[Hey, what does it mean by someone being a 'Career' in this universe?]
The day has finally come. You will be woken up early and taken to your stylist for what could be the last time after having breakfast with your district mate and mentor. They will dress you in your 'uniform' for the Games. Your stylist will accompany you in the train pod that will take you underground to the ejection station. The ride will be long. When you arrive at the ejection station, the pod will connect and you will stand on the silver, flat ejection disc. When the cannon goes, you will be ejected into the area. There, with the other twenty-three tributes, you must wait a minute until the next cannon signals that the Games have officially begun. The Cornucopia will be filled with weapons and supplies. Are you brave enough to make a run for them? Or will you make sure to put as much distance between yourself and the other tributes?
LET THE 69TH HUNGER GAMES BEGIN!
And may the odds ever be in your favour.
I was second tier back from the weapon cave, before I was thrusted into the arena.
I stood, tensing, frozen from where I stood, until the cannon sounded the second time.
When it did, I turned around, pushing backwards, going against the stampede like a fish migrating upstream; but fast as a gazelle, silent as the forest doe. I had brass knuckles on my right hand, which Onyx slipped me illegally because he knew my close range combat was as pathetic as any normal girl. I had no gun power yet, no ammunition, but I would get it late. The plan was that--run into the forest, hide, wait, run back, take what’s left in the cave.
But I changed y min right on the forest’s edge. I shuttered to a halt, looked over my shoulder,and realized I wanted the big gun. So I flew back up the hill and into the frey. I tried o ignore those who were already in there, slip through--they were busy finding weapons. I spotted the gun rack on the back wall. Two pistols, on each side of the holster I wore. A bullet belt that I drapedover my shoulder. A shot gun slung over my other shoulder, or shooting at a farther range, to remain hidden. And one dagger I slipped into my boo.
My adrenaline was on its highest. Behind me, someone ducked a blow t the head.
I motors out of there, straight back to the woods like planned I moved lower because of the added weigh, but still swiftly enough. I felt wild with sharpened instincts--listened for movements, waited for traps in the ground.
Once deep in the woods, I stopped, waiting, and loaded my guns.
The woods rang silent.
The moment dragged out as I circled round. Some where above the trees, the sky read sometime in the morning--blue-ih grey.
The leaves crunched around my shoulder, and I spun, holding the rifle at ready.--it was easiest to grab.
A pudgy, dirt stained boy stepped out from behind the tree, holding a butcher knife, which wobbled with his nerves.
“Wait!” he pleaded, “My name’s Howard. We-we should, you know, make an alliance. I-I don’t want to kill you.”
I regarded him for moment, the cocked the barrel, reached for the trigger.
He didn’t even move as the bullet raced for his heart.
“Sorry,” I said to his corpse, which hit the ground in blossoming vcrimson, layind in the dirt tnext to the kinife, which I stuck in my holster too. “Not how the game is played."