much as some other tributes might.

Weaknesses: Small and frail, Kelci would do well to avoid combat, as she is in no way competent at it. The most she knows about combat is that when something attacks you, you need to stab it dead before it finishes you off. Kelci is also horrendously inept at surviving in rural environments. She's lived in the urban cesspool of District 8 her entiire life, and has not once seen a single tree that was larger then a lamppost.

Fears: Death. A simple and all pervading fear, Kelci is terrified at the prospect of dying, especially at the hands of the government she despises so much. She's fought against death for so long, that the idea of losing it now is unbearable.

Token:

Name: Sark Lancaster

Age: 18

Height: 6'6

District: Thirteen, Five, or Six

Appearance: Sark is a physically large boy with broad shoulders, often being confused as being a grown man. He has a strong, square jaw that seems to be sculpted from granite. He has short blonde hair and sharp green eyes. He is immensely tall and muscular, standing at six and a half feet tall. His most prominent features are the scars that cover his body, from his face to his back, and even his arms. These have all been left by his uncle, punishment for committing a "wrong".

Personality: Brutal, Sark possesses a unique and unusual moral code, and often deems it up to him to “punish” people who he sees do something he doesn’t like and deems “wrong”. What these "wrongs" are often vary, with even Sark not always knowing exactly what is "wrong" and what is not. Sark abducts the "criminals" he punishes them, and has no limit to the brutally he will treat them to. Sark always gets away with this because of his uncles position of power. Arrogant, Sark believes he and his uncle have the solution to every problem and that he is the best person in the world. Sark truly believes that if he ran the world, every problem could be and would be solved. Calculating, Sark plans every single thing he does and always knows what the outcome of an action will be and if it will be beneficial for him, which is his chief and only concern.

Backstory: Sark was orphaned at the age of six, after the mysterious disappearance of his parents. After their deaths, he was raised by his uncle, a cruel man named Tiberius Lancaster. Tiberius holds a very prestigious place in the District, and is an extremely corrupt official.

Tiberius often beat Sark if he ever stepped out of line or did something he wasn’t expressly told to do. While most people would begin to resent this cruel and unusual punishment, Sark, not knowing anything else, believed that this behaviour was the right thing to do and now always follows any orders an authority figure gives him and expects everyone else to do the same or face punishment at his hand.

He often goes around the District, om what he calls a "patrol". Whenever he witnesses someone do something “wrong”, he would later abduct them and take them to a secluded part offthe District, where he would punish them with any means possible, including both physical and mental torture. Punishment, he believed, was the only solution to the great issue. Wrongdoers must be punished, and punished harshly. Only then would they be able to repent.

"Wrongs" can range from any number of minor things, such as littering or jaywalking, to much more serious crimes, such as theft and murder. However, "wrongs" are not just limited to crimes, but also contain innocuous things, such as wearing a color that Sark does not enjoy, or saying something mildly offensive. There is no clear list of "wrongs" and Sark often makes it up as he goes. No one in the world is truly innocent, after all. Not until they were punished.

Sark almost always got away with his crimes, even when he accidentally caused a death, thanks to Tiberius' influence. Peacekeepers turned a blind eye to his activity, and Sark managed to continue dishing out his brand of justice, saving the District from all of the "wrongs" being committed by it's denizens.

That is, until Reaping Day. Just two weeks before his nineteenth birthday, Sark Lancaster was Reaped. And into the Hunger Games he went.

Weapons: Sark's main weapon is the tool that he often used to punish wrongdoers in his District. A whip. Perfect for inflicting immense pain with a decreased threat of death, a whip was Sark's go-to whenever punishment needed to be dealt out. It will serve him in the Games just as well. His second weapon is an Axe. With his rippling muscles and sculpted shoulders, it wouldn't be hard to imagine Sark cleaving heads with this deadly weapon.

Strengths: Sark's main strength is his, well, Strength. He is a physical specimen, an unusually large and muscular boy. He doesn't even need a weapon to kill someone, he could just snap their neck or smash their skull with his bare hands. Very few people can go toe-to-toe with him. Another aspect of his skillset is one that many wouldn't suspect--his Intelligence. Sark is extremely observant, and oftentimes sets traps for his victims. Sark is not some dumb meathead. And that just makes him ever the more dangerous.

Weaknesses: Sark has many different weaknesses that offset his physical attributes, namely the fact that he cannot climb. Whether it be a tree or a building, Sark is totally incapable of getting himself off the ground. Something that may prove fatal in the Games. Also, Sark is immensely Slow. He could not outrun someone if it came to it, which is why he sets traps for his victims instead. Speedy tributes will run circles around him. And yet another weaknesse is the absence of any Swimming skills. He has none whatsoever. Water is something which he strives to avoid.

Fear: Sark is immensely powerful. He is tall, strong, vicious...and deathly afraid of Insects. It does not matter the kind, Sark is afraid of any and all insects. Especially the kind with many different, twitching legs. The mere sight of one is enough to drive him over the edge. His fear stems from a childhood incident, in which Tiberius punished him by locking him inside a small shed which, incidentally, was inhabited by seemingly thousands of insects.

