Chapter Eighteen - "Venting"

Who'll it be?

Slowly and steadily, I slink backward while the group of tributes brave enough to try and bump me off inch their way forward. My eyes flicker beyond the tight circle of tributes, towards the horn, watching as the others begin to close in and take up loot. I was expecting more to join in. I guess they chose to live to fight another day. Satisfied that we weren't getting anymore latecomers, my eyes quickly fly to their hands.

The young man from 9, the most confident, has a club in his hands. Thankfully the rest of his followers are armed with daggers and swords with the least manageable being one girl from 8 with a halberd although her stature makes me think that she wouldn't be able to put the weapon to proper use.

My stance slackens a tad. Why are they so hesitant with me, even if I did kill one of their own and serious injure another? Is my rep that fearsome? I make a show of lunging toward them, prompting them all to stagger backward. Hells, two girls, one from 3 and other from 5, leave. They turn tail and run off into the forest.

"W-Where are you going?!" 9 barks. "Don't you see we have a chance!?"

I snigger just a little. So much for being the worst of the worst that Panem had to condemn.

It happens fast. Very fast. The sniggering triggers 9, causing him to let out a snarl as he charges me with his club raised high. He's angry, way too angry. It makes it all the more easier as I drop down and sweep his legs from under him with my own just as fast as he strode forward. On his back now, he manages to keep hold of his club, striking me on the cheek.

My vision flashes and I taste iron in my mouth but I don't let it faze me as I plunge my gauntlets into his chest four times.

I quickly meet the boy from 5 who tries to take advantage, lunging toward him. His eyes wide with fear, he swings his short sword downward and I block it, swinging my gauntlet upward to meet his blow while using the other to jab at his throat. It connects.

With three holes spewing bright crimson, the boy barely has time to cover his gaping throat before I quickly maneuver myself from his front to his back, grabbing him by the scruff of his collar and pushing him forward, effectively using him as a shield as 8's halberd skewers him in the stomach.

The girl from 8 goes down with the dead weight. Surprised with my maneuvering, she barely has time to react as I wind my fist back and launch a left hook into her face, the gauntlet piercing her face and exiting through the side. Her blood spraying my vision, like a piece of clothing on a line, the momentum from my punch has her flipping 180 degrees face first onto the ground with a garbled cry.

I quickly turn around, slashing the face of a 10 boy as he raises a tomahawk to strike me. The hatchet discarded, the boy from ten wreathes on the ground, hollering, clutching his face while blood soaks through like a sieve.

I turn around again, just in time to see another 5 boy attempting to tackle me by leaping off a nearby pedestal. I quickly move. While 5 crashes onto the ground and eats dirt, a boy from 6 tackles me against the pedestal's steel, screaming dementedly as he attempts to force a knife into my gut. While I grip his fists and hold the blade at bay, a girl from 10 and the 5 boy move toward me with their knives ready to join in.

"Excuse me, coming though!" the 10 girl barely has time to react when Spinel's metal, spiked bat collides into her face.

"Sp-Spinel?!" flabbergasted, we watch as 10 reels to the ground belly first, Spinel standing over her as she gives her one final whack. Though her eyes are wide open, 10 doesn't get up again. The three of us watch her dip down and collect the fallen 10 girl's weapon. She looks up at us and frowns, shrugging as if this were all a normal occurrence.

Then she looks my way, winking before sprinting off towards the thick brush. I... I'm not even sure what to make of the neurotic girl from District 1. My eyes lock with 6's. Remember where you are, Zenobia. I launch a gauntlet into his gut with a squelch, causing him to hunch forward, clutching his middle while blood flows from his mouth.

The younger 5 boy moves forward with hesitancy in every step, earning my gauntlet into his face. His large knife discarded, he drops to his knees, blood oozing out of his mouth and nose. He lets out labored, choked gags as I plant one hand onto his shoulder and tear the gauntlet out, allowing him to drop to the ground. The blood erupts out of his mouth then as he settles in place.

