Welcome To Arena 08

[gamemakers]

Today begins particularly early by normal standards. Long before the sun, or even a hint of dawn arrives. When the world is still and black and quiet, save for the parties still raging on from the night before. Night owls still have not gone to sleep. Everyone knows what today is, even if you've only just arrived.

There is a palpable tension in the air as everyone is ushered out under the cover of darkness to board the hovercrafts. A stream of faces both familiar and unknown filter in and take their seats, and very little is said as tributes are strapped in and attendants make their rounds, activating tracking devices. There are no windows, no openings no view of the outside world as it passes silently, below. The journey takes hours. And when everyone finally arrives, there is no hint of sky or grass or cloud or tree. Just long concrete hallways and rows of uniformed peacekeepers that remind everyone to keep in line in the underbelly of the unknown.

One by one, each tribute is lead into a small concrete room where stylists outfit tributes in their only bit of protection for the next coming weeks. Little is given away by the clothing each stylists put their tribute in. No flair or flourish or costumed monstrosity this time. Just simple, functional mundane civilian clothing. Khakis, cotton shirts, boots.

There is little time to dress and say goodbyes. Only a few small moments left to gather your thoughts. And then, the countdown starts. A countdown displayed in holographic blue begins:

25. 24. 23. 22....

The smell of earth and grass and a general damp green fills your lungs as you rise, slowly into a large grass field. At first, its the only thing you can see in all directions until the pedestal locks in place.

20. 19. 18. 17....

In the near distance, the cornucopia looms. Massive. Copper. Even hidden by the grass you can see its spoils are plentiful, tempting anyone with even a mild curiosity streak to come explore. Some may see this as a warning sign already .

15. 14. 13...

You can see the others, around you. Their heads, maybe the shoulders of taller tributes, and very little else. If there is anything hidden in this field you would never know it. The grass is too tall and too thick to show what might be lurking near the ground.

10. 9. 8....

There is just a hint of a breeze and the lingering scent of recent rain. The humidity is more uncomfortable than the heat., its a thick, jungle-like warm. You can see a dense tangle of trees in the distance. Blue sky filled with towering white clouds. Its the sort of place where nothing ever truly seems to be dry. At least you might not have to worry about freezing to death.

6. 5. 4...

For just a moment, everything goes perfectly still. Perfectly silent.

The grass rustles.

You feel the breeze.

2.

1.

0.

You will have two hours until a short warning alarm will sound and the sonic fences turn on across the entire arena.

Comments

CORNUCOPIA

[gamemakers]

A thread for characters going for the cornucopia.

[gluteus]

He'd only had his new leg a day, maybe less, when they told him he was going back into the arena. When they warned him to make sure he acted like he wanted it. Like he was meant to be there. He wondered vaguely if this was meant to be a sort of punishment, though he couldn't imagine a worse punishment than the one he's already recieved, currently supporting his weight but with the strangest sensation possible. He couldn't feel his leg, not really, though it moved when he expected it to move, and the ground was where he expected it to be. But it wasn't warm, didn't tingle. He tried not to think about it as he stood on the platform.

5. 4.

The truth was he wanted to be here.

3. 2.

The world made sense here. Fight. Die. Continue.

1.
0.

He took off as if his leg was exactly the same as the old one and immediately tripped over it, hitting the ground hard. He pulled himself up with a curse and tried again.

Re: CORNUCOPIA

[gardienne]

For once, Eponine decides to run for the Cornucopia. Not because she's interested in grabbing any supplies. Quite frankly, she doesn't plan on lasting long enough to be hungry.

Still drunk from the amount of brandy she downed the night before, that she had been drinking non-stop since Howard broke up with her, she sways slightly on her platform. Her face is pale, tear stained. Her eyes are bloodshot, her nose red from both the flu and from her constant crying. When the klaxon sounds, she staggers away, towards the Cornucopia.

Please let someone kill me. Please let it be quick. Please. Please,please, please.

[alldeduction]

His fourth arena.

For a moment as his stylists work silently he is almost struck my the mundane regularity of this fact. Four arenas. Three deaths. One more to come. He's long since given up on the concept of surviving himself - that isn't the point, and it's boring. He's had to make a mission for himself and he repeats it in his mind, ad nauseam. Give the Watsons the best possible chance of surviving.

So as he raises up, as the light blinds for a moment and he comes to see their surroundings, a chill runs down his spine.

