Name: Lockwood Colt

Age: 18

District: 3

Family/Background: Lockwood was born to a single mother in the heart of District 3's seem. She was a factory worker who really should have had more than enough money to make money meet, however his mother blew almost all of her money on drugs, leaving Lockwood starving and cold most of the time. Lockwood swore at a young age he would never become like her. As soon as he was old enough he enrolled at the school and worked incredibly hard. He excelled, graduating at age 15, after which he was recruited to design technology for the capital, which he excelled at. This was around the time that Lockwood realized he didn't like how cold and self-centered the world was, overly sensitive he began to drink to get his mind off of things, eventually escalating into heavy drug abuse.

Personality: Lockwood is strange to say the least. At first glance the young man resembles a drug addict with his low crackly voice and his apathetic stare, which is very much a legit observation. However Lockwood is an extremely high functioning drug addict who is one of the capital's top innovators- in shorter terms Lockwood is brilliant and messed up, but then again the two qualities often go hand in hand. While Lockwood is prone to a personality that swings a different way with each new drug he tries his default tendencies remain the same; an overpowering irritation at the world compiled with a subtle superiority complex. The few people who knew him well might say these were merely a shield for his sensitive and caring heart, though many others would find that hard to believe.

Appearance: There has never been a day in Lockwood's life when he hasn't looked disheveled and completely lost with his uncombed faded green hair and his wrinkled suits. The cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth had never helped. He has an pale skin decorated with a bit of stubble around his jawline. He is about average height and build but is made shorter by the slump in his shoulders.

Prefered Weapon: Whatever happens to be closest to him in the bloodbath.

Phobia/Mental Psychosis: Lockwood doesn't necessarily fear much however he finds himself genuinely terrified of being stabbed to death in a shower, which could be linked to claustrophobia or agoraphobia.

Coping Mechanism/Token: He tried to bring marijuana however that was taken from him, much to his outrage.

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When I had been reaped into the games I had been surprised, despite the fact I had been intoxicated at the time, which says something. It made absolutely no sense to me as to why I was reaped, I was too much of an asset to the capital. In fact, after my initial high wore off I had been downright furious. After all I did, all I had worked for, they had the nerve to reap me into the fucking Hunger Games.

And then they had the nerve to take my stash of marijuana. I was entitled to a token the same as anyone else! Besides, what did the capital care if I was high?

I had been reduced to huffing Freon. Don't get me wrong, I had tried being sober for about an hour, but quite frankly I missed my euphoria. The real world was just so... dark and heavy without it. I loved the feeling of control and peace it gave me.

So here I was, tearing apart an air conditioner in the men's room. In District 3, the conditioners had a faucet off the side of them that one could just screw off and let the gas blow into their nose. However the Capital editions had been designed for appearance, so the facet was below the metal frame. Removing it without drawing attention to myself or taking too long was the key to getting away with it, luckily though, I was an expert.

After carefully prying the cover loose with my belt buckle I let it fall downward on it's hinges with a loud creak. Instinctively I threw a glance over my shoulder at the empty bathroom, the one room in the entire facility that was void of cameras, before turning back to my work. I squinted at the wires and tubes before my fingers wrapped themselves around the cap that would release the Freon, something made me pause before unscrewing it though.

"What are you doing?" A deep masculine voice drifted from behind me.

Peacekeeper.

Part of me wanted to unscrew the Freon cap as quickly as possible and stick my nose under it and get as many huffs as possible before I was pulled away, the other half knew that if they did figure out how I was getting high they would put me under heavy surveillance. I paused one long second, my eyes darting between the cap and the floor.

Oh what the hell, I'd figure out what to do with my consequence when it came. I plucked the cap off of the pipe and stuck my nose under the stream of gas that sprayed free. The sharp scent that had become very familiar to me over the past few days filled my nostrils. Almost instantly I felt light headed.

Two strong arms wrapped around my waist and dragged me backwards. The peacekeeper yelled something that was illegible to my swimming brain, I elbowed him in the face. "Give me my bloody Freon, you whore bag!" I drawled, bending forward and grabbing another whiff before the peacekeeper's hand wrapped around my shirt collar and yanked me backward. I hardly registered the jolt through as the woozy feeling of peace settled over me.

I laughed, craning my head around to look at the peacekeeper's shiny black viser. "You lose." I reached my finger out and poked his helmet before breaking into hysterics as another peacekeeper rushed through the door. Or maybe there were two, I couldn't really tell.

That was when the sack was thrown over my head, which only increased my amusement. In retrospect I realized that wasn't the reaction I was supposed to be having. "Are you freaks trying to haze me or something? Bring it on, you... you armored marshmallows. "

I felt a sharp kick to my ribs. "Shut up." Somebody grunted as my feet were grabbed and I was pulled... well somewhere. They were probably going to kill me and dump me in a river or something. I wasn't that concerned so I let my muscles relax and my head thunk against the floor for the ride. I could hear the irritated whispers of the peacekeepers, they slithered into my ear like snakes but I was unable to comprehend the words.

Suddenly I felt myself tugged sharply and my body tumbled over itself. I cried out as my head cracked against stair after stair, the pain electrifying my body. My body rolled to a stop in a puddle of freezing water. "On the scale of fucking asshats, you two are grade-A premium ones with dorky pom-poms." I croaked as I struggled to get the bag off of my head.

I let out an irritated grunt as I finally managed to get it off my head only to see the door at the top of the stairs was closed. I felt my eyes roll as I turned away from the stairs to study the rest of this godforsaken room. If they thought they could keep me locked down here they had no idea who they were dealing with.