The 10 boy is blind in one eye, the gauntlet leaving three, deep cuts into his face. His singular eye wide and wild, he stumbles forward, short sword in hand as he swipes haphazardly at me, grunting with each swing. I casually step out of the way, allowing him to tumble to the floor face first. His groans are immediately silenced as I plunge my gauntlet into the back of his neck.

Ripping the blade out of 10's neck, I steadily rise, taking in the various bodies that litter the space. Seven of them were killed by me. I give them another lookover just to be sure. I killed seven people single-handedly. Is that what anger does for you?

It must be.

Meanwhile over at the cornucopia, the remaining tributes scramble away with loot. Maybe it was for the best that I fought here rather than at the mouth where I would surely be dead meat.

With the distractions out of the way, my eyes hone in on the Dixens.

Eunice tries desperately to get Jeremiah on his feet again. She manages a few times, only for him to crumple to the ground in pain. He yells for her to leave him as she spares a glance at me and immediately makes a break for the brush.

Oh no she doesn't. I stride forward, ignoring the downed Jeremiah. Passing by him, somehow, he manages to stagger onto his own two feet, pump his legs and tackle me to the ground. I feel something hot pierce my shoulder.

"Leave 'er alone!" he yells, ripping the dagger out of me before attempting to press it down again. "She didn't do anythin-"

My vision flashing red, I swat the blade from out of his hands and shove him off of me. Jeremiah crashes onto his back, too weak to stop me as I clamber on top of him and plunge a gauntlet into his chest. Blood plumes from his mouth as I give the gauntlet a meaningful twist. My eyes glued to his, he lets out a garbled cry as I tear the blade out and plunge it back in again with a squelch.

"Jeremiah!"

I lift my head upward, watching Eunice as she watches us, tears in her eyes as she shakes her head in supposed disbelief. Why would any of this be unreal? Her family brought this on themselves by messing with mine.

I rip the gauntlet from out of Jeremiah's chest and rise, breaking into a sprint as the younger girl retreats into the brush.

The distance between the pedestals to the woods is at least two hundred meters. I clear the distance at a break neck pace, barreling into the woods after the last Dixen. She's got a few meters ahead of me, which grows as she nimbly stumbles and bumbles past the trees. It's no sweat. My vision is honed in squarely on her, if my lungs are starting to protest, I can't feel them as I bob and weave past trees and vault over downed logs.

She wasn't going to live past this hour if I could help it.

Squealing and crying all at the same time, the younger girl keeps craning her head back to see where I'm at, all while not noticing the incline in front of her.

I skid to a halt, watching as she disappears over the edge with a sharp cry. I casually walk the rest of the way, towards the edge, peering over it and watching as Eunice struggles onto all fours, covered in muck and soaked from the pond she landed in. I slide down the incline without a hitch, marching over to her with a single gauntlet activated. Eyes wide and wild like an animal's, Eunice raises a hand toward me.

"He did it to me too!" she cries.

What? deactivating my gauntlet, I halt just inches away from her, chest heaving as I recover my bearings. As I loom over her, she breaks out into a sob. That, alongside her labored breathing makes her an absolute mess.

"Touched ma...and touched me too...I hate him! I hate him with everything I got!" she sobs. "Ma moved us to another village to...to get away from him."

"He violated you..." I murmur, my voice barely a whisper. My hands drooping to my side, I gaze around our surroundings as Eunice continues to sob away. There's a stone bridge some hundred meters out. Some paved walkways. No tributes, none that I'm aware of.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry...we're sorry!" she babbles, shaking her head every millisecond. "P-P-Please...We didn't know him! We just...got caught up! We never fought...we never-"

She continues to babble about the trial and the execution and the shame, but I've all but tuned out of it all. She too was a victim of her mutt father.

"Kill 'er Zen,"

I turn my head to the right, watching as Paulus glares at the sniveling girl at our feet. Cigarette in his lips, he takes it out, crushing it under the heel of his jackboot.

"Remember what our friend said. "Things happen in war"," he says mockingly, scrounging his face to the same effect. "Her family wronged ours. This is the time and place to settle the score. Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. Better you than a mutt or a half-crazed tribute."

I nod. "You're right."