He can't see anything edible. Not a single plant in his eye-line is one he knows they can eat, the tangled jungle far in the distance obviously toxic to his trained eye. Not that strange, he thinks, for them to make the world poisonous, but highly annoying. He only has one option, though he'd already known it was a risk he'd likely have to take.

The Cornucopia.

As the horn blares, he takes off like a bullet from a gun.

warning: there will be eye injury somewhere in here later

[knifewithnoname]

This is Pruna's third arena, she knows what to expect. She knows not to ask too many questions because no one will answer her. She gets dressed quickly, the clothes aren't too bad though she frowns at the boots. They tell her to keep them on, she grumbles and vows to take them off once she is safe.

There is grass everywhere, actually even once the pod locks in place all she can see is grass, and if she looked up she could see the heads of the nearest tributes through the grass. They probably couldn't see her. That was an advantage.

She took in the sights, took in what she could. Watched the Cornucopia, calculated if it was worth going for. She figured it was, the terrain was to her advantage and last arena she wouldn't have gotten so far without her initial haul.

3

She stood ready, knowing not to move until it hit zero. She wished she knew if Sandy was here, they told her she would be put in once she woke up, but no one would tell her how she was.

2

She glanced from left to right, taking a deep breath

1

Looking forwards, eye on her destination, ready to run.

0

She left her platform at a dash, heading towards the supplies, ready to fight for them.

[the_marshal]

A drumming heartbeat, a thickness in his throat.

Every arena was different, in the end, but they started the same for Wyatt. It was strangely comforting, that one familiarity in the ever changing landscape. Like an old friend, he gathered his apprehension to him and let it strengthen his muscles, sharpen his focus, as the pedestal climbed into the damp and the heat. Into the swaying field of green that immediately set of the warnings in the back of his head.

He'd gotten rather good at spotting the Gamemakers death traps when he saw them.

One of the rare pluses of being around as long as he had.

Scanning across the tips of the grass he squinted at the Cornucopia, aligning himself to the gleaming horn, preparing to make the break as soon as the cannon crashed.

Another breath, his heart near a hum then in his ears. He glanced at the faces closest, noting those to avoid, hoping for Howard, maybe Doc, or maybe even....

Everything went still. He couldn't feel the wind on his face, or hear his drumming heart. There was only the denial snapping through him, a full-bodied reaction, sticking him to the pedestal. His neat plans falling away as the cannon boomed. Leaving him with nothing but a curse stuck in the back of his throat, and the terrifying uncertainty if what he'd seen was even real as he pushed belatedly off the platform and into the grass.

[pythianjudgment]

Terezi is more wary this time around. Throughout the shuffle of getting ready and being escorted to the launch area, she's constantly aware of who and what is going on around her. She keeps expecting the same deal as last time: the sudden puncture of a needle, poison flooding into her system. But it doesn't happen. There are no tricks in store for them this time. Oddly enough, it's not until she's entered the launch tube and been sealed in that she finally starts to relax.

As the platform rises, Terezi stands completely still. She needs this moment to take in as much of her surroundings as possible before deciding what to do. She wants weapons, that much she knows before anything else. Hand-to-hand combat is not her forte. She's just considering what sort of provisions she might need to dive for, when the first scents hit her.

Her mind goes blank. It smells like grass and dirt; it smells like leaves; it smells like plants and air and sky. It smells damp like rain-soaked wood in the distance. It smells warm like a dozen humid summers under a canopy of thick leaves.

It smells like home.

A feeling bubbles up in Terezi's chest, and it takes her a few ticking seconds of the clock to recognize it for what it is: Excitement. She doesn't care that there are other tributes out there. It doesn't bother her that they may be stronger or faster than her. She's all but fearless in the face of whatever tricks lay in the grass between her and that copper mound.

This arena was made for her.

Terezi hunkers down, making herself smaller and more easily obscured by the tall grasses. She doesn't need to see her opponents. She can hear them and smell them just fine. As the clock ticks from 1 to 0, Terezi darts off into the grass towards the opening fray.

[onlyimmune]

She was silent through the entire process, glaring at the peace keepers and the stylists alike, letting them do what they wanted though as sullenly as possible. She could feel her pulse begin to race as the countdown began, as the placed her into the tube and as she rose toward the sky.

Calm down, Ellie. It's fine. You just have to do what you always do and survive as long as you possibly can.