Ash-black pigtails hang down from either side of her head, her hair parted straight down the middle. Her eyebrows are thin and slanted slightly inwards, resting on top of rounded, dark brown eyes. She has a small, flat nose, and the corners of her mouth naturally turn slightly downwards, accentuating her prominent cheekbones and slightly pinkish skin. Marisa is just under five feet tall, about average for her age. She's fairly skinny from the meager rations they get in the community home, and her bones stick out prominently. There are patches of scars across her upper arms and back from when she was burned in an explosion - the same explosion that took the life of her sister. Her hands are large for her size and tend to be rough and dry from various substances and from lack of care. She's dressed in the drab gray uniform and worn-out shoes that mark her as someone from the community home, threadbare against the prairie winds of District Nine. I mean, we all wish we could have nicer clothing, but colorful accessories are only for those obnoxious rich kids. They could at least give us clothing that fits better, though. Sometimes she envies the figure and dress of the more well-off citizens, although they're nothing compared to what she sees on TV during the Games.

҉  Personality:

Marisa is hot-headed and reckless. She spits out judgments of others easily from her mouth and has often been described as lacking a verbal filter. She believes that people are mostly stupid and selfish, and those who act compassionate are ultimately faking it to make themselves feel better. She thinks of herself as uncaring of what others think of her unless they're trying to tell her what to do, in which case she becomes stubborn and contrarian. Well, my sister was always the sweet, obedient one, but she's dead, isn't she? In reality, however, she secretly likes being seen as edgy and rebellious. Sometimes she'll make a token complaint about her reputation or nickname, although she rather likes the attention.

She tends to mess around with chemicals she finds lying around, when she can get her hands on them. There are plenty in the district of grains and refineries, but more often than not they're kept under tight control by Peacekeepers. Of course they are, they probably think we're all trying to blow them up. Since her sister's death, Marisa has also developed a pathological desire to control fire. She gets a rush from setting small objects on fire or juggling alcohol fireballs made from available materials. Her behavior tends towards self-destructive, and she's been whipped before for getting on the wrong side of a Peacekeeper or two.

Marisa is reluctant to admit her emotions to other people, or even to herself. Her anger is her defense mechanism for dealing with fear and trauma, because it allows her to push away everything else that she doesn't want to feel. In a similar vein, she is also reluctant to ask for help from others, believing that the only person she can rely on is herself. She doesn't get along with the others at the community home very well, especially the adults running it. She thinks that admitting to vulnerability is a weakness that will open up opportunities for others to take advantage of her; the only person she has really confided in was her twin sister Malia, and since her death she has closed herself off from others, especially people who try to show sympathy.

҉  History:

I don't have any memories of my parents, and the little I've managed to piece together from those around me at the community home have been mostly contradictory. "They were the nicest people you'd ever meet." "They got killed by Peacekeepers from breaking the law." "They must be smiling as they watch down on you from heaven." "They would be rolling in their graves to see their daughter as such a naughty child."

Well, I say it doesn't matter what they were or how they thought then, because in any case now they're dead and the community home is the only home I've ever known. It's in the dirtiest, dingiest part of town and everybody has to take out tesserae to get enough to eat, but it's where me and my twin sister grew up.

At least, there used to be two of us.

The explosion happened fast - we were on our way home from school when the grain elevator near the refinery in the middle of town burst into a ball of flame and the square was suddenly filled with screaming and people in panic as they tried to flee from the burning building... well anyways. Obviously since I'm telling you this right now I'm the one that made it and she's the one that didn't.

They didn't expect me to at first, either, not with all the burns across my arms and back and no one caring whether some nobody girl from the community home lived or died but at least I proved them wrong on that count. That's how I got my nickname, some kid getting carried away with symbolism about rising out from ashes or whatnot.

I was scared of fire for quite a while after that, actually, but more than that I was angry at it, angry at the fire that took my sister's life and the people who would always look down at us for being from the community home and the stupid district for the fine layer of dust coating everything that made it so easy for a fire to start in the first place.

I dug my fingers into the little can of fuel and pulled out its squishy, slimy contents, gradually shaping it into a ball in my hands - the jellied fuel from mixing together cheap industrial chemicals a staple in Nine just like Twelve's coal or Five's wind or Three's... whatever they had. It was soft as I let it sift between my fingers. I took a deep breath, the match shaking in my hands as I struck it against the rough surface, ready at any moment to - Nothing happened. And that was not something I'd expected. "Stupid thing, do what I tell you to!" I cursed, my fear turning into anger at the bent and unlit match with half the coating scraped off and stubbornly refusing my command. Scowling, I ripped another one out of the matchbook and scraped it harshly and violently across as the tip burst into flames like a good match should - The match flickered daintily, and my eyes focused on it, mesmerized with fascination as the fire consumed the stalk, burning lower and moving closer to the fingers I held it in. I blew it out. The stub of the match was blackened and the top of it crumbled to ashes with even the gentlest touch, and I smirked at it. "See? I control you," I breathed, still staring at the remnants of the match. "You don't have the power to do anything to me." I struck another match, bringing it close to the ball of fuel until it caught on fire and burned with a soft blue hue. It was beautiful and destructive, but also fragile. I dropped the lid on top of it and snuffed out its life force.

