уσυ ¢ℓσѕє уσυя єуєѕ αη∂ тнє gℓσяу ƒα∂єѕ; яєα∂у αιм ƒιяє αωαу

"Welcome, Welcome! To the one-hundredth annual hunger games and our fourth quarter quell! To remind the districts that no one can escape the power of the Capitol, the eligible age for Reaping will be extended from ten to twenty years of age. Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

TRIBUTES:

THE ARENA:



This year the arena is one of our most popular; the forest arena. Tributes will begin in the center in an ovular shape around the Cornucopia. To escape, tributes must either swim through a fairly wide river with a moderate current or take a steep rocky path. The rest of the arena is a dense forest with clearings and lakes. South-west of the Cornucopia lies a large lake filled with fresh drinking water and fish.

Mutts:
-Etmut ~ This vicious bird of prey is a hawk and toucan mix, most notably recognized by the colorful, serrated beak in the center of its face. This species of bird has a body about two feet in length, but with a larger wingspan due to its hawk genes. With the spectacular eyesight and claws of a hawk and the colorful appearance and serrated bill of a toucan, it’s an especially gifted hunter. The Capitol scientists originally started with dozens of species of birds, and planned to create an animal that might bode well as an expensive pet. Soon, however, their mixture created the Etmut, and found that the bird was extremely majestic – but with an ugly temper and the habit of clawing at anyone in close proximity. Accident or not, the scientists decided to throw the birds into the Arena, where they are more than likely to be unfriendly.
- Chupacabra ~ A mutt experiment gone horribly wrong, the Chupacabra was always intended to be used in the Games. It just wasn't intended to be quite so horrific. This creature stands at 3" maximum, with oval-shaped pure obsidian eyes, a plume of razor-sharp spines over its head and back, a thick tail and reptilian skin. Evidence of the Chupacabra can be seen throughout the arena, as it always dismembers its kills, leaving the majority of the carcass behind to mark its territory. If the Chupacabra is released, the Gamemakers will be watching it very closely, in order to whisk the bodies of fallen tributes away before it can use them as territory markers.
- Jabberjays ~ Welcome back to the Jabberjays! Imitating the screams of your loved ones as you break down in front of the cameras for the entertainment of the Capitol. Even the toughest of tributes can't withstand this kind of torture. Jabberjays have the ability to memorize and repeat entire human conversations, and were previously used to gather words and information from the rebels. Now, they're just being thrown into the arena to torture our helpless tributes.
- Sabertooth Bat ~ At first glance, Sabertooth Bats appear to be regular bats. They come in various shades of black, brown, gray, and even reddish-orange, and dwell in similar types of places. If you saw one flying at you, though, the difference between the two species would be immediately apparent: protruding out of the mouths' of these Capitol muttations are two poisonous fangs that grow up to six inches in length. The Capitol combined the genes of large fruit bats, long extinct Sabertooth Tigers, and even a particularly venomous species of viper to create a creature with a wingspan of up to 6 feet with superior night vision, perfect for tracking rebels who may try to run under the cover of night. Their one weakness, though, is that somewhere in the mix they acquired glowing eyes; if you spot a luminous pair of orbs in the darkness, you may just have a chance to escape.

"Welcome, Welcome!"

The voice rings out across the arena, rebounding off the force field to create an echoing effect. As this year's tributes are raised up into the arena, one thing is clear; there's no way out. Children exchange frightened glances as the voice speaks out once more,

"To the One-Hundredth Annual Hunger Games!"

The last tribute - Rupalia, the district five female - is raised up onto her platform, trembling like a frightened rabbit. At seventeen, she may have been one of the older tributes, but she was fragile and malnourished. She flickers her eyes nervously towards her district partner, a twelve year old boy by the name of Atlas who fails to comfort her as he feels himself shaking. As the countdown begins from sixty, Rupalia feels her heart rate begin to increase rapidly as she inhales and exhales at an alarmingly fast rate.

As the countdown reaches fifty, the caramel-skinned girl can no longer take it and closing her eyes tight, she calls out for all to hear, "Forgive me, mother!" and with that, she steps from her pedestal early and other tributes whip their head around just in time to see the girl get blown to bits. This causes even further anxiety, especially with the younger tributes as Atlas begins to sob quietly to himself, still in shock at the sudden death of his district partner.

Even some of the Career tributes look shaken. A red-headed girl stands out amongst the other tributes, already in a position ready to sprint. She seems focused on something in the mouth of the Cornucopia. Knives, weapons, supplies. Wren seems small but in reality, she is a ruthless killer. Scoring a ten in her training, the fifteen year-old is not one to be underestimated.

