Tate was content that they were distracted by their food and their conversation as he moved silently to position himself behind them. He drew his machete slowly as he moved forward, finding himself behind the same bastard who had shoved a grenade in his mouth in the last arena. An evil smirk came to his lips as found his opportunity to seek revenge.

With one quick lung he was going forward with his machete swinging as he came up behind Eliot with the large knife moving to slit his throat.