That was where I'd started, and before I knew it I'd gone through half the matchbook and as much as I told myself I wasn't nervous anymore, I still was, at least a little. But beyond that I felt tingly and excited and like I'd never been so alive.

I'd liked to juggle, when I was much younger, and I've been picking it up again. It feels good, tossing a ball of flame from hand to hand and knowing it has no power to hurt me because it would go exactly where I wanted it to. The other kids don't understand - or, it's not understanding, really, they don't think I should be fascinated by fire. What did they think they expected me to be, some sort of dainty flower forever scared and brooding like a moping hen?

Name: Techna Vision

Gender: Female

Age: 16

District: 3

Appearance: Techna has fine, brown hair that runs down the side of her face before being pulled back into a messy, low ponytail. She's always running her fingers through her hair as she works, so strands of it tend to come loose and obscure her face. Piercing brown eyes accentuate an otherwise unremarkable countenance, a round face with a pointed nose and small lips. Penny has pale skin, a common characteristic of the district with far too much pollution and too little time to spend in the sun.

Penny stands at 5'3", one of the shorter citizens even in the impoverished district. She's lanky, with thin limbs, tiny feet, and long, flexible fingers equally at home at a keyboard or sketching out diagrams. Her nails are flat and short, the edges ragged where she picks or bites at them when deep in thought.

She prefers dressing for comfort, usually wearing a simple jacket over a plain shirt and jeans. Her favorite dark green jacket is thick and well-worn, protecting against District Three's cold autumns and winters. Partly because of her height, people often mistake her to be much younger than her actual age, which sometimes works to her advantage as she easily slips past others. People don't tend to pay much attention to kids.

Personality: Penny mostly keeps to herself. It's not that she avoids interacting with others; she simply prefers to spend her time working on her computer or figuring out a particularly tricky puzzle. When she talks, her voice is deep and slightly grating, much to her chagrin, although she's working on sounding smoother and more mature. Hm, being able to control what others see me as would be useful. She's well aware that her appearance and demeanor make it likely for others to underestimate her, and she often uses that advantage to get out of trouble or avoid suspicion.

Intelligence is the currency of power in District Three, and Penny is well aware of this fact of life. She generally preferred to learn about things that could be applied in some useful way, as opposed to abstract theories. Even after so many years working with them, she continues to be fascinated by computers and the seemingly endless tasks one could make them do. She likes problem-solving, trying to puzzle out solutions to everything around her.

To the outside observer, Penny often seems to be oblivious and lost in her own head. In fact, she's using this time to observe her surroundings, though she can be overwhelmed by the amount of sensory input she receives, or so focused on the wrong details that she misses the big picture. Hey. Observing before acting is a very useful mindset to have. Besides, finding data tends to be a lot less risky than changing data. This tendency has led many others to think of her as cold or aloof. She likes to analyze all her possible options before taking action. Insofar as social interactions are concerned, Penny sees most of them as just another puzzle to be solved. Despite being a cautious person who prefers to have many backup plans going at once, a part of her really enjoys the thrill of figuring out exactly what she can get away with. Well, in case that wasn't rhetorical, most things around this district are only as strong as its weakest link. Quite literal links, in some cases. I doubt I'd be able to hack into some of the stuff the Capitol produces, though. In the end, life was just a game of probabilities, after all.

Backstory: Penny was born to parents Armand Germain and Hestia Fortran, and she grew up with her parents and older sister Helena on the outskirts of the district. All three of her family members are factory workers, and Penny learned from a young age that only the most brilliant among District Three could hope for a life outside of the monotony of its usual inhabitants, aside from the near-impossibility of winning the Hunger Games. The old computer her sister had salvaged/stolen from the factory junkyard became Penny's first love, as she learned of its inner workings and wrote programs to command it to do her bidding. They say that if you have your own computer in Three, it's either because your family can afford the luxury, or you want to give your kids a leg up when it comes to the examinations we have in high school. Neither of those are discouraged per se, not when the Capitol needs our district's intellect to keep coming up with new gadgets to market. At least, not unless they already have suspicions. They just don't realize this particular computer hasn't been memory-wiped like the ones that are legally allowed to be sold secondhand. Peacekeepers tend to come from Two, after all. They may be good with brute force, but what do they know of technology?

