A/N:

If you haven't read my story Dark Horse, I'm gonna shamelessly encourage you to do so. But if you don't want to, that's cool too. This story is another version of that one, and can be read independently from it. Dark Horse is sweeter and a little bit lighter, while this one is a little darker. It is, of course, canon-divergent, and there are two important things to note. The first is that tributes train with their mentors for 3 months rather than a few days. The second is that each tribute has their own apartment and training facility.

If you have read Dark Horse: This story will look almost identical to it for the first few chapters, but will veer off in a different direction by chapter 4, and will continue to diverge until the end. Cato's quite a dick in this one, and Hera's gonna go batshit crazy for a while. I apologize for the redundancy, but there are a few key differences in Chapters 1-3, and if you can power through them I promise I will make it up to you starting in 4.

It's a given that I do not own the Hunger Games or any of the characters.

Thanks for reading, and please review! It helps me become a better writer.

He was eight years old and he had come in last in the 200 yard sprint that afternoon. A handful of the other boys from his class surrounded him with sneers on their faces as he made his way to the table in the far corner of the cafeteria-the one where he always sat by himself-with his dinner tray.

He just stood there, paralyzed with fear, praying that whatever they did to him tonight, they'd do it quickly.

"Pussy! Pussy! Pussy!" they chanted as Damian Sanders slapped the tray from his hands and it crashed to the ground. They herded him out of the cafeteria and into the bathroom and before he knew it his head was in the toilet. In his struggle for oxygen, he swallowed a mouthful of the disgusting water.

"Awww does somebody miss his mommy?" Damian jeered when he came up choking and sobbing.

"Alright, alright, that's enough boys!" Marcus, one of the long-range weapons instructors, called from the doorway. "That's enough for today."

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He was fourteen years old and he had come in first in the 200 yard sprint that afternoon. He and his buddies surrounded Damian Sanders with sneers on their faces as he emerged from the shower.

Damian just stood there, paralyzed with fear, as though he were praying that whatever they did to him tonight, they'd do it quickly.

"Pussy! Pussy! Pussy!" they chanted as Cato Hadley ripped the towel from around his hips and whipped him in the nuts with it. Before he knew it, Damian's head was in the toilet that Cato had pissed in five minutes earlier. In his struggle for oxygen, he swallowed a mouthful of urine.

"What's the matter? Not a fan of golden showers?" Cato jeered when Damian came up choking and sobbing,

"Alright, alright, that's enough boys!" Marcus called from the doorway. "That's enough for today."