The giant cornucopia glinted in the sunlight and her eyes widened. They'd told her about it, of course, told her how important it was, how that was all the supplies they would had.

She'd no idea there would be so much.

As the countdown continued she sucked in a breath and held it, waiting.

3.
2.
1.

On zero she was off, running as fast and as hard as she could, straight for the cornucopia.

Re: CORNUCOPIA

[hit_girl_mindy]

Nothing made sense of course. One minute she was going to school, resigning herself to normal, to civilian life, and the next minute shes hearing some speech about how she was competing in some games. Was she tempted to scream and yell and blow shit up? Oh yes. Mindy could only tolerate so much smoke up her ass, especially when it didn't feel like a lie, not any of it. She was here, in this...this special hell maybe? It was hard to tell, but it was a spectacle. I mean, people HAD been going into it the night before while she was just piecing everything together.

And then morning came and she was supposed to get ready. Right. Stylists swarmed over her and then kept away: the look in her eye was enough that they knew just what was and was not going to happen. Mindy was not the type to pretty up, but once she knew what was happening, that was all she needed. The moment of quiet before the storm, ha. She knew that well, didn't she? She'd had it when she broke into D'Amico's apartment, when she knew the men were coming, and the wrong move meant death. She had that now, but she had mastered it. If anything, she had to be honest: there was a buzz of excitement in her. From the streets of New York where she had to surmise the layout, but an apartment was only that. Once the smell of grass hit her she knew they were far, far from the streets she knew and now in the world of the strange of unfamiliar. They even had a countdown and everything.

She took a moment to survey her opponents. Some were strong, some looked breakable, but most knew some of what was to come. That was their advantage. They did not look all like seasoned killers though, and that was HERS. She did this shit for a living.

Then she saw it. The cornucopia. Supplies. Weapons. Food.

Sporting. There were some special motherfuckers, weren't they? They were basically animals in a show.

"I'm game!"

Yeah, worked for her. The reality wasn't going to change at the unfairness of it all, but as she broke into a run, the understanding that it would be a less dead reality gave her comfort and thrilled her.

Re: CORNUCOPIA

[polyturtle]

It was Arena time. That much he knew. And as he was brought up on the platform, he tried to get himself back into that mind frame fully. Where nothing hurt when he let himself go.

He tried hard not to think of the Disciple. He couldn't.

Not here.

10 9 8 7

The grass loomed overhead, Making it all but impossible to see anything except to crane one's neck up. Still, the Cornucopia loomed larger. It seemed ready to burst from all of the supplies it held.

And that was when Don was suddenly struck with a thought.

Why so many supplies?

6 5 4

It was way too much. More than any of them would need for any normal Arena. That meant something was up in this one, that might require more supplies. Supply and necessity.

He wasn't sure just what that something was yet. Why would he? How could he? He'd just gotten there.

But Don had a feeling he'd find out.

3 2

It also meant he would at least need to try for the Cornucopia. It was the best resource, after all. And he always made good on what he got from it. He'd been luckier than most, thus far.

Maybe on this one thing...out of everything else in this horrible place...his luck would hold.

1

And he was off, as the klaxon sounded, tearing through the grass towards the Cornucopia.

Re: CORNUCOPIA

[akingalways]

Many Mentors, former Victors, were playing in the Arena this time. He knew that. He knew he wasn't the only one. He also knew, when they forced him back into the truck and loaded him onto the transporter, that he had no choice.

He wasn't ready. He just wasn't, after what happened.

10 9 8 7

Their "interventions" to get him ready for the fight were laughable. They wanted him to hurt. Wanted him to have scars. They wanted to remind him that he could be broken just as easily. His chest, throat, whole body still ached terrifically from the torture. Because that was what it had been. Torture.

And for what?

An accident.

6 5 4

And now he was here. The grass was around him, and the heat and humidity seared into him. Like the rainforest. Not as hot but still humid. He at least knew he could handle it. But he'd need supplies from the Cornucopia.

And it looked like the Cornucopia had plenty to give.

3 2

His hair was disheveled, unkempt and unwashed. He had a week-old golden blonde beard and mustache on him. His eyes had dark, puffy circles under them. And his scar - the old scar from when he'd first won - was uncovered for the world to see.

He barely looked like himself anymore.

1

But he'd show them. He'd show them - all of them - they were wrong about him. He was not a fool, or a madman, or a slave, or a criminal. He was Jack Atlas.

