An Especially Twisted Hunger Games

Bloodbath

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 "Hello Ladies and Gentlemen and welcome to the 100th annual Hunger Games!" The crowd goes wild as a dramatically dressed man appears on the stage. He wears a bird's mask that covers only his eyes and nose, leaving him free to flash the audience a winning smile. "Welcome, welcome one and all! It is I, the gracious and dazzling Dire Crowley! I am deeply honored to have been asked back as your host for this tremendous event that we have all come to know and love, and on a Quarter Quell, too! Are you ready for the fun to begin?" Another round of applause shakes the auditorium at the question, completely drowning out the sound of vendors collecting early bets. "As you all know, the theme of this Quarter Quell is to have a completely male field of competitors. The testosterone levels are through the roof tonight! I've seen the tributes, you've seen the tributes, and I think we can all agree this group of strapping young men almost guarantees this will be an exciting and special season! So settle into your seats, people at home get the popcorn ready, because there are only five minutes left until our tributes pop into the arena to start our countdown!" 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yuu

I hear the applause coming from the screen in my pod, but I pay little attention to it. My god. This is it. I'm really about to die. I'd met all the other tributes before the reaping and knew my chances of survival were slim to none, but after seeing some of these guys on the training field I knew I was as good as dead. I'm not strong like Jack and Leona, not cunning like Azul, Ruggie, and Jamil; hell, even Epel has an advantage over me. I don't think there's a man alive who wouldn't think twice about killing a cute face like his. I guess Vil was right; sometimes cuteness can be used as a weapon. I wouldn't be surprised if he won the whole damn thing just because he's too cute to kill. I just hope I go quickly. In the Hunger Games, the only thing better than winning is being killed quickly. I remember a tribute from the last games who was unlucky enough to fall into a trap with sharp sticks at the bottom. He lasted a staggering three hours before he finally died from the blood loss. I can only imagine how that must've felt. "Attention, tributes. Please enter your transportation tubes. Only one minute until the countdown." I miserably force myself to enter my tube. 

 Jack

One minute. Only one goddamned minute before I'm expected to go out and actually kill people. I angrily slam my fists against the plastic tube surrounding me. I'm not worried about whether or not I'll survive this. I'd always been on the stronger side; I imagine there's been quite a few bets placed on my survival already. I had managed to achieve an 11 as a training score, and being from District 2 already made me a crowd favorite. No. My chances of survival don't worry me at all. But killing people? Actually murdering other people, people I've gone to school with, people I've somewhat managed to befriend? That terrifies me. I couldn't stand it when Ruggie was hurting people to better Savanaclaw's chances of winning the tournament; how the hell am I supposed to go hunt people down in cold blood? This is seriously messed up. I can't believe there are actually people out there who enjoy this. Sickos. "Ten seconds to countdown. I repeat, ten seconds to countdown. Good luck, contestants, and may the odds be ever in your favor." The automated voice breaks my thoughts. Well, here we go. Am I really prepared to do this?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Twenty-four identical tubes begin to rise into the arena. Twenty-four young men mentally steel themselves for what is about to happen. Some have fear displayed clearly on their faces, terrified of the events that are soon to unfold. Others appear conflicted; each has a battle going on in his mind, the outcome of which will determine his actions and strategy going forward. And some, a select few mainly made up of career tributes, had one thing on their minds: survival. These tributes are ready and willing to do whatever it takes to make it out of here alive, even if it means killing someone else without a second thought. As soon as the tributes' tubes disappear, the countdown begins: