thearena | Arena 12 - The Spaceport

Arena 12 - The Spaceport

As usual the Tributes are woken up early for the start of the arena, leaving the Tribute Centre before dawn. A few hours ride in a hovercraft delivers them to their destination where their excited prep teams will outfit them in skintight suits that are colour coordinated by District (D1 is White, D2 is Red, D3 is Orange, D4 is Aqua, D5 is Purple, D6 is Pink, D7 is Light Green, D8 is Blue, D9 is Yellow, D10 is Dark Green, D11 is Lavender, and D12 is Black) over which they will be put into what is instantly identifiable as a spacesuit, complete with oxygen tank and helmet before being loaded into the tubes.

They rise up into what appears to be outer space and immediately upon emerging from the tubes Tributes will find themselves floating upwards with a length of rope the only thing holding them to their podiums. The countdown crackles out from speakers built into each Tributes helmet.

20

19

18…

The Cornucopia sits in the middle of a dusty crater with buildings surrounding it, made up of a number of chained down cases and cubes in limited numbers. Cubes which sharp-eyed Tributes will note look like they fit into the slots beside the doors that lead into the spaceport.

8

7

6…

The mirrored visors of the uniformly white spacesuits make it impossible to tell friend from foe. Tributes fighting for goods will have to risk harming their friends but the alternative, floating off into space or suffocating when their oxygen runs out, leaves them little choice.

3

2

1…

The gong rings out and the countdown’s voice announces, “the Arena is now open” before the line goes dead. The Games have begun.

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Steve's pulling the suit from his injured arm and shoulder when Sam arrives, his teeth clenched as he frees his arm and reveals blood slowly seeping through the shoulder of his bright yellow suit. Seems the broken collarbone punctured his skin, but he knows that bleeding out isn't a threat, not with his healing factor back to normal. Still hurts like hell.

Looking up to see his friend arrive is immediately relieving - his eyes doing a quick once over, searching for obvious injury and seeing none. Good, Steve would much rather to be the injured of the two.

"Not as bad as it looks," he says it as his left arm tries to continue hanging useless as his side but starts to curl, unwilling to straighten. Tendon damage, been a while since he's dealt with that.

He thinks about playing it off, but when Sam is already coming over to check anyway, he doesn't see the point in doing so, especially since the obvious signs of pain are still written on his face, "Got my arm wrenched in a scuffle for supplies, broke my collarbone somewhere along the way." Probably when the momentum of being shoved away slammed him into the side of the spaceport.

He wanted to argue and say how it wasn't his fault...but quickly remembered that wasn't the case. No one was holding him at gunpoint when he made the decision to fly into the atmosphere twice. In fact, Albert had yelled after him, the best he could do to stop Jet when he'd offered no warning before taking off. Yeah. Who was the bastard?

"Whatever."

He looked away from them and focused on the schematics that flooded his vision, making his eyes unfocused again. Numbers, charts, every read-out he had scrolled through his vision including the little red warnings that remained. There were fewer of them now, at least. A moment later, he blinked and gave Venus a small smile. "Practically good as new, thank you."

He didn't want her to worry about him when there was nothing any of them could do for the rest of it until they had the right tools in hand -tools they might not even find. He'd be okay for a while, at least, it would just make some things a little more difficult, but that was better than countdown of a few hours.

"You should rest while we've got the time."

"Oh it isn't, huh? Did you become a medical professional, too, when I wasn't looking?" Sam retorts as he sets his case down, reaching out to get his hands on Steve's shoulder. The touch is gentle but firm, checking by feel and sight in a way that's still practiced, despite being out for a few years.

His concern becomes a lot less obvious as he works - not because what he finds isn't concerning, but because he slips easily back into professionalism. Assess the damage, figure out what he can do to stabilize it with what he's got to work with, get him somewhere safer so he can do a more in depth job, he knows this. The only difference is that here, safer is a relative term.

When he's done, he almost gets right to work before he catches himself. This is Steve, not a soldier he has to keep calm and share only enough information on their injuries to get them to trust him, to let them know that Sam has everything under control. Steve can handle the full extent of the damage.

"Yeah, that collarbone's definitely broken," he agrees. "Maybe your ribs, too, and your shoulder's dislocated. I can pop it back into place, and we can cannibalize your suit for the fabric and use one of the cords I grabbed for a sling, but it's gonna hurt." And now the concern's back, a little, but he pushes it aside. They could be in worse shape.

The shouting nearly gets Nitou shot with a mind bullet- though Milla manages to stop herself in time as she turns to face the man. "I am indeed, darling." Why bother covering up the fact when it's going to be broadcast on television? Milla knew her powers wouldn't stay secret forever.

"Though you should keep your voice down, dear. We are in a rather hostile place."

Luke straightens from the wall, holding her gaze neutrally as he does, unflinching.

‘My game this time--‘

If eking out a living for two years in a post-apocalyptic wasteland has taught him anything, it’s to err on the side of caution and not to dismiss a warning that comes his way when there’s no knowing whether it’s a bluff or not. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t assure her that he isn’t looking to have the blood of kids on his hands, because he doesn’t have to. At the end of the day it’s what he does - and what he doesn't do - that means the most.

He blinks thoughtfully, watching her turn away again, for real this time. And after pulling in a long, steadying breath he takes off in the opposite direction, doing his best to tamp down the adrenaline-fueled restlessness as shock subsides and his being alive has a moment to sink in. Too much time has been lost already.

The door's slammed shut the moment Nick's clear of it and Daryl braces his back against it, staying silent while he listens for the creepy little aliens. They're obviously right outside the door, but from what he can tell they're not doing a whole lot other than milling about in agitation. Speaking with each other occasionally, but he doesn't understand the language.

Once he's confident they won't be breaking down the door anytime soon, he slides down it into a sitting position, knees drawn up. And then he's just staring at Nick for a long moment, contemplating what to do with him.

"Might be here a while," he eventually says. "Unless you wanna go make some new friends."

In other words, stop hovering and take a seat.

Nitou looked down at his bag, not quite sure what he was supposed to find. There were other pieces of rhubarb in there, but...had he counted wrong?

"But I eat danger for breakfast!" Nitou grins at this. He means that in the most literal sense with Chimera awake and chilling in his belly. "I'm not worried." That's a lie; he's very worried about what Chimera will do if he's not fed soon or if Nitou himself dies and Chimera gets out. But hey, cocky front, nothing wrong with that. "I'm a wizard, you can fly, why worry?"

While Nitou was busy examining his bag, Kaito leaned over and produced the piece of rhubarb from... Nitou's ear? Wow, oldest trick in the book, dude.

"Ta-da! It's a bit similar to palming a coin or a card, where you convince someone that something's disappeared even though it's still there. But explaining how the trick works ruins the illusion."

He held out the rhubarb. "Here you go!"

Aang is pretty enraptured by the stars himself. Between his celebration of the return of bending after getting inside the space station, he takes a moment to stare out the windows at the stars, lingering close to the entrance (perhaps inadvisably, though he felt invincible with the rush of power running through his body again).

Then the airlock opens up, and there's someone with blood all over his leg. Aang turns his head to see who came in, his face immediately creasing in concern even though the wariness he developed over the past two arenas kept him from rushing to get within arm's reach. "Are you okay?" It was possible it was someone else's blood.

Clint can't say he made his way on through to the science labs all that quickly, and by the time he was shoved into the Arena, people had already dug in. He doesn't know how many people are here, how many are armed and hunting, and it makes settles beneath his skin like a slow creeping anxiety. He's lived and worked through hard conditions, but this is -- this is like nothing he ever dealt with before. So he moves, quick and carefully as he can.

Seeing Steve isn't anything he expected either. Clint's not quite sure what his expression does, because certainly he's relieved at finding a familiar face in an unfamiliar place, but this isn't somewhere he'd like to meet up again. Something in the cast of Steve's face says the same.

Still, Clint makes his way closer, wary and tense even if he pretends otherwise. His mouth curves in a sardonic little grin, fading fast.

"Got lost on the way over."

This place makes him more than uneasy, the unknown factors running together and dragging him down. Clint's steps are quiet and measured despite the heavy boots he's wearing. To another person, they might have been unheard. But someone trained and experienced like Bucky, well, the footsteps are just enough for him to pull back and hide. Clint, on the other hand, is hyper aware -- not simply because of his training, but because of the new murdergame he's found himself in.