Eunice pouts, half shaking her head. "...Huh?"

I watch her brown eyes go wide as I activate a gauntlet again. "It doesn't matter."

"No!" Shaking her head, Eunice spins around and begins to flee.

I lunge forward as I catch a fistful of her braided hair, wrapping it around the length of my hand as I tug her backward. She screams like a madwoman, bucking her hips and kicking out as she continues to plead for mercy. All I think about is her father bashing Paulus' head, shooting Dad, cutting my blouse off before pawing at my body.

My grip on her locks intensifies as I pull her head back. Without the slack, she can't fight back as hard. Her neck is taught.

"S-Stop! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please let me go, I don't wanna die-!"

"Quit...moving." I plunge the gauntlet into her neck, replacing her desperate pleas with wet gargles. With a quick motion, I rip the gauntlet from her neck in an outward motion, loosening my grip on her braids.

Bright red blood gushing from her neck like a faucet, Eunice stumbles a few steps, clutching the wound to no avail. The blood was really flowing, I figure because of a cut carotid combined with her running. Turning around to face me, she extends a hand to me before collapsing into the water with her arms splaying outward. It's not long before the surrounding water turns crimson.

I retract the blade, not paying her another second of attention before pivoting on my heels and making my way up the incline again.

One pair down, two more people to go. Anyone else is a plus.

I come across Jeremiah slumped against a pedestal. Clutching the wound on his stomach, his eyes are vacant as he gazes off into the distance.

I have half a mind to kick him where he sits. He didn't deserve a calming end. I think back to my plunging my gauntlet into his chest and him screaming out as twisted the blade, maximizing his agony. I take it in stride knowing that his end was anything but pleasant.

Paulus kicks the boot of the fallen male from 11. My first kill.

"Maybe you should check out the horn, see if there's anything worth scavenging," he says.

"Wouldn't hurt," I mutter with a shrug, glancing around the cornucopia's radius.

The first thing I find off is the fact that there are only twenty-four pedestals that ring around the horn. I immediately assume that we were all split up. It can't be forty-eight times two...so maybe they split us up four times, which means there are three other cohorts of twenty-four in this park. I don't think I'd want to imagine all ninety-six of us duking it out, if the Fiftieth bloodbath were any such example of how confusing a large fight would be.

I make my way towards the mouth of the horn, scanning from left to right in case I spot any stragglers. On my way over, I spot a shredded head of a male, who I assume was a jumper. I keep my head forward as I continue to walk on. Living in a field hospital for a few months has made me aware of the many ways a body can be abused.

Paulus fiddles with the lid of a crate. "Not much here, Zen."

"Nope. Kind of weird." I say aloud, examining the scene before me.

A male from 7 has a spear bedded in his chest. Five feet away from him is a younger male from 10 is bleeding profusely on his middle, staining his jacket. I'm surprised when I see that there's a male from 1 lying face down. I quickly remember that the 1 aren't Careers this year. I wonder to myself if the other cornucopias were more active on the killing front.

Besides a few weapons, such as a knife that I quickly slip into a convenient sheath in my boot, the horn was empty of the high-rolling loot one would usually get if they were brave enough to enter its radius. Maybe there was just enough for a few people and due to my almost being jumped and killed, I missed that train. But how do they expect us to survive a week or more without equipment?

"At least there's this..." I say, securing a khaki, load bearing suspenders from out of a crate. It's military for sure, but very, very old, unlike what PKs currently wear. It comes with a full canteen of water and a bunch of empty pouches to place anything from a first-aid kit to a mid-sized blade.

Paulus leans against a stack of crates. "If you're shit outta luck here, then perhaps they have loot elsewhere."

"Maybe, maybe..." I reply, glancing around the horn's radius. The residual smoke from the jumpers coupled with the overcast makes for an eerie environment.

And then I remember I have an alliance to link up with...If there's anything left of them.

Armed with my gauntlets and kitted out with my suspenders, I activate my communicuff, consult my compass and make my way north.

