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.
Re: CORNUCOPIA
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.