Her launch room was lit in an ominous way that made her nerves tighten. In just sixty seconds, she would be in the arena. She would see her surroundings. If it was a tundra or beach or anything like that, she would be screwed.
Her stylist gave her a russet-brown jacket, standard wear for District Seven's tributes. It was thin, but comfortable. She hugged her arms around herself, feeling the warmth from her tense limbs.
Then a disembodied voice stated, "Thirty seconds," and the door to the glass tube slid open with a soft hiss.
Sylvia walked over to it very slowly, savouring every step she took as if it would be her last. As she stepped into the tube, the voice came back: "Ten seconds."
Sylvia looked at her stylist, at the neutral expression on her face, as the tube's door swung closed. Instantly, the tube began to rise and Sylvia craned her head back, hoping to catch her first glimpse of the arena.
This is it, she thought to herself. Moment of truth.