He's lucky, perhaps, in that he suit is a dark blue rather than one of the other district's bright yellow or orange. Still, it's impossible to move forward in the hallways and keep hidden. He's got a long, sharp piece of metal in one hand, a makeshift weapon where he'd arrived here with nothing at all. There's the faintest sound -- cloth against cloth, the scuff of boot upon floor -- and Clint freezes, gaze sharp as he scans the halls. There's nothing at all, really, until quite suddenly there is. He puts his back to the wall, ready to book it or fight his way out. But the other guy gave up his advantage, maybe there's something.

It was Kenny's height that had led Thorongil to move towards him -- finding and protecting Frodo, Sam, and Bilbo was as important, if not more so, than getting safely into the space station. It is only when the knife is pulled that Thorongil realizes his mistake.

In the zero-gravity, he cannot move away fast enough -- he recoils, twists, and moves far enough for the knife to hit nothing vital, but he is still injured, and Thorongil cries out in pain, cursing his luck and his judgment and those who mastermind this game in the first place. He gasps in a breath, taking a second to clear his head from the unexpected blow.

If it is not a hobbit -- and it is reasonable to assume it is not -- then it must be a child. That limits Thorongil's options; even in self-defense, hurting whoever this was would be wrong.

Therefore, he opts to reach out, grab Kenny by the front of the spacesuit (none too gently, but it won't harm the boy, and Thorongil would be lying if he said he didn't want to frighten him a little) and, bracing his feet against the anchored base of the supply-cube, flings Kenny in the direction of the space station. It would send the boy towards relative safety, get him and his little knife away from Thorongil, and let Thorongil get the nearest supplies without further interruption.

Thorongil is not prepared for the sudden switch back to gravity. He stumbles, trips, nearly falls -- he is already lightheaded from blood loss, and his hurt leg is not ready to support his weight. He catches himself against the space station wall and takes a moment to breathe. The situation is bad: he is hurt, he has lost the hobbits, and the only supplies he has are of dubious utility. It is limping that he steps through the airlock, and when he sees the stranger, Thorongil waves him away with one hand.

He does note that the strange bubble-helmet he has been placed in can come off. Thorongil pulls it off his head and drops the handful of things he grabbed from the crate outside into it. Then, he looks up at Aang, his face drawn with pain but also sharply focused.

"No," he says, with a hint of tired wryness, "but this is not the worst wound I have suffered. I can see to it." Thorongil is guarded; the one who attacked him had been a child. He can assume nothing here.

"Who are you?"

He's not about to feed the other Tribute information he might try to use to his advantage. It was likely anyone would try to claim an identity if they thought it could save their life and make no mistake, it could save the man's life if he is who Bucky thinks he is. This is the arena and any unknown person is a potential threat.

while he waits for the answer he keeps the switchblade in his right hand, handle in his palm and the blade itself pressed up against the back of his hand out of sight, ready to be flipped around and used if necessary. Equally his other primary weapon, his metal arm, is concealed by the sleeve of his suit.

Carlos's understanding is about on par with Thor's. The idea that he had been recognized and attacked out of some kind of personal grudge is not impossible, but also not very likely, and would honestly seem a little egotistical. Carlos makes no move to go after his attacker. He's good. He'll just start to float away and try to find a metal place where he can think, to try to figure out a way out of this...

...and then his ankle gets grabbed. Carlos starts, and actually flails for a few seconds until he realizes the newcomer is pulling him, not attacking him. (He may or may not have managed to connect a kick with Thor's helmet; if he did, it wasn't hard enough to do any damage to the thing.)

Are they helping me? Carlos wonders, holding tight to his injured shoulder, trying to use his hand to protect the wound from exposure. He is in no state to fight this person off properly, and whatever this person's intentions are, it sounds better than suffocating and bleeding out at the same time, so now that Carlos is calm, he'll let himself be towed to...well, to wherever this person is taking him.

Aang flinches when he sees the man almost fall over, biting back the instinct to go to help him immediately. Aang, even for all the awfulness of the games, is still a very gentle soul.

He has already taken off his space suit and the helmet, so now he's only in the aqua jumpsuit of D4, which matches with his tattoo'd arrows. He looks from the man's face to his leg, then back to the man's face again. "I might be able to stop the bleeding. Long enough for you to find something to bandage it with, at least."

He knows it's stupid, but he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he just left a random man to limp along and maybe be killed by all the other people coming inside.

It could be argued nowhere is really safe, honestly. But that would just be splitting hairs. There's a tracker in his arm, and he's been mired somewhere with seemingly no allies and nothing to his name. It could be worse, true, but it could be way better also.