And he was pissed off as he leaped off the platform, running towards the Cornucopia.

beck | ota!

[amplifying]

He didn't want to be here right now. There were so many things Beck had to refresh himself up on now, it was ridiculous. The whole User-body thing he was getting a lot better with, but just...his memory. It was like a huge chunk of it had been deleted, and there was no way for him to recover it.

Something happened the last time he had been here. And it affected what happened in Argon. But could he remember...?

The air in the arena is...actually refreshing. There's something wonderful and crisp in the air; hardly anything like the other two arenas he had been in who-knows-how-long ago. The view is crisp and the scenery is pretty beautiful. There's something unpleasant about how hot it is, though. But the breeze makes up for things.

10. 9. 8. Beck quickly scans his surroundings. There was a lot of tall grass, so he could make an easy escape. All of his training as the Renegade told him to go that way. To blend in and be forgotten....7. 6. 5. But he couldn't do that here. Setting into the background unarmed meant easy deletion. It was just Beck, Beck, and Beck here. And Beck had to stand up for himself, or else face consequences.

4. 3. 2. The Cornucopia was right there. If he was going to go for it, he had to make up his mind-

1. Beck started to spring for the bronze horn. It was best he had a chance than no chance at all.

(( ooc- Beck's going to be making off with some stuff! I'm always up for an injury or two of course~ ))

Howard Bassem | OTA

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

He can't see anything but grass. When he stands on tip-toes, right before the countdown finishes, he can make out some faces in the tops of the grass, can see the tips of the weeds arching just a little bit above his head. He can see the edge of the Cornucopia glittering copper not far from him, and near that, a flash of familiar bronzed hair, eyes that haunt him in his sleep, and-

The gong goes off, but it's nothing like the sound of panic ringing in Howard's ears. Aunamee's back, Aunamee's back.

He runs as fast as he can in the opposite direction, getting turned around in the tall grass. He nearly crashes into someone, dodges and stumbles in the plants, feels mud slide under his feet. He feels something under his hand and grabs it, yelping with delight when he realizes it's a serrated knife.

Good. At least he's armed. He gets up and keeps running, blinded and directionless in the field.

Venus | OTA

[celebrityskinned]

Venus prepared. She slept a whole ten hours last night. She took a forty minute shower with all the fancy soaps (she smells like lavender and cumin now, a strange combination she found strangely alluring). She ate a breakfast of oatmeal with a protein shake. She cleaned her ears with a Q-tip and stayed perfectly still while the Stylist did her up and applied her makeup, gold and red.

She's completely ready when the klaxon sounds, and she bolts from the pedestal like a sprinter. Grass whips past her face as she stretches forward, leaving little welts along her cheeks. She stops only when she nearly trips over a metal bear trap.

Well, then.

She grabs it by the chain and keeps running, now equipped with a makeshift bludgeon.

Eva | OTA

[vissernone]

This Cornucopia is different than the one she ran at nearly forty years ago. It's humid, instead of dry, even though the clothing is similar. Her hair starts to coil and frizz in the air. Her heart feels simultaneously sludgy and rapidfire, slamming inside her ribs, clawing its way out of her chest.

The fear is the same as it was thirty-eight years ago. Even knowing she'll probably be revived doesn't change that fundamental human instinct; she doesn't want to die. More than that, she doesn't want to hurt. She's done far enough of that.

Eva hasn't been taking care of her body in the last many years, but she had a few weeks to get back into shape, and as such has traded some fat for muscle. She still won't be as fast as the Tributes half her age, but it means, to her, that she won't be an out-of-shape old lady at the Cornucopia.

She jumps off her pedestal and takes off through the grass, looking for her allies. Until she's armed, she hopes not to risk foes.

[doc_holi]

The first thing that brought alarm to the doctor was the Cornucopia. There was so much food... This meant several bad things. The biggest of which was that a lot of people would be going for it, especially the new, cocky people. Another was that there was a lot of food there for a reason. She figured this was going to be like the last arena all over again.

But the scenery was nice. While the seconds counted down, Holiday tilted her head back and breathed in the scents of the wildlife, watching the clouds roll by. It was odd for a place like this to give her such peace, but it reminded her so much of the Petting Zoo back home. Her Petting Zoo.