The park is huge. According to the communicuff, it's one long green rectangle surrounded by gray all around. I consider taking my chances out on the streets but I decide to stick to my bearings and continue north through the woods. Every tribute is going to want to hole up in a building for the night and I don't want to get caught up in the inevitable conflicts.

"Oh wow..." Paulus murmurs.

I peer over my head to look at him. "What's up?"

"It's just like the ACT. When I tell ya we got it good, we got it good."

He has a point. I mean, waking up and making my way to the arena had a jarring effect, but in the end I felt confident. I couldn't imagine being one of the other tributes, not having a single idea of what they were about to get into.

I just about clear my way around the lake when I find a blue crate, nestled between two trees.

I frown. What the hells? You're a ways from a cornucopia, ain't you? I hunch low and slink my way toward this mystery crate. I pull the latch and it opens with a hiss.

I come face to face with a pack of jerky, a pair of socks, an apple and a knife.

Sweet. I stuff my gains into the available pouches I have.

"Who knows, maybe you'll find more?" Paulus wonders aloud.

A loud boom resonates through the area, and I make like a skittish squirrel, clawing my way up a tree, using its leaves to shroud me. I count each cannon as they fire.

Seventeen...eighteen...nineteen...twenty. One hour into the Games and twenty tributes are out. Imagine that happening in a normal Games with the normal number of players? Twenty in these Games is an expected amount I believe.

"Twenty tributes." I murmur to myself, dropping to the forest floor.

Here's hoping that my alliance of rookie Capitolites are still alive and well.

I've reached the tall, twisted, rusted iron gates of the park's northern entrance, coming across a dozen empty crates like mine within the half hour of trekking. One of them was even yellow. I wonder to myself how many hundreds of crates are hidden about through this concrete mess that is the arena.

"Gee..." I murmur aloud, taking it all in.

Back on my pedestal it looked somewhat decent, now that I'm facing it the city looks like an absolute mess. Water-filled sinkholes flood the street before me. Husks of cars were strewn about as if a child left them. I worry about the integrity of most of these structures seeing how they're pocked with gaping holes where their entrances should be, or they're half collapsed already. There's a healthy cover of greenery over most structures, a sign that nature has mostly reclaimed this place. The Gamemakers know this, I notice, taking advantage of all the holes and varying heights by including ladders and rope on select buildings.

Tributes yelling out to one another snaps me out of my trance. Hunching low, I skit across the street. Out of curiosity, I take a glance at the street signs. I barely make out a rusted over 5th Av and E 105th St.

That's when I hear a loud thud.

I immediately hug the left shoulder of the street. Sounded like an explosion. Not confining myself to one singular spot, I bound up the street, hiding for moments at a time in storefronts, piles of debris or the husks of taxis. The yelling persists and then there's another loud thud. The yelling stops and a cannon rings out seconds after, dwarfing the explosions that came before it. I hold behind a taxi just as a male from 8 leaps from out of a car park. Frantically looking around, the young man sprints into a tenement building.

My eyes aren't glued to him exactly, but the huge rucksack on his back. Who knows what types of goodies he has stored inside?

I want that ruck. I activate my gauntlets and push off from the dilapidated car. Waiting a whole minute before going in after him.

It's a typical tenement building that of course has seen better days. There's a lobby, which contains mailboxes, a destroyed elevator and a stairwell. I make sure to halt and listen for 8. I can't hear him. I progress anyway, steadily making my way up floor by floor.

If I were him, I'd make for the highest floor there is.

And judging by the way the Gamemakers configured this place, up is the only way to go. No matter what floor I'm on, each door I try appears to be welded in place. Guess they don't want us hiding indefinitely. Kinda makes me wonder about the tactics they have to flush us out if things get stale...

I reach the tenth and final floor, steadily approaching the doorless entryway before posting up against the wall. It's then that I hear 8 and the telltale hiss of an opened crate. I peer inside and there he is, perusing his newfound loot. My newfound loot, that is.

I prepare to charge him, take him out real easy-like.

I pause mid pounce, cringing as I hear the telltale sound of glass crunching under my feet.

8 turns around, his wide with shock and surprise. In his hands is an honest to Gods rifle.