The room was dark. Water dripped from the ceiling and into grimey puddles on the cement floor. The overwhelming stench of mold and decay filled my nostrils, making me crinkle my nose. In the center of the room was a table, at which a man who resembled an irritated troll sat. He watched me with this chilling smile and eyes that twinkled with a devious sort of mischief, so essentially he reminded me of a demonic leprechaun.

I was really glad I was high.

"I really hope you weren't talking to me, just then." He said calmly, watching me the way a cat watched a wounded bird.

I tried to stand up but fell sideways at the last second, my arm hit the stone wall and I leaned on it for support as I righted myself. "Are there two of you? No? Okay. Then it probably wasn't about you, I could definitely call you one of you like though." I muttered, distracted with my task of standing up straight. I never could stand up straight when I was high on Freon or gasoline, they must screw with my cerebral cortex or something.

"I wouldn't recommend that." The man's dry, sarcastic voice rippled into my ears. "I am your gamemaker and you've already managed to provoke my irritation."

I turned around to look at him. His facial expression hadn't changed. "So you're the bitch who stole my marijuana? The rules are I get to bring a token of my choice! My choice was marijuana! You took my baby!" I cried, enraged, I let go of the wall and advanced toward him- only to fall on the ground again. "Dammit. You know I could walk straight on marijuana." I grumbled pushing myself to my elbows.

I heard the screeching of a chair being pushed backwards, I glanced upward just in time to see a foot barreling into my face. My head snapped backward as it collided, making me cry out in pain. "You know? I don't really appreciate your tone." The gamemaker's even voice bled through my agony. Suddenly I felt my arm wrenched behind my back in a direction it was definitely not supposed to go. "Or what you have to say. I think you need to stop whining like a coward and know that whatever I say is law."

"God, okay, okay! Just frigging stop!" I cried as he pressed on my arm just a little bit more, making the pain blinding. This guy was insane, stark raving insane.

He didn't budge. A big bead of sweat ran down my forehead. After one long tenuous second he spoke as if he was almost in a trance. "I really don't want to. I'd like to crush your bones. If I just pushed your arm a little further they would crack. Then I could move on to your knees.... its been too long." His voice shook with a restrained excitement as he spoke.

I could hear my heightened heartbeat in my ears. "No," I gasped trying to sort my thoughts. "No you don't want to do that. If you kill me now you will get heat from everyone. You don't want an incomplete game do you? It will put your position in jeopardy, I bet there are a hundred people who would kill for your position. You get to kill me in the arena anyway, why compromise yourself like that?" I rambled, spitting the words from my mouth as they popped into my head.

Just like that my arm was released and relief flowed through my nerves. The gamemaker was laughing, "You think they can get rid of my that easily? Get up."

I struggled to catch my breath. I didn't think he was that disposable, I knew he was. He might be crazier than the rest but in the end he was still mortal. That was the problem with gamemakers, they seemed to forget they were mortal.

"I said get up!" The gamemaker exploded grabbing my shirt collar and dragging me to my feet. "There is something I want to show you." He said as he threw me into a chair that sat across from his at the table.

I fell out of the chair.

"You pathetic human." He growled looking toward me as I clawed my way back into the seat. "Watch this. This is my game. This is my first kill. It is just a mere shadow of what I have planned for the arena." He said coldly as a hologram appeared before me, a small doe eyed boy was sprinting down a long white washed hallway. He glanced behind him as if someone was chasing him.

I swallowed hard. I knew what was coming. "You pride yourself on killing a 12 year old boy? What do you torture him? Does that make it any less cowardly?" I felt my thoughts slip from my mouth before I could stop them. "Did you bring me down here just to try to scare me? I'm sorry, I'm high. It doesn't work." I felt my voice break as the gamemaker sent me a look that could kill, but said nothing.

I watched the boy stumble out in front of the tribute that I knew would kill him. I tried to put on a mask of indifference but I felt my face begin to frown. "Rory, Rory, Rory, Rory, you shouldn't make all that noise, people like me might find you!" The future gamemaker smiled, his face looking downright demonic as he advanced toward the small quivering child. "Do you remember my promise?"

I looked toward the gamemaker who was staring at the screen with what looked like pride. "What promise?" I asked as my question was accompanied by the screams of Rory.

"Why, I promised to kill him. I'm a man of my word." He said uncaringly as his eyes stared in transfiction at the recording. I watched him as he clenched and then unclenched his fist as his eyes followed the movements of his past.

I looked back at the screen where the gamemaker had just finished addressing a camera sarcastically. He bent over Rory, pushing the boy's fragile frame against the wall and proceeded to break his kneecap as he cracked his leg forward. I felt my eyes widen in shock. "Don't worry... I'll do the other one...." The crackly voice from the hologram offered as the tribute bound the boy's leg with tape to keep it bent forward.

Crack went the other leg. My eyes tore themselves away from the joyful face of the predator to the agonized face of the prey. Tears streamed down Rory's blotchy face. He closed his eyes just wishing for it to be over.

I couldn't do it. Not even with my brain pumping with Freon could I keep my mouth shut. I shot to my feet and grabbed the display and threw it at my gamemaker's face. "You sick, sick bastard! What the hell is wrong with you? Do you get off on this or something?" I yelled as to my horror a grin spread across his face.

When the man who was be holding my life in his hands spoke, he sent "This is funny coming from a boy who was just begging for his life a few minutes ago. Here's the thing, I don't like you, Lockwood. I'm going to kill you one way or another, and you will be cowering and begging for your life as I do. That's a promise."

And then I fell over.