So far, Clint's been lucky. He hasn't gotten himself injured, hasn't run into any really life threatening things beyond the initial gasp for air getting into the space port. Perhaps the luck comes simply with being thrown into the Arena late, but it might just be a little late apology luck from all the shit he's been through the past months. In any case, Clint's making his way slowly down through the science labs, looking for something, even if he has no idea what it is he's looking for. The puzzles vary, but while he usually doesn't show his intelligence, Clint's no slouch.

The puzzle outside the room Sam's guarding, however, makes him curse under his breath, loud enough in the quiet to echo. It's no surprise Sam moves, and as soon as Clint hears the familiar movements of someone moving, he's shifting in response, the sharp piece of metal functioning as his knife in hand. Sam's utterly unfamiliar, but he didn't immediately attack, and Clint can work with that.

"Don't think so." An uneasy pause, shifting where he stands. "Name's Barton."

There's something about this other Tribute, not necessarily familiar, but definitely unnerving. Clint's a good soldier, a good assassin -- but there's always the possibility of others out there being better than he is. The look on this man's face? Well, it definitely isn't reassuring. Clint shifts, grip upon his makeshift knife tightening.

"Barton."

What? It's not like it's necessarily a secret. He could have said Hawkeye, back home, and gotten much more recognition. But it's lucky, maybe, that Bucky's arm is concealed. Clint's never had the fortune of meeting the Winter Soldier, but he remembers the aftermath of Natasha's failed mission, and the gunshot scar knotted at the turn of her hip. Even more so, Clint remembers snipers trading stories of the Winter Soldier like he was nothing more than a ghost story. One think is certain, that arm? Would have tipped him off, and he would have booked it, knowing there's probably only a small chance he could take on the Winter Soldier and come out on top.

She must know that powers weren't granted back so often. But then, maybe she doesn't. She hasn't been here all that long, maybe nobody got to telling her. She can't have looked on at arenas past, he's sure she hasn't.

Just as he's sure he is right about this. Linden will still be there in Capitol, just as he was. Them ones from the old games were survivors. Unless the motherfucker got being too rebellious, such things would remain to be.

Then again, who even up and knew?

The idea of trying to find someone in capitol right now seemed all too taxing. He doesn't hardly want to be awake.

He takes her hand, thinking her offer over. Then...

signless. terezi.

His quadrantmates. That's who all he wants right now, more than anybody.

Bruce had, after patching up those who made their way to the little infirmary he and Sam had set up, explored a little bit. And when he comes back, there is someone new in the little space the Avengers and their friends have carved out--this would put him on edge, but the face is familiar.

"Barton?"

Now there is someone he hadn't expected to see again. He doesn't know if he should be vaguely relieved they have another (probable, since Bruce still doesn't quite trust either Clint or Natasha) ally, or upset that someone else is stuck in this hellhole. Maybe a little of both.

[His ears twitch at the sound of someone approaching - even if he was unable to sneak as quietly as a Hobbit could his sense of hearing was hardly dulled in the damp and dark halls. He spins around, blade at the ready and takes a step back on impulse with the intent to defend himself or run.

That is until he realizes who it is and Bilbo finally remembers to breathe.]

S-Signless. Hello. [His voice is barely above a whisper and lowers his shaking hand.]

Tony never really saw the spacesuit approach him, what didn't escape him however was the blinding pain that the space suit had cause.

He swings his head around to try and see who stabbed him, but of course the shielding on the visor prevents it completely, so instead Tony opts to try and pull away from his attacker, something the lack of gravity makes very difficult, looking more like an upset jellyfish.

Garrus knew there were kids around, but he'd never had one be so bold as to say hello to him in an arena. It was interesting, and had him shaking his head.

"Kid, let me give you some advice. If you see someone bigger and scarier than you, you have a better life expectancy if you run in the opposite direction." He replied. "How many arenas have you been through?"

Getting in the airlock had been nothing short of a challenge. He was thanking everything that he hadn't gone for the cornucopia this time around. Inside, he needed to cover ground and find somewhere that was defensible, that was his main goal.

Turning the corner, a familiar glow of blue caught his eye and automatically he threw himself back against the bulkhead. Biotics were not something he wanted to screw around with, and when no attack came he took a chance to pop his head out and have a look at who it was.

"So you know, you look good in blue, Shepard."

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Page 9 of 28

Arena 12 - The Spaceport

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Science labs, later

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2!