Penny is younger than most other students in her year, and due to her size and disinterest in socializing, she was often bullied. When she was nine, she tried to get revenge on a boy who constantly harassed her by hacking into the Mayor's tesserae database to make him get Reaped. Ah, to be much younger and in possession of more intelligence than wisdom or morality. If the computer thought that the boy had taken a hundred tesserae, she reasoned, that's how many slips it would have printed out to put into the bowl on Reaping Day. Fortunately, she hadn't gotten very far through the security systems - "hadn't gotten very far"? I don't think I actually got anywhere at all - before her sister stumbled on her efforts and confiscated the computer. Looking back on that incident, I was really lucky that she stopped me. I hadn't even learned to conceal my port address, so I would have been executed if my plan had succeeded and the Mayor discovered what I'd done. Besides, now that I've watched the Hunger Games and know what they're like, I don't think he deserved to die like that.

As she grew older, Penny gradually became more focused in her work, learning to tune out her surroundings in favor of whatever she's currently thinking about in her head. Now, she works over the summer designing programs for one of the many towering complexes shipping gadgets off to the Capitol. She's hoping to get into a job just like that when she graduates, a job working in an office with computers instead of on the factory floor. Of course, she has her skills at hacking, but that was her well-kept secret for good reason. Somehow I don't think they'd appreciate me telling them how bad their security is. They don't care about people salvaging broken junk, but if the Peacekeepers find out that this computer's been reconnected with the district's factories network, they would... definitely not be pleased. I don't actually know what they'd do; most of the people I've seen them punish are petty street thieves and things of that sort. Years of learning to code under all sorts of unusual conditions has made her always seek the most sleek and efficient solution to a problem, and Penny knows that when working with technology, adaptability is one of the greatest assets.

Name: Compton Onaway

Gender: Male

Age: 16

District: 3

Appearance: Compton has thick, brown hair that is close-cropped to his head. Piercing brown eyes accentuate an otherwise unremarkable countenance, a round face with an overly average nose and thin lips. Compton has pale skin, a common characteristic of the district with far too much pollution and too little time to spend in the sun.

Compton stands at 5'9", just around average height for someone in his District. He's more stout then lanky, with short legs and thicker arms.

Personality: Compton is the smartest person in the room and he knows it. His intelligence is unsurpassed by any in his school, and in all probability, his District as well. He often corrects others when they make an inaccurate statement, and constantly insults those that he finds to be unintelligent. Stupid people are among the things he despises most in the world. He has an almost inexhaustible list of random facts that he likes to sprout off, typically at equally random times.

Intelligence is the currency of power in District Three, and Compton is well aware of this fact of life. He generally prefers to learn about things that could be applied in some useful way, as opposed to abstract theories. Even after so many years working with them, he continues to be fascinated by computers and the seemingly endless tasks one could make them do. He enjoys problem-solving, and is often trying to puzzle out solutions to everything around him.

Compton is a very sarcastic individual and is frequently making quips and cracking jokes in any sort of situation, no matter the severity. This trait of his often annoys people, but Compton honestly couldn't care less about what others think.

Compton is an introverted loner, rarely communicating with others unless necessary. This tendency has led many others to think of him as cold or aloof. While he has decent communication skills, he doesn't use them because he does not find value in human relations.

Backstory: Compton was born to parents Richard and Telfair Onaway, and he grew up with his parents and twelve other siblings on the outskirts of the District. Both of his parents and all three of his elder siblings were factory workers, and Compton learned from a young age that only the most brilliant among District Three could hope for a life outside of the monotony of its usual inhabitants, aside from the near-impossibility of winning the Hunger Games.

However, Compton was among the most brilliant of the District. As his family had always bordered the poverty line, he knew that he couldn't just become another factory worker. That would just be a waste of his talent and intelligence, which he quickly learned was superior to any other his age. Unfortunately, Compton didn't know what would be a good use of himself.

That was, he didn't know until he found the old computer. One day he was walking home when he stumbled upon a Peacekeeper raid. They were searching a convicted felons house for contraband and dumping what they found into the street. Compton snatched an old computer from the pile and left before they noticed.

They say that if you have your own personal computer in Three, it's either because your family can afford the luxury, or you want to give your kids a leg up when it comes to the examinations in school. Neither of those are discouraged per se, not when the Capitol needs District 3's intellect to keep coming up with new gadgets to market. The reason for this particular computer being considered contraband was because it hadn't been memory-wiped like the ones that are legally allowed to be sold secondhand.

Name: Brick Slayte

Gender: Male

Age: 18

District: 2

Appearance: Brick stands at 6'2",

Personality: Brick can be described as captivating and magnetic, albeit a bit secretive character by the people of his district. He has a charming personality, although he's distant as well, and is typically only seen at the Career Academy by his admirers. Nevertheless, most tend to adore the mystery he brings, along with his own looks to boast.

Due to his introvert nature, he normally doesn't get attached that easily, meaning someone would have to be exceedingly exceptional for him to be concerned for. He's attentive and usually won't get caught off guard, as he contemplates anything he comes across. He is an anomaly.

The Arrival
Today, there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The Wyoming landscape was beautifully picturesque with its crystal clear lakes, tall snow-capped mountains, and rolling green hills. Fresh air filtered through a car's open windows as it rushed along a deserted road. The temperature was still perfectly warm since it was the height of August.