"Shit!" I yell, as I quickly dashing to my left as the rifle comes alive with a series of deafening bangs, sending bullets downrange where I once was.

I'm in the kitchen, an island in the middle separating me from him. It doesn't matter, because 8 storms in, letting off rounds all while cursing and yelling. He's coming closer. My heart feels like it's about to burst from out of my mouth all while the rest of my body is flush with warmth. I act fast, bursting from out of my corner of the island from where I hide.

The young man from 8 rounds the corner too, rifle at the ready. Our scuffle is causing dust to kick up and fly around like flurries.

I let out a yell, moving the muzzle from in front of me with one hand just as another round is let off. My heart does a somersault and my ears ring as if I were underneath a toiling bell.

With an uppercut, I send a gauntlet into his throat.

Rifle clattering to the floor, the force of my punch combined with his astonishment causes the both of us to collide into the foyer wall like lovers who can't get enough of each other.

Everything stills as his wide grey eyes stare straight into my blues. Chest heaving, I crane my head to the right, toward the entryway. No visitors...not yet at least.

I fix my gaze back toward the 8 male. His hands grasping the gauntlet fastened into his neck, he opens his mouth as if to say something, only to plaster my vision with his blood as he continues to gag. I punch another gauntlet into his eye. His hands droop to his sides immediately as a cannon announces his death.

Bracing my knee against his middle, I rip my gauntlets from out of his head, allowing him to slide to the ground.

Are you alone? Who's next? Again, I cant my head toward the fire escape on my left and then the open entryway to my right. No one decided to show up. What about the gunfire? Am I hit? My hands immediately roam around my body in search of something that doesn't feel right. Apart from the bruises from the bloodbath and the adrenaline steadily leaving me, I'm safe, for now.

And now...I glance down at the floor with a deep sigh, gazing at the fallen 8 slumped against the wall. He's bleeding profusely, from both the eye and throat, staining the ground around his bottom. I can't exactly leave him here, the hovercraft is going to want to claim him again.

I grab him by the scruff of his jacket hood, dragging him across the apartment towards the fire escape. I heave him over, not bothering to watch as I hear him thud heavily against the ground.

"I enjoy her technique. Very aggressive." notes a familiar child voice. "Just one of many important traits of a victor."

"You know what they say, hell hath no fury like a woman scored, my dear colleague." replies a female voice belonging to a child of the same age. They both sound Capitol but Capitol times a million, unlike any Capitol accent I've ever heard. Weren't they the countdown voices? The voices that came to me during training?

What...? My eyes whip around the room, my gauntlets raised. I quickly hide myself away from the view of the entryway just in case a tribute or two tries to storm in.

"What the hells?" the voices didn't sound like they were distant. They sounded as if they were right here with me. "Max? Syndra?"

And then my communicuff begins to light up blue. Something begins to project outward, two holographic children dressed in uniforms fit for school, holding hands. One was a black boy and other was a white girl...or so I think. I'm unsure if it's because of the technology, but they look like they're resembling children rather than being them. They have the human features, but the lighting and the girl's resting expression...

I've been around the Academy's library, on field trips to the Museum of National History, The Nut...all of them had artificial intelligence narrating the tours, making announcements or acting as an operator...None of them had visuals.

"...Who are you guys?" I splutter. They look extremely unnerving.

"Vi Glassman." the girl replies.

"Pax Westbrook." replies the boy, inclining his head. "At your service."

"Or your detriment." Vi adds gingerly. Suddenly, the holograms flicker, showcasing wide, twisted smiles on their faces.

It clicks immediately. Their names immediately bring back the zillions of history lessons I've learned.

"Vi and Pax, the duo head gamemakers from the Post-First Quarter Quell Years?"

"The very same." they reply in unison.

"Or should we say...a representation of said persons." Pax corrects.

They, with a young Gamemaker President Snow at the helm, really upped the ante when it came to Hunger Games designs. From HG 25 to the Forties, new arenas were made apart from the old Capitol Arena. Actual twists, themes, mutts to fit the themes...and not to mention, the invention of the forcefield. We have them to thank for why the Games are what they are today.