She looked back to the Cornucopia again. The Petting Zoo housed some very nasty things. Holiday was forced to assume that this island would be no different, but that was okay. It was familiar. Something she knew. This was the best arena yet.

As if by instinct, before she even realized that the timer had finished ticking down, Holiday was already running for the food on the outer skirts of the field... and maybe a case of beer, too.

[rat_des_marais]

Remy was finding a really hard time of keeping calm. He knew it was key, though. Just stay calm. He told himself that when he was led from the Tribute Tower, during the flight, while he was underground, but it didn't seem to have much of an effect. He was scared.

He took a few deep breaths, shaking and stretching his limbs in an attempt to limber up. It was still hard to wrap his mind around the fact that he had to kill people, but he wasn't a fan of being told what to do. He could easily immobilize someone and that was his plan if they decided to attack. He just... He scanned the treasures, picking out what he absolutely needed and could probably grab and still get away. No better way to learn but to jump in, right?

Remy stretched his neck, quickly taking in the surroundings. He was too rushed, too scared. He could get sloppy; he had to calm down.

5. 4.

He glanced around desperately, eyeing a woman not too far away. There we go. Just be confident, show off those healthy muscles for the ladies. It's all a TV show after all.

3. 2.

He winked to her with sly grin.

1. 0.

Oh, right.

Gambit ran for it.

[victorysass]

When they'd told her she was going back into the arena she's grinned and said she couldn't wait to get back into the fray. Then she went clubbing, got blackout drunk and woke up in the District 1 common room wearing shoes that weren't hers. She figured Giles, if he knew, would appreciate her not going with her first instinct of hunting down the Gamemakers and beating them to death with her stilettos.

10. 9. 8.

If Adelaide was being honest with herself she'd admit the last thing she wanted was to be in the arena again. She was fine with being a mentor. Hell, she enjoyed being a mentor. But Adelaide is rarely honest with herself.

Still, she's uncharacteristically quiet while her stylists dress her and secure her wild hair back with elastic bands. She's struggling to think through strategies, trying to decipher exactly what kind of Hell she'll be entering based on the clothes and coming up empty. By the time she steps onto the pedestal she decides winging it is the best option. It's basically how she won the first time, after all.

6. 5. 4.

The grass is too high for her to see over, something she knows she can use to her advantage. It'll make her sprint to the Cornucopia that much easier, being obscured by the grass.

3.

Her body goes tense.

2.

Breath held.

1.

You can do this again.

0.

Adelaide springs from the pedestal, darting through the grass as fast as her feet can carry her. Briefly, she wonders how disappointed her fans will be if there isn't a repeat performance of her first kill.

[gunshiptotheface]

Sometimes he wondered exactly what Shepard always seemed to drag him into. It didn't matter if it was somewhere he knew or different, it always seemed that the spirits enjoyed mocking him in throwing him into the worst of situations.

8. 7. 6.

Of course, this couldn't be any more different than the survival camps that his military training had given him. No food or water, minimal shelter, horrible weather conditions, it sounded exactly like it. Exactly like that, except he was expected to kill everyone on the platforms around him.

5. 4.

He couldn't see Shepard, not in the tall grass with how short she was. He needed to plan, to get a weapon, maybe a canteen, and high tail it out of the bloodbath that was going to be the cornucopia. The last thing he needed was to die of infection in a tropical forest.

3. 2.

Shepard had better not get herself killed in the first ten minutes or it was going to be an agonizing few days until he either killed but someone else, or by the arena he was in.

1.

Fight or die.

0.

Garrus took off, streaking through the grass as fast as his legs could carry him, the only issue was with how high the grass was it was nearly impossible to see anything around him. This was going to be fun.

Re: CORNUCOPIA

[dividedgirlofmine]

10, 9, 8, 7, 6.

Susannah's mentor had told her about the cornucopia. Both what a valuable resource it was and that trying to grab supplies from it was throwing yourself into a pool of hungry sharks and praying that you don't get torn to shreds at the ensuing bloodbath.

But Susannah had more than enough experience with bloodbaths.

5, 4, 3.

She can hear Detta's voice in her ear, never too far away since she came to Panem. You goan need me, girl. You goan need me bad 'fore this is through. Most of these pore mothafuckas are too innocent for you to want to hurt 'em. Ain't that right, Susie?

She closes her eyes, just for a moment. "Yes," she whispers to herself. "I will. Lord help me, I will."

Thought so.

2.