It was a long ride from Detroit, Michigan to here. That was for sure. But Hannah couldn't find too much to complain about—the plane ride went by quickly and the scenic drive was incredible. Plus, she had the company of her parents. They seemed excited to reach their destination, but she only felt anxious.

Hannah tried to catch a glimpse of her face in the rear view mirror from the backseat of the van. Aggravated, she poked at a mole just above her left eyebrow. It was nearly impossible to see, but she was very self-conscious about it. That, along with her rectangular glasses and pasty white skin. She had been bullied enough in the past for it.

But this was college! It would surely contain mature and understanding people, such people who would never judge someone on appearance alone. Right? Hannnah was desperate to make a good impression, wearing her favorite pair of heels, a pleated skirt, and her prettiest blouse. She also had on a pastel pink cardigan her mother had knitted for her. Her soft brown hair was let down past her shoulders.

"Look!" Her mother gasped suddenly, pointing straight ahead, "There it is!"

Ahead on the road, towering concrete walls were rising up to greet them. The walls had to be at least twelve feet tall with barbed wire along the top. It looked out of place among the wilderness. Behind were the brick buildings of St. Fortuna's, including a grand clock tower, famously referred to as "Old Fortune."

Hannah felt her heart swell with excitement. This school would help her make the final leap into becoming the world's greatest psychologist.

But as they drew closer to the university, Hannah couldn't help but feel mildly disturbed by the sight of the walls surrounding it. "Why do you think they built that?" She asked her parents, wracking her brain for some sort of explanation.

Her father shrugged it off. "I'm sure it's to protect the students. The world hasn't been the safest place as of late…"

Hannah frowned. This was true. Whisperings of terrorism had been all over the news—apparently some sort of meteorite or something had made landfills in Europe. So far, America seemed to be untouched by the phenomenon. Hopefully, it would stay that way.

"Oh, but don't you worry about anything, okay honey?" Mother said quickly, turning around to give Hannah a comforting smile, "You just focus on your education."

The van slowed to a stop at the school gate. A sign directed all arrivals to speak into a nearby intercom. Hannah' father quickly rolled down the window as the women in his family looked around for some sign of other people.

Oddly, there was no one else around.

"Name?" A high-pitched voice blared over the intercom.

"Um…James." Father said, casting a wide-eyed glance at his wife. She was holding back a laugh, clearly entertained by this strange form of sign-in. "I'm here to drop off my daughter, Hannah James. She will be a student here, you know?"

"Thank you!" The voice returned.

A machine spat something out into Father's hands. He took the ID card and handed it to Hannah, musing, "That's one heck of a machine they've got there! I guess it cuts down on paying real people, huh?"

"It sounded like a real person to me." Mother said thoughtfully.

The gates opened, allowing the van to pass through. Father called a quick thank you into the intercom, but there was no response. Perhaps it was automated after all. Hannah didn't really k care either way. As her parents continued speaking about the strange machine, she began to look over her newly acquired ID card.

It was truly a marvel of technology all in itself. It came with a little touchpad with all of her information. As she pressed it, a message popped up, warning her not to lose this. It was the only thing that could get her into her dorm as well as her room. She also needed photo ID if she wanted to get into certain places, such as the dining commons. Lending cards to other students was prohibited.

It was strange. Hannah hadn't read anything about this piece of technology in any of the school brochures. She hadn't heard it mentioned in any reviews either. Maybe it was new to the school?

As she examined it further, she learned that it wasn't actually a card at all. There was a small clasp on the back which, when pulled, opened the thing up into some kind of bracelet. Hannah clasped it around her wrist, marvelling at the strange technology. Would every student have one of these?

Speaking of other students, where was everyone? As they drove through campus, her family passed nary a single soul. Only when they reached the dorms on the northern side did they finally spot other cars, unloading baggage. A few students dragging suitcases stopped and curiously looked their way.

Hannah closed her eyes and pretended they weren't there. Being in the spotlight made her nervous. It always had. She was fine being in front of one or two people, but crowds? Forget about it. Hannah had been in her school play back in middle school, and that had been one of the worst experiences of her life.

Only when she felt the car pulling to a stop did Hannah snap her eyes open and take in her surroundings.

There were two dorm buildings and a dining commons, with a grassy quad in between. Basketball courts and a volleyball net were right next to the tiny parking lot.

"Not too many people here, are there?" Father frowned, taking in the handful of other students unloading their things.

"Well…the rest of the students probably won't arrive for a few more days. The freshmen just had to come early for their orientation tomorrow." Mother reminded him. He may have forgot, but Hannah hadn't. To her mind, the fact that majority of the school was gone was a blessing. There would be no crowds to gawk at her today!

Hopefully.

