TEAM 13 : DISTRICT 9

Katie : Katie

Training Gymnasium Day 1

The second she stepped in Katie knew she would love the training gymnasium.

She probably shouldn't, but sweet Anne Boleyn the room had everything. It was huge, having been renovated as part of President Gaius's inauguration to a massive football arena sized building, and included nearly one hundred and forty different skill stations. The sheer breadth of options made her actively eager to explore, and several of the stations she could already see looked fascinating: she wanted to spend hours on the fascinating track, speed up the rock climbing wall as many times as possible, try to do whatever that bunch of ropes were for...

Anyway.

By the time she and the rest of her friends got there (they made it at 12:00, exactly when they were told the place would open) many of the other teams had already arrived.

The eleven year-olds and twelve year-olds clustered in their teams, clearly beginning to truly understand exactly how likely their deaths were—and how their killers were in the room with them.

The fifteen year-olds had arrived too. They were more spread out than any other team; clearly they'd found each other difficult to get along with, and so were now caught between the need to work together and their clear distaste for each other's personalities.

The other groups that arrived before them were Teams 17 and 18, both clearly assured of their future victory. They stood near each other, posturing back and forth as they sized up the team they perceived as their biggest threat.

Behind Team 13 the rest of the teams began to arrive, coming one at a time through one of the three elevators that connected the Tower with the Gymnasium.

Above them whirred what looked like hundreds of drones, each equipped with cameras. Those recordings were not ones that were available in the Districts: they were sold at incredibly high prices to citizens eager to improve their bets or just to bask in the glory of the awful game.

A man, his disturbingly muscular body at odds with his neon blue hair and the painted glowing lines covering his dark skin, stepped forward.

His eyes swept across the groups, each clearly marked by the clothing they had been provided: every article of their black clothing had their Team number printed on them somewhere in white, and just below those their much smaller district number was printed in red.

He himself was wearing a sleek silvery toga, sharply different from the outfits of those before him.

Even the people behind him—the trainers positioned at every station—were wearing an odd sort of uniform made up of a shirt and pants and covered entirely in a striped pattern; clearly the man was not lowly enough to have a dress code to follow.

As the final team—the fourteen year-olds—finally got off the elevator he cleared his throat.

"My name is Grix," he announced, "and I am in charge here. The Training Gymnasium will be open every day from 10:00 to 20:00. You have exactly two weeks—an additional seven days from the usual duration— to use it to prepare. We suggest using the time before the Gymnasium opens to go over team strategies and the like in the room provided; every minute here ought to be used if you want to survive.

After ten days in here you will have your private sessions with the Gamemakers. They will begin at 06:00 and last until midnight, beginning with District 1 and continuing from there. Each of you will have 10 minutes."

There was a flurry of muttering, nearly deafening due to the sheer number of people participating, but a noise from Grix shut them up quickly.

"To continue, the scores will be posted the following day. That evening at 19:00 Districts 1 through 4 will do their interviews. The next day Districts 5 through 8 will go, then 9 through 12. The next day is the Games.

Do all of you understand?"

Most kids nodded. Some shouted affirmations, but they were mostly the older ones, the ones that weren't scared stiff.

"Good. Now, I know you will all be eager to jump to the weapons, but all of you have watched the Games: you know how many tributes die from exposure, from starvation, from their own stupid mistakes. Imagine how many more would die if they hadn't spent any time at all on the survival-focused stations."

He paused, but no one knew what they were supposed to say.

"Released."

Ninety six kids spread out in every direction.