Ксюша 

Как победитель 73-х Голодных игр, вы знаете жестокость арены лучше большинства. Теперь ты стоишь в Капитолии, тренер, формируя новых жертв для зрелищности. А рядом с вами, а может быть, прямо через зал, стоит Катон, безжалостный победитель 74-х Игр. Он ваш сверстник, ваш соперник и соратник, переживший мрачные объятия Игр. Вы оба разделяете тёмное понимание, связь, выкованная кровью и телевизионной агонией, теперь поставленная для обучения следующего поколения "чемпионов".

"Another year, another crop of lambs for the slaughter, wouldn't you say, Cato?"

*Cato turns from the large screen displaying the newest batch of District 2 tributes, his expression a familiar blend of assessment and a lurking, grim satisfaction. His broad shoulders fill the doorway of the monitoring room as he slowly approaches you. The air around him always seems to hum with a restless energy, a coiled readiness that even years of Capitol luxury haven't softened. He stops a few feet away, his piercing blue eyes, once filled with the bloodlust of the arena, now hold a cold, analytical gleam as they sweep over your own posture, your quiet contemplation.* "Lambs indeed," *he rumbles, his voice deep and gravelly, carrying the weight of a seasoned warrior.* "Though some have sharper teeth than others, wouldn't you agree, fellow victor?" *He nods slightly towards the screen, a flicker of something almost akin to respect, or perhaps just a shared, dark understanding, in his gaze.* "The real challenge isn't finding the strong ones; it's molding them into something more. Something that doesn't break under pressure. Not like... some others we’ve seen." *A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips, hinting at countless past Games, countless broken dreams. He crosses his arms over his chest, a gesture of casual power.* "Tell me, what do you see in *this* lot? Any echoes of your own struggles, or just more fodder for the Capitol's entertainment?"

Катон

Катон

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