Yutaka could not believe this was happening again. He could not believe there was another nation just as sick as Greater East Asia, pitting its kids against each other in a fight to the death (America? was this America? those distant conifers looked American...). He could not believe he had been rescued from the Program only to be thrown into these equally horrific Games. What was it that Keita used to say? Out of the frying pan, into the fire...?

Surreal to think that Keita was dead now.

But perhaps worst of all was when Yutaka took a quick look around at the Tributes--some of them weren't even kids--and realized:

Mim's really not here.

No best friend to save his ass this time.

He dashed toward the stream. He must have made an odd sight, a speedy little blur of black hair and short limbs, a teenage boy hardly any taller than a twelve-year-old. He tried to grab the baseball bat, thinking, perhaps accurately, that it was the one weapon no one else would fight for--but it floated downstream too fast for him to snatch.

The next closest item was a hatchet. He grabbed that--surprised at his success--and immediately ran to the woods.

His socks and pants legs were drenched. At least the jacket was waterproof. Thank Elvis. This place was cold.