Silver's POV
"Welcome, District Twelve, to the 76th annual hunger games!" chirps a woman in a pink wig with a sickly sweet smile. "And may the odds be ever in your favour!"
I glance around. Where am I? I'm standing in a crowd of people dressed in dull colours, all of them looking so thin that I think they would snap if I breathed too hard, and all of them looking utterly terrified. I don't recognise a single person or remember how I got here, but I remain calm. This is not the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me, and I'm sure everything will be fine.
A man, who I presume is important, launches into a speech about the past of Panem, which I guess is the area I'm in. I listen closely, trying to figure out what is happening. He then starts talking about something called the Hunger Games, an annual competition where – children fight to the death?! What the heck is this place? I'm starting to feel a little bit scared.
When the speech comes to a close, the pink-wig woman says "Ladies first!" and crosses the stage to a large sphere full of slips of paper. She pulls out a slip and reads it out: "Silver Rocket!"
"For the last time, I'm not a – hey!" I start to say, before some muscular people in white uniforms grab me forcefully be the arms and drag me towards the stage. I throw punches and kick with all my might, but I'm so scrawny that it does almost nothing to hinder them. Although, compared to everyone else here, I may as well be a Snorlax.
They force me up on stage, and I stand awkwardly with the crowd's eyes all glaring at me, most of them greyish-silver like mine. But then one pair stands out. Golden ones.
Gold tries to gesture at me, but he has no idea what he's gesturing, so he just attracts unnecessary attention. I mentally face-palm.
"Any volunteers?" pink-wig woman asks. No response from the crowd, but Gold looks around like he should do something.
"Now for the boys!" she chirps, and struts over to another sphere, picking out a piece of paper. "Ethan Hibiki!"
"Shoot." Gold says as the white-uniformed people drag him to the stage. So his real name is Ethan? I give a snort of laughter, and pink-wig woman stares at me like I'm a complete weirdo. I can see why. This obviously isn't an occasion where people often laugh. And from what I can gather, I'll be in the child-murder arena soon, so hooray for me.
"Tributes, shake hands!" she orders, so we turn to each other and he grabs my hand. I flinch, slightly, never comfortable with physical touch. In that moment of eye contact, we are both sending desperate distress signals to each other, but neither of us can really do anything, as we are both pulled apart and tossed in separate rooms in the fancy building behind us, with the promise that we can say goodbye to our families. Nobody comes. Well, this is going to be fun.