But they weren't children when they were doing this...I don't bother pressing them why.

I gesture awkwardly to my communicuff. "...Why? Who are-"

"We are many things." says Pax.

Vi says, "Where human error makes a mess of things..."

"We offer a... decisive decision." Pax finishes.

Vi says, "We're your all-seeing guide."

"...Or your greatest downfall." Pax finishes.

With a slight frown on my lips, I nod along. So, they 'host' us, like how Claudius Templesmith makes announcements when need be, but this time they have robots doing it...Their cryptic spiel almost flew over my head.

"So what, you're just making your presence known?" I ask, my eyes flickering from Vi to Pax.

Again, their images flicker, their faces flashing over with wide grins.

"We will be watching your foray with...high expectations." says Vi.

"Some might argue they've already been met." says Pax.

"She may be one of the top candidates for victor, but the arena does not discriminate."

"...Much." Pax adds. With that, the two dissipate, leaving me absolutely flabbergasted.

"Alright," I murmur, eyeing the rifle on the ground. "Moving on..."

So my suspicions were right. Guns are now in play for these Games. An open arena like this wouldn't be good for just swords and maces alone. My mind races thinking about all the possible weapons a tribute could collect in here. How far were the Gamemakers willing to go?

I collect the weapon from off the ground. It reminds me of the ranch rifle Dad would use on our excursions into the woods. The only difference is that this gun was built for a fight. It has to be a mothballed legacy weapon, pulled off from some shelf from some armory and pressed into service for the Rebel Army.

Hells, I've probably seen it before on one of the many newsreels during the War. Piles of weapons all bunched up as PKs escort away battered Rebel fighters with their hands raised in the air.

I examine it further. Wooden furniture, iron sights with a mount for optics and a twenty round magazine that's half spent already. I make sure to pull back the cocking handle and run my pinky along the inside.

My finger comes back as dirty as 13. All black and gunky.

Maybe Atala was right, cleaning this thing and ensuring it'll actually work in my favor makes leaving it behind viable. Picturing the rifle exploded, with all its parts needing to be cleaned gives me a massive headache.

Luckily for me, I actually know my way around a rifle or two.

I immediately make my way to the orange and black crate the young man from 8 was sifting through. I'm gifted with one more thirty round magazine, a cleaning kit, a sling and a decent-sized bag of jerky. I immediately conclude that blue must be lower-tier goods. Apples, knives and smaller items. Orange and black must be higher, with guns, ammo, tangible food among other gear.

I wonder if there are other boxes out there? What's the best item a tribute can obtain?

"Well, you'd better find out, Zen," Paulus says, gazing out a blown-out window. "It won't be in here, that's for sure."

"True." I heave on 8's hefty rucksack, strapping it to my chest and waist before leaving this place for good. I wouldn't want someone getting the drop on me the way I did Mr. 8.

It seems that the poindexters over in the Gamemaker Labs thought of everything this year.

From the tenth floor of that tenement, I make my way onto the roof. The arena doesn't just span the ground level. They imagine us moving about on the roofs and in-between derelict buildings, judging by the new-looking ladders and walkways they constructed. I traverse the rooftops quickly, making sure to stay in the middle rather than the edge, lest I get spotted.

I settle on an even taller tenement building, selecting the twentieth floor. Back in the old days of the United States of America, this must've been a comfortable penthouse. Despite being over two hundred years old, I could still make out how the apartment was furnished. Paintings hang on the wall, although the subjects were washed out beyond comprehension. The furniture was overrun with mildew (thank Panem for sleeping bags). The wall to the fire escape is blown out, leaving a huge hole and exposing me to the elements.

All that aside, I'm glad I have a shitty roof over my head. Like I said, it beats a tundra.

I find a blue crate hidden under the kitchen sink, winning dried fruit and three bullets. Not for the rifle, but for a handgun. I keep them anyways.

Paulus places a jackboot onto an old box TV with a fractured face. "Gods...Imagine watching TV on this piece of shit."

"...Weird," I say. The entire apartment is essentially frozen in time. Maybe since the beginning of America's downfall.