Nothing else was said as Hannah and her parents filed out of the car and began the process of unloading her luggage. Hannah was suddenly very anxious. She didn't want to be left behind. After today, her parents would be half the country away. Unlike many of her high school friends, Hannah didn't relish the prospect of being away from her parents. They had raised her, loved her. They looked after her when things went wrong, comforted her when she cried. They were her parents. Her everything.

Her Father finished taking out the last suitcase. He set it on the curb, then turned to Hannah, suddenly looking unsure of himself. "So," He began awkwardly, "I...I guess this is goodbye."

Hannah felt her heart skip a beat. "I-I guess."

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic!" Mother laughed, cutting through the tension. She always had a way of doing that. "You won't be that cut off from us! You can talk to us every night over the phone, and we can visit you whenever we feel like it. This isn't a goodbye, just a parting!"

Hannah smiled. How was it that her Mother always did that? Hannah rarely felt morose when Mother was around. She was just so bright, so cheery. Like the sun itself. One just couldn't feel sad with such radiance around.

Suddenly everyone was laughing and smiling. Father promised that they would be down to visit within a few weeks, and Hannah told them that she would call them tonight. They hugged Hannah multiple times, telling her how much they would miss her. She echoed their sentiments, promising that she would text often. And then they were gone. She was finally on her own. Then, watching as her parents drove off, Hannah grabbed her luggage and wheeled it towards assigned dormitory, the left one. Thee other one was seemingly locked, most likely because it was for the upperclassmen who would arrive on Sunday.

Inside the dorm was a central lobby full of bright and colorful couches. Corridors ran down from the lobby like spokes on a wheel hub and Hannah, remembering what she had read prior to her arrival, set off down the spoke that led to a staircase.

Freshmen girls were on the second floor of this dorm, boys on the first. At first Hannah had been a little surprised that both genders would be housed inside the same building, but she eventually grew accustomed to the idea. After all, the dorms weren't coed, not really. The different floors made sure of that.

Hannah made her way up the stairs and was both surprised and glad that her room happened to be right by the staircase. It would certainly make getting to classes easier.

On the door were two little pictures that had been cut out of colored construction paper. One was a little pink brain that was squiggly around the edges and read, Hannah on it. The other had the name, Morgan, which she recognized as that of her roommate, and was inside of a speech bubble. Hannah had no idea what the illustrations were meant to represent.

The door was locked but there was a small censor just above the knob. On a hunch, Hannah pressed her bracelet against it, starting in surprise when the door unlocked with a click. Shrugging, she slid open the door to her new home and stepped inside.

The common room was bigger than Hannah expected with two ornate armchairs in front of a widescreen TV. Bright lighting and white carpet floors gave the room a nice atmosphere. Directly across from the entrance was the bathroom, which was sparkling clean with two sinks, a shower, a bath, and a toilet inside a stall.

There were two more rooms branching off the main one—hers and her roommate's. They would share the common area and the bathroom, but each had their own separate quarters that, on close inspection, seemed to be locked with the same kind of mechanism as the main door. Hannah assumed this meant that the rooms could only be accessed by their respective bracelets.

Hesitant, Hannah stepped into her room and looked at the wide space in wonderment. There was a single bed, nightstand, and a sturdy desk with a futuristic mesh-work chair. On the desk sat a single black phone. The old-timey type with a cord and everything.

Most of the room, however, was empty. That was fine by Hannah. She could fill this room with anything she wanted. Over the course of the next week, she could decorate it and make it hers. Coat the wall with her little notes and observations. She smiled softly.

Suddenly, voices reached her ears.

Hannah stepped back out of her room and into the common. The door across from her was open and two people were walking out. A girl and a guy. Judging from their matching red-orange hair, freckles, and extremely pale skin, Hannah thought that they must be related. Siblings, probably.

The two of them were speaking quietly and didn't seem to have noticed Hannah. She quickly stepped back into her room, embarrassed. She didn't mean to eavesdrop but, well, Hannah couldn't help but listen as they spoke.

"Remember, I'll be just downstairs," The guy was saying, patting his sister on the shoulder. "Don't be afraid to call me in case anything goes wrong."

"Jordan, I think you're being a little paranoid!" The girl, who could only be Hannah's future roommate Morgan, gave a dramatic heave of her shoulders. Hannah couldn't help but analyze her; the girl's hair was pulled up into a short ponytail and she was rather skinny, with a large mint-green hoodie that hung just below her waist.

"We're out in the real world now, Morgan," The guy—Jordan, she called him—spoke defensively. "No one else is going to look after us, so we gotta do it ourselves. Now, finish unpacking. I'll be up to check on you later." The guy turned and strode out into the hall.

Morgan watched him go with a small smile. "Typical Jordan."

Then the room fell silent. Hannah felt her hand drifting to the tiny notepad she kept in her cardigan pocket. She loved scribbling notes on new people she met in it. It was compulsive behavior that served her well in her studies to be a psychologist. Hannah hastily scribbled down her first impressions, then tucked her notepad back into her pocket before stepping out into the common.

