"The quickest way to win is a solo one. I'm the most efficient by myself. I don't have anyone to weight me down, no one to share all the loot with; it's all mine.
You can only win the Hunger Games by yourself, anyway."
The counter ticked down, the flashing lights bringing a wave of anxiety to all the tributes standing on their platforms.
All but one.
There was a boy, pretty lanky with short brunet hair, standing tall and proud. It almost seemed like he was grinning, but it might've just been the sun shining down against his face.
The clock hit zero, and all the people broke into a sprint, some heading for the chest circle in the middle, the others running away in hopes of encountering good loot scattered throughout the arena.
The brunet was one of the first ones to stand by a chest. He dug through its contents, pulling out a stone sword with a victorious sound.
He twisted around, lodged the tip of the blade into one of the other tributes multiple times, sending them tumbling down with a flash of red as intense as the one on his checkered hoodie.
''BajanCanadian' killed the first tribute.'
3, 2, 1, the Hunger games begun.
Mitch stood by the center, gripping tightly onto his newly-crafted diamond sword and waiting for the countdown for deathmatch.
There was one tribute, one person that he failed to find, but at least it gave him the time to craft the weapon and find more arrows for his bow.
He had trouble deciding which weapon to enchant, because he didn't know who he was going to face in the deathatch.
His research in the player list only told him the name of his opponent: AsfJerome.
He went for the bow, just incase. 'Power is always good,' he thought.
'30 seconds until deathmatch.'
He watched the seconds count down slowly.
3, 2, 1, bring on the victory.
He was teleported onto the floating arena platform in a mere blink of an eye.
His opponent stood in front of him, clad in chain armor and holding onto a diamond axe.
Mitch looked him up and down. He appeared to be a chewbacca - probably - dressed in a suit.
'Doesn't matter,' he thought as he moved to grab his bow.
"Hi," the other one called out.
Mitch caught him off guard with a arrow that hit him in his shoulder. 'Who greets their enemies, for Christ's sake?!' He wasted no time in his attack, and sprinted forward, sword at the ready.
He slashed at the other, but the sword got - sloppily, he noted - blocked.
Frowning, he wrenched the weapon and slashed again, getting a clean and deep cut.
The guy's - Jerome's, right? - body flashed red and in a second, he fell to the ground.
''AsfJerome' has been slain by 'BajanCanadian' using a diamond sword.'
Another day, another victory.
Mitch stood in the lobby, looking through the numerous games listed on the signs. Someone came up to him, tapping his shoulder to get his attention.
"What?" He turned around, coming face to face with the furry chewbacca.
"Hi," the other greeted, smiling at him like they didn't just fight. "Do you wanna work as a team next game?" he asked.
Mitch brushed off his hand - paw, actually.
"I'm not teaming," he stated, touching one of the signs randomly and disappearing into the arena.
'Not teaming with anyone,' he thought as he glared at the cluster of chests in the middle.
The names of people joining the arena flashes around, but he paid them no mind.
One did catch his attention, though.
''AsfJerome' joined arena 41.'
He was surrounded from all directions. They wanted his iron sword, and circled him like hyenas for it. There were maybe three people; too many to take on at the same time.
He wouldn't go down without a fight, though!
Swinging in a wide arc, Mitch hit the guy in front of himself.
This left his whole back wide open, and the enemy behind him didn't pass up the opportunity. A thought ran through Mitch's head, that he won't be able to dodge in time.
But just as the sword swung down on him, a geyser of red burst, the arm holding the stone sword pointed at him falling down, limp, onto the grass.
Blue shimmered in the light, Mitch's eyes finally registering it as diamond.
"I got your back," someone said, and like he had been unfrozen, the Canadian turned his head to look at his savior, no one else that the chewbacca from before.
Mitch scowled, gripping the handle of his iron sword tighter.
"Didn't need your help," he lied stubbornly.
"Oh?" Jerome looked amused as he twiddled his axe around. "Looked like you were in quite a situation there," he noted.
Mitch huffed, looking away.
"I had everything under control," Mitch deadpanned, at which Jerome let out a quiet laugh.
"Right."
The sarcasm made him want to punch the guy.
''I'm not teaming', where'd that go…?' he thought to himself as followed Jerome.
Well… he had to admit that it was much better to not have to worry about his front and back at the same time. And… Jerome seemed like a nice guy, honestly.
They chatted as they went, and Mitch offered the other a piece of his roasted pork, which the other refused with a clear look of disgust.
After a while of confusion, Jerome explained that baccas don't eat cooked food. It baffled Mitch, but hey, different species, different ethics.
Talking to Jerome filled the silence that Mitch often felt to be really consuming while hunting. He had to admit that the bacca was funny, for he had laughed non-stop for a good few minutes.
"You know…" he mumbled as they turned around, facing the spawn. There were a few figures standing there, their backs to the duo, and they were probably looking through the chests.
"Hm?" Jerome mumbled. They both readied their weapons, holding them just as professionals would.
"Teaming isn't actually that bad," Mitch said, turning and giving Jerome a lopsided grin.
Jerome beamed at him. "I take the left side and you take the right?"
Mitch nodded. "Yeah."
3, 2, 1, sprint.
3, 2, 1, time to win.