In a dead sprint towards the Cornucopia, heels and all, Lin's eyes fell on a beautiful set of shortswords glistening pink in the light. She'd decided immediately those were hers, and it was just too fucking bad for everyone else.

Black wig whipping against her cheeks, Lin craned her neck to survey her competition, Tributes that ran neck and neck with her. A pedestal nearby had released a pretty young woman with black hair, her white robes trailing in the wind. The laywer looked ahead: where their trajectories met there laid a backpack of supplies.

Lin glared at the woman with an almost animal snarl, and picked up speed. She'd get the swords, then the bag, if she had to tear it out of the other woman's cold dead fingertips first.