Morgan was sitting on one of the armchairs, staring blankly at the wall. Hannah was surprised to see tears on her face. Was she crying? Suddenly hesitant to reveal herself, Hannah tried to pull back into her room. Unfortunately, she had misjudged her position and only succeeded in slamming her back against the door frame.

Morgan jumped to her feet, spinning around to find the disturbance. One of her hands wiped at the tears as she spotted Hannah, and she smiled. It was obviously forced. Hannah had studied human behavior enough to know the difference.

"Oh. Hello there," Morgan stuck her hands into her pockets, "you must be my roommate. Helga, right?"

"Yes. I mean, no. I'm not..." Hannah blinked, suddenly feeling very, very stupid. People often based their opinions oj others on first impressions, and Hannah was not doing a very good job with hers. "My name is Hannah," she finally forced the words out, offering the girl a weak smile.

Morgan only nodded. "Right. My mistake."

An awkward silence followed. There it was, Hannah's greatest fear. Already she was making a fool of herself. It was just like high school all over again! Desperate to do something, anything, Hannah reached for a conversation.

"Can I, uh, ask why you were crying?"

Morgan narrowed her eyes and Hannah realized that she was only making things worse for herself. But she couldn't stop now, not without making herself look like the greatest fool ever. "I, well, I'm studying to be a psychologist, you see. I thought that, maybe, I could...help you?"

It sounded extraordinarily lame, even to Hannah's own ears. But Morgan nodded all the same. "So you're a psychologist? I guess you're a good person to talk to about problems, huh?"

Hannah wasn't a psychologist, not yet, but she didn't want to derail the conversation by bringing this up, so she simply nodded. Morgan took this as a sign to continue. "It's college, y'know?" She sighed, "It's overwhelming. What if I fail my classes? What if I'm like the first person to ever flunk out of St. Fortuna's? The expectations are so high!"

Hannah could sympathize. St. Fortuna's was one of the most prestigious universities in the country, if not the world. It wasn't often talked about—Hannah herself hadn't even heard about it until she received her scholarship. But many important people had graduated from here. Heads of corporations, senators, even a President! It was mind-boggingly that such an institution even wanted Hannah around.

But that wasn't what Morgan needed to hear right now.

"You won't flunk out," Hannah said quietly, "I mean—there's a reason the school picked you. Right?"

"I suppose," Morgan turned her head away, sounding morose. "But what will my brother say if I fail? He's always worked so hard to take care of me and here I am, about to ruin everything…"

"Your brother? He was the guy with you, right?" Neither of their parents had shown up to see them off. What did that mean? Hannah was eager to record this detail in her notebook. But right now, comforting Morgan was the appropriate thing to do.

"My brother also got a scholarship here," Morgan continued, "we're practically the same age. We were born in the same year, which makes us Irish twins, I guess."

"That's nice." Hannah thought compliments were the most prudent course here. Morgan seemed to catch herself, looking back at Hannah with an abashed smile.

"I'm so sorry for burdening you with this as soon as we met. That wasn't very kind of me, was it?"

"No, no it's fine!" Hannah smiled back at the girl, glad that she seemed to be over her fit of melancholy. "I mean, I am a psychologist, after all!"

They both laughed. Hannah found that she was enjoying herself, which surprised her. She had expected to be perpetually upset until the time classes began, but so far she wasn't feeling any stress. She might even have made a friend!

"Hey! What d'you say we go meet some of our dormmates?"

Hannah flinched at the suggestion. She hadn't had anytime to prepare herself for social interaction! Panic began to claw at her chest. She couldn't go out and introduce herself to everyone! What if she made a fool out of herself?

"I...I think that we should unpack first," She grabbed for an excuse.

"Boring! We'll have plenty of time for that later!"

Hannah couldn't even get a response out before Morgan was dragging her out into the hallway. She tried to tell herself that this wouldn't be too bad. She could use the time to observe her peers and jot down some notes. Yes, that's what she'd do. Hannah always felt more comfortable when writing her notes.

As the two of them exited their common, a thought struck Hannah. "How many students are here anyway?"

Morgan paused. "Eh...sixteen, I think? Eight males and eight females. That's how many I counted, at least."

"Huh. So the genders have equal numbers?" Hannah wondered whether that was intentional. It probably was.

Before Hannah could think any further on this, Morgan sauntered down the hallway to the nearest suite. Hannah followed closely behind, feeling her nerves coming back. Don't think about it! She berated herself as the two of them stopped before the suites door, where Hannah could hear the familiar beats of a popular pop song blasting full volume.

Hannah truly did not wish to disturb anyone. "Umm. I think they're busy."

"Busy?" Morgan blinked. "How can they be busy? We like just got here!" Ignoring Hannah's squeak of nervousness, Morgan went right up to the door and proceeded to knock. Well, knock wasn't the right word. She pounded on the door. "Hey! You in there? We're here to introduce ourselves!"

This, Hannah thought glumly, is definitely not going the way I hoped.

The music continued for a few more seconds then came to an abrupt halt. There was a long pause.