Unfortunately, I'm not here to sightsee. I peer out the window and check my communicuff. It's getting darker now. Wherever Syndra and co are, if they're even still alive, meeting them will have to wait. Instead, I go about making my new abode more defensible. Using old drapes, I went about covering the windows. I clog the stairwell leading up to the apartment with old furniture. Trying to maneuver over them could very well lead to someone taking a nasty tumble back to the ground floor.

It seems that the other tributes have found their own boxes of firearms.

As I begin the task of cleaning my rifle, I hear the chatter of gunfire off in the distance. Multiple guns it seems, as the volley of fire 'talk' to one another. The multiple canons that result afterwards motivate me to get the rifle cleaned and ready for a fight.

The fight doesn't come. After a painstaking session of cleaning, the rifle is assembled and ready. I slip in a magazine and cock the gun, relishing in the telltale sound of the bullet being chambered.

"Not bad, Sis," Paulus Remarks. "Sergeant Floris would be damn proud."

I'm eating through my bag of dried fruit when the opening flourish of the anthem begins to play.

I rush to my feet, making my way to the window, peering through the drapes and up at the evening sky where the projector displays today's fallen.

They're doing it by district, showcasing multiple faces instead of the traditional one.

I'm glad that Syndra managed to escape the fray. A male and female from her group aren't so lucky.

Obviously, District 2 is short two tributes. Everyone else is still out there.

I barely recognize the same tributes I killed hours ago. There's simply too many of them to reflect...not that these people deserved an iota of my thoughts anyway...The holograms shock me once again by making comments on each death.

"The middle districts' performance as of late is...disappointing," notes Vi as District 8 is projected onto the sky.

"One would think they would excel in an urban jungle like this." says Pax.

I take note of the "TRIBUTES REMAINING – 69" showcased on the projection before it dissipates along with the anthem. Every district loses one or two of their tributes... except Twelve. The thought of Matix, alive and well, causes my blood to boil.

"They're stuck in here with you, 'member?" says Paulus, craning his head toward me from the other windowsill. "Only a matter of time..."

"Yea..." I murmur. Soon, Zen. Soon.

My wrist comes alive with a tingling sensation as my communicuff vibrates up a storm.

"Package imminent." chimes the voice of Vi. "In order to receive your gift from on high, please, extend your wrist outside to better connect you with the package sensors."

I obey, extending my arm out the window as I hear the telltale chime of a parachute coming my way. Once in reach, I quickly snatch the sizeable box out of the air, tearing off the lid.

I'm gifted with a lot of nifty things, but most important of all is the piping hot container of food in the middle of it all. Not a bad way to end the first night of the Games. There's a note attached as well:

:) - V

Such a simple message, yet it tells me so much. I almost forgot that there was a wider audience watching me fight. It makes me wonder about the guys back at school and how they reacted to the opening bloodbath. Viondra's probably drowning with sponsors and press dying to know more.

"Glad you all liked it," I say aloud, settling onto my sleeping bag with the food in hand. "Because there'll be plenty more where that came from."

atonement76 . weebly . com

[!] - Zenobia Rivendell, arena outfit (conceptualized) has been added to the blog via the 'Photo Gallery'. Not much to say there. I think she was my first commissioned piece. I'd like to think that her likeness to Eva Green shines through there. Guns as a weapon selection has been on my mind since planning everything out.

[!] - The Arena has also been added to the blog via the photo gallery. You *don't* want to be apart of it and your vagabond shoes are going to want to stay clear away from this place...for at least a few days if not forever.

[!] - They are where they are needed and needed where they are. Vi and Pax have been added to the blog via 'Characters Cont'd' and 'Photo Gallery'. It's hard to believe that these characters were made by a 16-17 year old me 7 or so years ago, appearing in 3-4 stories. Heavily inspired by The Shining twins, the Lutece Twins, the Red Queen from Resident Evil and HAL 9000 from Space Odyssey.

Coming Up Next...

Bea squeals, clapping her hands giddily knowing that her plan is taking off. "I'm glad that we don't have to sit around and twiddle our thumbs anymore-"