Bloodbath Simulation [70.25√(-1)th "Games"]

How had he ended up here, sitting in a blank room with an overdressed and overacting capitolite woman? Well, he knew the facts about the transportation. A train whizzed from District one to the Captiol in a matter of hours, a horse drawn carriage paraded him and the other tributes from District one around in front of the capitolites, a hovercraft moved almost silently through the air from the training center to the arena. Now he was here. At any moment he would be stuff into that glass tube and launched to the surface of who-knows-what kind of landscape. His stylist gave him a shrewd glance, making sure he hadn't done anything odd with his clothes. He returned her look with a cold stare, but she didn't back down. After all, it was hard to be scared of a person you had seen naked with his fingernails being manicured.

It irritated him to no end, this whole damn place, this whole damn situation. He shouldn't be here, he was overage and it was past time that he should have been free of the reaping. The drawing of his name clearly hadn't been a mistake though, an extra slip of paper that had remained in the reaping balls that had been left on accident. Even when he had shouted at them, telling them that he was nineteen, no one had reacted. It was as though there really were no rules.

In all honesty, he wasn't all that big on rules, but after seven years of living with the idea that he could be whisked away to this exact location, it bothered him a great deal that the Capitol had forsaken the laws that they had set down themselves.

T h i r t y  S e c o n d s  T o  L a u n c h.

Groan. His stylist stood up, brushed imaginary dust off of her vibrant dress, and pointed him to the glass tube. "Yeah, I figured." His shoulders were hunched and when she put a hand on his upper arm to steer him, he immediately shook her off. "I know how to walk." She made an overly dignified noise and stepped away.

T w e n t y  S e c o n d s  T o  L a u n c h.

With one last exchange of grumpy looks, he stepped into the glass tube. Instantly the thing sealed and he wondered if perhaps it had all been a trick, and that they would simply suffocate him here.

T e n  S e c o n d s  T o  L a u n c h.

He could last ten seconds, surely. If the launch didn't happen then he would be in trouble, but surely he would be able to break this glass. Experimentally, he rapped a knuckle against it. The sound was low, almost muffled by the sturdiness and thickness of the glass. No, if he were trapped then he would die here. There was no way out but up now.

And up he went. The platform beneath his feet began to rise and he watched as the darkness closed in, a line of black that crawled down the sides of the tube like ink until it was fully enclosed. If he had thought he might suffocate before, it was nothing compared to this. How could he know if he was indeed still rising, or if he wasn't stuck in the dark for whatever part of his life he had left.

Just as he was about to start pounding on the glass in what he knew would be a futile attempt to escape, he felt fresh air playfully toss his hair. It was a gentle touch, a caress almost as soft as a lovers - the word lover made him think of two faces, but he pushed them both away - and it eased his panic a bit. As light began to peek in he felt the relief ease some of the tenseness in his shoulders, though the rest of his muscles were still taught. He was almost out. The light came down to his middle, then his knees, then his ankles, as though he were wading out of a dark lake and onto a brightly lit beach.

Before him all he could see was gold. Blinded by the reflection off of the giant metal horn, he shielded his eyes with his hands until they adjusted to the light. Then he looked around, spotting the other tributes that stood with him around the cornucopia like a clock that had twenty-four hours written on it instead of twelve.

As though brought up by the thought of a clock, a large screen appeared. On it was a number: 60. Sixty seconds to the start of the end of his world. The timer started counting down and suddenly it was 59. Fifty-nine seconds until he would never be the same again.

58 Fifty-eight seconds until he wouldn't be able to think.

57 Fifty-seven seconds until blood would start to flow.

56 Fifty-six seconds until he might just lose his mind.

55 Fifty-five seconds until he would know what it had been like for Emery. Except, no, he couldn't think like that. Getting trapped in those memories would be the death of him - both emotionally and in all likelihood physically too. His eyes slipped from the ticking numbers to search the faces nearest to him. Each was staring at the counter, transfixed. Face after face of concentration, broken only by a screaming girl - it takes him a moment to recognize her as Callie. Somewhere near her someone else yells, but he can't make out the words. He knows her too: Io Wie.

Shit, he had lost track of the time. Frantically he searches for the timer, then finds it. 43. Forty-three seconds until he would have to find those two in the chaos.

42 Forty-two seconds until that chaos would start.

41 Forty-one seconds of calm before the storm.

40 Somewhere, Weirdo mewed.

39 Thirty-nine seconds until he would have to find that idiot too.

38 Thirty-eight seconds until the gong would ring.

37 Thirty-seven seconds until he would leave this plate.

36 Thirty-six seconds where he could potentially blow himself up.

35 Thirty-five seconds until he would have to start hitting things. First with his fist, he supposed, since there weren't any weapons right near him. A ways off, though, there were a good number of them. What kind of weapons were there, would he be able to find a sword, if not perhaps a knife or something along those lines. His hands clenched and relaxed, loosening the muscles in wrist and arm in preparation. For most of his life he had been trained to fight, and time and time again he had put his skills to the test. There was no test like this, though. This was the final test, and if he passed this then no one would doubt him again.

The moment he brought his gaze back into focus on the countdown was the moment his heart leapt and his stomach clenched. 21 Twenty-one seconds of grace left.

20 It was getting so close now.

19 The tension was rising in his body and he looked around at the other faces, seeing the increase of worry in them. No one looked at him, and he didn't know if that meant anything or if people were just too focused on their last seconds of calm to care about anyone or anything else. Watch the moments tick by 14 ... 13 ... 12. Twelve drummers drumming in his heart.

11 Eleven breaths left to breathe.

10 Ten heartbeats left in his heart.

9 Nine moments left to think.

8 Eight times he wished it had already started.

7 Seven times he changed his mind.

6 Six times he thought he might be able to win.

5 Five times he thought he might just die.

4 Four times he thought he might fall on his face.

3 Three thoughts for his allies.

2 Two thoughts for his two feet.

1 One moment of silence for Rolex Ghram.

0 Zero seconds until- oh

He charged off the plate at the GONG, looking for anything that might be of use.

What was that old saying? If you can't join 'em

beat 'em.

[Rolex enters the fake bloodbath]