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.

20

19

18

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.

8

7

6

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.

3

2

1

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]

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.