1.

She opens her eyes. Grass. Talk grass. At her current reduced height, she'd be nearly invisible in it.

Perfect.

0.

Susannah Dean throws herself off her pedestal into the tall grass, but Detta Walker is the one whose hands and stumps hit ground, who crawls faster than any one woman should crawl towards the cornucopia, towards the bloodbath.

Her bloodbath.

[disciplewhomsignlessloves]

Her stylist had reassured her in the brief moments before the platform started to slide up. Words that were brief and patronizingly warm washed over her in the moments before the platform moved and she only nodded, her mind already trying to plan for what she could not see. She'd watched the videos and she knows in the basic sense what to expect.

10, 9, 8...

The humid heat and the bright shining light hit her skin. It's still sensitive from the burns Donatello gave her and it hurts a little, the heat hitting too new skin. She can just see over the grass, scanning desperately for Signless. He has to be somewhere. She'll find him.

5, 4, 3

Disciple fixes her eyes on the Cornucopia. A knife, she hopes for. Something for water. Food, because she needs something for Signless if she dies. Anything she can carry, she'll grab. If it's useless, she'll discard it. She needs all the resources she can get.

2, 1.

She ducks herself down, ready to spring and dash forward.

0.

She runs.

Re: CORNUCOPIA

[mediumdrip]

As they were lifted in the Arena, Blaine did a quick look around. With so many Tributes it was impossible to tell for sure, but he still couldn't find Kurt. It was that fact, the idea that Kurt was still gone, that focused all of his attention on the bounty in front of him.

He was expecting a blood bath, but somehow he manages to weave in and out of what's happening, gathering supplies as he goes. He doesn't have time to really think about what he's grabbing. He only really stops at the potatoes as he as to pick them out of a crate.

Even then, though, he's on auto-pilot. Grab, grab, grab and then go.

Re: CORNUCOPIA

[carnagecarnival]

He wouldn't do what he did last time, he decides. He survived well enough-- if miserably-- without the Capitol's help last time. But he lost opportunity for slaying the sorry heathens, those tributes that deserved death, ticket thrown skywards for the sin of their existence. And there were many now. He could cull those that got in his way and he could gather supplies for those who were less able. One in particular.

And that particular one wouldn't be culled by his hands this time, no matter what become of him, no matter what Milenko the capitol deemed fit to indulge them with.

The heat weighs heavy on him, it plucks at his burnt flesh like lute strings, runs across it like the bow of a violin. He can hide from the sun here at least, but he has a feeling this will be another arena spent desperately coveting what he can of his paint and the vial of more hung from his neck.

The count down goes off like it's resonated from within his bones. The zero hits, and he's off.

Throughout The Arena

[gamemakers]

For those that are headed elsewhere...

Sigma Klim

[futilecycle]

Even the Peacekeepers could tell Sigma was seriously ill. When the time came for the tracking device to be inserted in his arm, they had stopped to disinfect the injection gun carefully before moving onto the next Tribute. Following that, Sigma slept the rest of the ride, and proceeded into the Arena in a deep fog, his flu having not improved at all since he had caught it despite his efforts. Even outside of the Arena, with all of the Capitol's modern medicine and technology, it may have been fatal - in here it was certainly the kiss of death. The Doctor knew this well, and yet he had resolved not to resort to suicide, as it was against his principles. No matter how difficult things became, he had to show whoever was watching that hope still remained.

As he was lifted into the Arena the humidity hit him like a truck. Sigma wheezed and his posture slackened - his spine bent about his waist and his hands grasped for his knees to keep him upright. He could barely breathe! But the thought of Howard somewhere in the circle watching him forced him to straighten up. He stared with a faux confidence ahead, pretending his suffering had just been nerves.

His throat burned, his chest felt sensitive and raw, and Sigma suppressed a violent cough. Even the brief moment he had taken to change into his clothes for the Arena had been too much time out of bed. Water... He needed to find water, and a place as far away from here as he could manage where he could rest.

He looks upon the well-stocked cornucopia enviously, knowing its prizes will not be for him. It is easy to waver in his decision now that he has seen it, and so he shuts his good eye tightly, wills his mechanical one to cut power.

At the end of the countdown, Sigma turns from the cornucopia and breaks into a run - it is no sprint, for the man struggles to draw breath, and he cannot seem to escape fast enough. At the very least there will be no weapons at his back for some time yet.