Since we've only heard from about half the tributes left, I thought an overall update was called for. Happy Hunger Games!
Carl Rattegin - Gamemaker's Control Room
I gingerly place an anti-sleeping pill on my tongue and chase it down with sweet coffee still hot from the pot. Half of the Gamemakers sit at their various stations. Some type down weather commands, another scribbles notes in a little black note book and another yet speaks quietly on the phone. All trying to find something to do in the dull hours of the morning. The rest of the team sleeps soundly in the Resting Room. I myself had just relieved my second in command, Hort-Ray Smithens, and he shuffles his thick frame out of the automatic doors. I watch him enviously for a moment before sitting at the head control station.
The games have been going well up to this point, but the crowds in the Capitol are getting antsy. They want death and, as the head executioner, I must give it to them. I log into the console and see the time; 11:56. I see a 3D geographical map of the arena with small numbered blips, each representing a tribute, and notice the close proximity between a pair. This is new, I think.
"Marla," I call. Her dark features snap from her half-finished crossword to meet my gaze. "Ready a cannon." She types quickly into her keyboard and hawk-eyes the vital signs of every tribute in the arena. Every other Gamemaker rises to action, a flurry of bees obeying the demands of their queen, and the forty-foot tall main screen lights up with live footage of the frosty forest. The wily tributes engage each other and exchange heavy blows.
"Finally…" someone mutters. I can't help but silently agree. The lack of action had bored everyone to tears.
Just as the clock strikes twelve on the third day, the bandy-legged canines at the edge of the woods catch the scent of fighting humans. The two tributes, one being the boy from District 8 and the other the girl from District 9, have entered their designated territory. We watch the battle between man and mutt continue on for half an hour before calling back the remaining beasts. The pair of tributes, although not terribly skilled, are resilient and fight for their lives. They both sustain reasonably light injuries. I decide that it has been enough and, when they run deeper into the woods, the pack does not follow. Where excitement had clouded the air moments before, disappointment hangs heavily. Marla goes back to her crossword puzzle.
"Full update," I command in a clear voice. More keystrokes from a worker bee.
The scene switches to that of the closest tribute; the girl from 11. She fled to the mountain with her little supplies and made a home for herself in a cave halfway to the summit. She lays next to a small fire, teeth chattering and curled up as tightly as possible under a small blanket. The temperature at that level reads well below freezing, but she is at least protected from the wind.
Similarly, the boy from District 12 lays unconscious in a clump of bushes just north of the cornucopia. He is nursing an ugly wound in his shoulder and has lost a lot of blood. His mentor works diligently trying to gather enough money to send him a healing salve, but not many want to give money to the nearly comatose tribute.
The girl from District 10 travels farther and farther south in the direction of a great, dark lake. She has been resourceful and melts snow for fresh water to quench her thirst. She doesn't stop to rest, probably in search of some sort of food source. She seems in good condition, but her eyes droop from fatigue and she has no weapons. Little does she know, the career pack creeps forward no more than a mile away. If they continue in the direction they're headed in, they will find her footprints before the light snow conceals them.
Having already found that same lake, the girl from District 4 slumbers lightly under the concealing lower branches of a snow covered evergreen just off shore. She clutches her machete and mumbles as she sleeps, having spent the day fishing small trout with a homemade hook. Everyone hopes the next confrontation leads to violence, since the last two spurned unlikely alliances. Seeing allied tributes interact can be entertaining, but the last tribute death was just over twenty-four hours ago and the Capitol is becoming restless due to the lack of slayings. If no fight occurs today, we will intervene.
The boy and girl tributes from District 1 guard their group's bounty near the cornucopia, but both tributes from 2 as well as the 4 boy travel cautiously in the dark. They each have torches, weapons and search diligently for prey. They are among the favorites to win.
Back near the cornucopia, the alliance between the District 3 and 8 females has taken an interesting turn. They had been spying on the pack earlier in the night and, after traveling for several hours, briefly start to discuss some sort of trap to snare their stronger foes. However, unbeknownst to the girls, the boy from District 6 eavesdrops in a tree close at hand. Though the wind howls around the cluster of tributes, the smaller, hungry boy with only a coat listens intently. One Gamemaker keeps a steady watch on this situation while another watches the careers.
The only other tribute left in the game is the boy from District 7 who is far east. He has been almost comfortable in the dense wood for the past few days and sleeps soundly in a small tent with a belly full of berries and water. His only from of defense is a knife he keeps with him. The redhead knows how to survive, but a cold front is scheduled to arrive and he will be the first to feel its chill.
So far, so good. I take another sip of delicious, caffeinated coffee and call for the latest odds. Our statistician, nicknamed "Fry" for his pin-straight golden hair, clicks his screen and the forty-foot main video screen shows a plain white background with each tribute's district, gender, and current chances of winning. Fry takes the tribute's health, physical capabilities, supplies, kill list, allies, and popularity among the Capitol citizens into consideration. He updates it every hour on the hour.
I observe it for a moment before delving back into my cup. Yes, I think. So far, so good.
Head over to my profile to see each tributes odds! As always, review, review, review! The more attention this story gets, the more encouraged this author will be to update quickly! Also, don't forget that you have the power to change the game. I will decide on a victor when we get to the Final 8, but I am more inclined to crown a crowd favorite! Who do you want to win?
