The hovercraft caressed the great gray helipad. The twenty-four children inside were breathing heavily, merely quivering, or stoic in shock. Adrenaline had not taken hold. Each tribute waited for the moment where they would be escorted into the underground chambers, something that they had witnessed in the Capitol-mandated circus many a year.
On an ill-meaning cue, the twenty-four were hushed by apathetic hands, quick-tied blindfolds, and the clink of sophisticated wrist restraints. Each was escorted to a small metal pedestal on the rim of the pad and instructed to await further instructions. The tinny announcer's voice boomed like an angry God.
"TRIBUTES WILL REMOVE THEIR RESTRAINTS IN TEN SECONDS. THE COUNTDOWN WILL THEN BEGIN."
The ten seconds passed and the cuffs dropped off like old skin. Each tribute ripped off the blindfold to assess their competition. The scores of glares that shot across the field were wordless, cold, and zealous. The timer started at forty seconds.
A slender boy with deep brown skin and bottomless black eyes glanced at a giant girl with flowing, curled red hair and spiteful lips. The female tribute with loud curves and caramel skin surveyed the male tribute with high cheekbones and hair dark as sin. Two blue-eyed boys and two green-eyed girls made immediate, knowing contact. The other twenty were far from surprised.
"TWELVE."
Sinew pulsed and nerves came to life. Adrenaline flowed like dark intentions through the twenty-four to-be-dead.
"NINE."
The tributes tried to make sense of their limited scope of the arena. Little was visible, save for an expanse of leaves beneath the pad and the endless reach of cornflower blue sky.
"FIVE."
The Cornucopia materialized in the dead center of the pad where the hovercraft had been. It was gorgeous – a vision of tightly coiled gold wire that boasted a bounty of advantageous supplies and an omen of bloodbath.
"FOUR."
A small female tribute with short brown hair was beginning to quiver. She had started to panic when the hovercraft landed – a blue-eyed boy smirked - his first target. The little tribute looked at the ground as her bottom jaw dropped a bit, like a confused dog or dead fish.
All the other tributes could hear was a terrible rip, the unfortunate shriek of the landmine, and the ominous thud of the customary cannon. The second the little tribute tapped her foot to the ground before the start, she was swiftly eliminated, as is tradition.
Her profile was projected onto the arena screen – Whae, Discrict 9 – to little attention from the distracted tributes.
The starting bell rang dimly over the cacophony, and the lucky tributes quickly scampered into the unknown below. The four allies acted as their academy had taught them and bounded for the expanse of supplies at the bosom of the Cornucopia. The others were still shaking on their platforms, hopelessly undone by tinnitus. Easy enough for the green-eyed girl with porcelain skin from District 2 – four young tributes were impaled by well-placed harpoons within thirty seconds. The tributes from District 1 – a blue-eyed boy and a green-eyed girl – went through the remaining tributes, hacking away at those who missed some crucial nanoseconds. The other blue-eyed boy who had shock-blonde hair saw a male tribute shaking in the wind, tears lining his lips. Disgusting. He scoffed, grabbed some supplies, and followed the group into the brush – unlike his compatriots, he found easy prey demeaning.
—END PART ONE—