Arena 15: In The Eye Of The Capitol

[etcircenses]

For the majority of you, this has become a familiar morning routine. Escorts come to pick up their Tributes and Stylists quickly see to setting them up with the bland and thin grey suits, much to most of their dismay. You'll not hear a word said in complaint though. The staff has gotten the threat to them loud and clear. Only the daring will be willing to offer even a mere "good luck". Peacekeepers quickly collect Tributes to send them off into the launch tubes. If you're from the Districts, it may be one of the last things you ever see.

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What everyone rises up to is not much better a sight. It's a war zone out here in every sense. Those native to Panem will recognize the sight before them, having seen it every year in a propaganda tape. The wreckage of District thirteen. The Cornucopia sits at the very center. Offworlders might recognize some of the weapons there, and if not, then they'll certainly be able to spot some familiar scenes far on the outer edges of the arena, perhaps even a beast or two they know well from their worlds.

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It's muddy and damp and there's plenty of wreckage to cut one's self upon no matter where it is Tributes run. The Cornucopia tempts the Tributes in for its bloodbath. Districter and Offworlder alike, there will only be one winner.

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The gong rings out and a voice announces; “The Arena is now open”. The Tributes are free to make their choice; to run or to fight. The Games have begun.

~~~

By the end of the night, one child from each District will have their face shone up into the sky, the first twelve killed at the Cornucopia. Only twelve to go...

Comments

[byeson]

Due to Bison's bulk, he doesn't immediately scan as a child to most, and hasn't since he got big enough to wrangle horses and cattle. By the time you're able to hold your own in the bullpens and on the range, you aren't much of a kid to other people in District Ten anyway. He was raised on the teat of the classic Hunger Games, and he doesn't expect anyone to show him any mercy for his age and inexperience.

His heart feels like it's pounding too sluggishly for someone about to die. He thought he'd be panicking. He thought he wouldn't be able to breathe, would hear his blood rushing in his ears, but instead everything seems slow, with seconds oozing out into minutes as he runs for the weapons and arrives a moment too late to grab one from Batter.

He doesn't realize that it's not that he's accepted death, but that he's still truly in denial that it will happen. His hand grasps empty air and he looks up at Batter both aware and not understanding that soon he'll cease to exist.

He grabs the nearest rock.

[expurge]

Surprisingly, the Batter pauses, arm raised in the air and ready to strike with the weapon almost stolen from him. He'd never stopped before, certainly not for another tribute, someone he owed nothing and only stood in the way of his inevitable victory.

But he does, only for the briefest of moments.

The fact that it's a child doesn't surprise or bother him. The Capitol chooses to send whoever they wish as tributes, whether they be child or adult, and if they weren't ready for it then it was their own problem. They could train like anyone else, learn how to defend themselves like anyone else, and they could die like anyone else. It mattered little.

He only pauses because for the briefest, quickest of split seconds, he sees little Hugo before him. Large eyes, full of fear.

Even the name almost spills past his lips before reality comes back to him. He's in the arena, surrounded by warring tributes fighting to survive and escape the chaos that is the Cornucopia. And the boy before him is a stranger, an unfamiliar face, and an obstacle with only a rock to defend himself. A poor fit for the arenas, if he's to be brutally honest, but it's of no concern to him.

The Batter strikes quick, flipping the knife in his hand so the blade points outward. He'll give the boy a chance - at most, the rock will bruise him. But if he doesn't act quick, that knife will get stuck in his throat.

[byeson]

It's not that Bison doesn't move quickly, with the instincts geared towards avoiding the hooves of horses and the horns of bulls, but that he moves aimlessly, with no plan. He's not going to leap up atop a horse's withers with his legs spraddled or vaunt over the wooden fence; he has nowhere to go, no goal aside from thrashing out artlessly with that rock that goes wide, doesn't even come close to hitting Batter.

He barely feels the knife slice into his neck. He hears it before anything else, the slick whip of skin and splatter of blood flinging to the side. His hand lurches up as he lunges forward, not out of aggression but simply pitching as he forgets his legs entirely.

[expurge]

It had to be done. If he was to be this arena's victor, he couldn't let anyone stand in his way. And it was just good strategy to pick off the small and the weak first, and save his strength for the stronger opponents he would encounter later on. This child was no different from any of the other children being slaughtered all around them.

The boy falls forward, and where normally he would stand aside to let the dying fall, he reaches his hand forward to catch the boy by the arm. He doesn't usually tend to his fallen opponents this way, but something about this one in particular makes him at least want to try making his last moments a little more comfortable. Even if it is just to set him on the ground and bleed out. But, whatever.

[byeson]

Bison thrashes with his arm a little, like he's trying to have his space for this private moment of death, to throw Batter off, but it's subconscious. It's not that he thinks he's being attacked. He just isn't thinking at all. He barely notices he's caught, thinking instead that he must have already hit the ground.

His eyes meet Batter's, but they're blind, glassed over with fear. They wouldn't recognize the eyes looking back at him as any different from the distant clouds behind the forcefield on the horizon.

Bison makes a final choking sound and then can't even gasp, unable to expel the blood in his throat enough to convulse his lungs for oxygen. His knees grind into the ground.

[expurge]

It shouldn't trouble him. Everybody knew what happens in the arenas by now. The smallest, weakest, often youngest tributes get picked off first, and the strong continue on as long as they can. Really, he was doing the boy a favour by ending him this early on - better now to get it over and done with, that someone else another day who could be more brutal and ruthless.

Not that the Batter wasn't either of those things, even towards children, but he prefers not to think about it.

Surprising himself again, once the boy crumples to the ground, the Batter holds him by the arm and slowly lowers him down onto his back on the ground. He's wasting time with just one tribute, he should be hurrying along, but he spares a few more seconds for him, just this once. Blood is everywhere, already staining his hands and sleeves, but it's of little concern. He waits, just another moment while the boy expires below him, and then he moves on. Best to continue the hunt and not think about this one too much.