Hannah shifted uncomfortably and exchanged a glance with Morgan. Still, nothing happened. She had a sneaking suspicion that someone was peering at them through the eyehole, silently waiting for them to go away. She was just about to suggest the idea of moving on to her roommate, when the door opened.

A girl with long, dark brown hair that cascaded to her waist greeted them with a frown, eyes narrowed. She wore jean shorts, black boots, and a black tank top with a little red vest over it. A small beret and a pair of sunglasses rested on her head.

"Hi there!" Morgan exclaimed happily. "You must be Victoria! Or Seraphina."

The girl's frown deepened. "How do you know that?"

"Because it's on your nameplate!" Morgan pointed to the left of a door, where a small plaque rested. On the plaque a little brown palette with spots of color read "Seraphina," and a black camera cutout read, "Victoria."

"So you can read. Congratulations." The girl gave a slow, mocking clap. Hannah instantly knew that the two of them would not get along.

Morgan, however, seemed oblivious to the sarcasm. "Of course!" She said, bobbing her head, "an illiterate would never be allowed in St. Fortuna's. Only the most intelligent and gifted are accepted here!"

"That's what I believed too," The girl said, mouth twitching into a smile, "but after meeting you, I've begun rethink that assumption."

Yes, this was not going well at all. Seeing that Morgan was losing control of the situation, Hannah felt that she needed to step in. She took a deep breath, then spoke. "I'm Hannah and this is Morgan." She introduced the both of them as politely as she could manage; "We were just going around meeting everyone on the floor. Would you like to join us?"

"No."

Well, at least she was straightforward. Hannah was about to tell Morgan that the two of them should just leave the girl--who had yet to even offer her name--and move on, but before she could, Morgan spoke. "What about your roommate? Would she like to come?"

"No."

"Oh, okay then!" Morgan flashed the girl a bright smile. "But before we go, can you at least tell us your name?"

"It's Tori." The girl's gray eyes glinted with annoyance. It didn't take a psychologist to realize that she'd had enough of Morgan.

"It was nice meeting you, Tori!"

"Likewise." The girl snapped the door shut. Hannah and Morgan were suddenly alone in the hall. Hannah was disappointed. She'd seen girls like Tori throughout her entire life; she'd hoped that St. Fortuna would be free of them.

Morgan let out a huge breath. "Well! She was a real bitch, wasn't she?"

Hannah blinked, startled by her friends language. Morgan noticed her reaction and laughed. "You didn't think I was really that clueless, did you? I was just trying to be nice. But apparently Tori is too good for us or something."

Hannah didn't know what to say, so she simply nodded in agreement. She was such a good actor! Hannah had no clue that Morgan was faking her naivety. That, unfortunately, was not good for her self-esteem. She was supposed to be a psychologist! What kind of psychologist didn't know when someone was pretending?

"You coming?"

Hannah turned, surprised to find Morgan halfway down the hallway. "Wh-what?" She asked, stammering. "I mean, coming where?"

"We're meeting the other students, remember?"

Hannah thought that their little expedition would have ended after Tori's display of passive-aggression, but apparently Morgan intended to continue. That was unfortunate. Hannah didn't want to make an embarrassment out of herself in front of every classmate.

Despite this Hannah still followed Morgan down the hall, scribbling hasty notes on her pad. ''Name: Victoria Sinclair. Goes by Tori. She was rude and standoffish, rebuffing our attempts of friendliness. Possibly anti-social.''

Hannah wanted to write some more, but Morgan had already reached the next door. She tucked her notepad away, watching Morgan knock. She was suddenly nervous. What if every student was like Tori?

The door opened right away this time. A blonde with short, wavy hair stepped out, grinning at the sight of them. She wore a pink mini-skirt with a leather jacket, a strange combination to be sure.

"Oho! Looks like two of our fellow freshmen have come to greet us!"

Morgan began her introduction, but another girl walked out of the room before she could finish. She was short, with chin-length curly, light auburn hair. Her outfit was much more typical than her roommates; a sleeveless lavender turtleneck sweater, with a knee-length black skirt, and a pair of white tights.

"Hello!" She girl beamed at them. "I'm Celeste, and that is my roommate, Paige!"

Hannah let out a sigh of relief, glad that these two girls were so cheerful. The school wasn't full of Tori's after all. She opened her mouth, ready to greet them, when a new voice called down the hallway.

"Well, well, well. What is going on here?"

Two girls appeared around the corner, lugging bags behind them. One, the speaker, strode forward to shake Morgan's hand. "I'm Noelle," she introduced herself, "I'm guessing that the four of you are also freshmen here?"

That's right!" Morgan beamed at the newcomers, obviously pleased to meet so many people. Hannah was merely overwhelmed. Too many people! With sensory overload threatening to shut her mind down, she forced herself to examine the newcomers.

Noelle was a tall African-American girl, with a long, slender figure and the brightest smile Hannah had ever seen. The girl behind her was Asian, with long dark hair tied back in two braids. Her eyes quietly studied Hannah.