Next to her stands a lanky, frail-looking brunette girl with her hair back in a ponytail. Lyra's eyes move between a backpack and a bow in the center of the Cornucopia. If she could get off her pedastal early, she could chance those extra few metres if it meant a weapon. She seems less affected by the early death of a tribute than the others as she wears an expression of indifference. With an eleven sewn onto the back of her jacket, Lyra knew she was an easy target as a tribute from an outlying district, but at least she wouldn't be thought of as competition.

The countdown reaches the last ten seconds the tension can literally be felt in the air. Back home, the audience screams for the games to begin whilst others hope and pray for their children to be spared.The siblings from Four exchange one last glance before each tribute makes their final decision as the countdown comes to a close;

5

4

3

2

1

...

Let The Games Begin.

As soon as the canon signals, every tribute leaps from their platform, the majority racing toward the huge golden structure before them. Others turn and race away without so much as a glance back, literally running for their life. Some grab a backpack and then speed off in the opposite direction, attempting to avoid the bloodshed but many stay to grab whatever they can.

Amongst the first to reach the Cornucopia is Wren, the red-headed District Two girl. She literally dives for the belt lined with knives, staggering to her feet and tying it hurriedly around her waist. She whips her head around to face the oncoming tributes, finding herself face-to-face with Dixie, the girl she recognises as the District Three female. Selecting a small blade in her hand, Wren leaps forward towards the wide-eyed girl who attempts to skid to a halt, but it's too late. As Wren slices, a river of red runs down her neck and she chokes momentarily before crumping to the ground and clutching her severed throat. Wren leaps over her first victm quickly before scanning the area for more.

The next kill belongs to the male tribute from District One, Talon Fairbain. The blonde-haired boy selects a machete from the array of weapons within the mouth of the great metallic beast before spinning around and searching for easy targets. His eyes fall on a young boy who seems to be jogging for a second backpack and within seconds, Talon is off. The district five boy doesn't notice he's being targeted until it's too late. With one swing, Talon ends the twelve year-old's life.

Second canon. . .

Few have noticed the slim brunette girl from eleven who slips her way past brawling tributes, approaching the corner of the Cornucopia at top speed. She takes the silver bow in hand and slings the quiver over her shoulder before turning her attention to a khaki backpack and kit bag. But something catches her eye. Whipping her head around, Lyra spots a Career boy looking at her. She recognises him as the District Two boy. He seems to be eyeing her, possibly deciding whether she's too far away. He's a tall, broad-shouldered boy and the mace in his hand makes him three times as intimidating. His eyes move away from the brunette girl and Lyra breathes a sigh of relief as she picks up the pace, her gaze moving in front of her once more just in time to see the District Seven girl dive for the backpack. Without hesitation, Lyra knocks an arrow and fires it towards the fleeing girl. Ashby collapses to her knees as it becomes impaled in the small of her back, dropping the pack and crumpling over. Lyra attempts to subdue the pang of guilt that causes her stomach to drop. She could regret later. Snatching up the backpack, Lyra continues on her way and decides to face her conscience another time.

On her way towards a backpack, Grey Balantynn from District Six had slipped. She lays across the ground as others speed past her, covering her head so she isn't stepped on. Everything is blurry, even blurrier than usual and she can no longer see the outline of the backpack she had previously run for. The little hope she had for survival is lost, or so she thinks. A strong pair of arms pull the thirteen year-old from the ground and place her on her feet, "Go! Run!" a deep male voice speaks. Grey feels herself being pushed forwards, recognising the voice from their interviews and she silently thanks the boy who should have been her enemy. Without hesitation she stumbles forwards, hands searching desperately for the backpack she had set eyes on. She breathes a quick sigh of relief as her fingers clasp around the material she believes to be the strap, and she scrambles to her feet. But it's not over for Grey as she feels a sharp tug at the pack. She's not the only one who wants it. Grey takes the strap with both hands and pulls, attempting to identify the shadow of a figure trying to overpower her.

Zev's eyes drift away from the slim girl with the bow and scan the surrounding area with very little interest. Amongst the chaos and bloodshed, he appears almost bored as he watches children fall around him. But no one dares to approach him, he's much too big. In his hands he holds a mace, swinging it back and forth. But nothing seems to take his interest. The others were making short work of the bloodbath. Something does catch the District Two male's eye however; two tributes fighting over a backpack and one obviously winning. He watches as the girl falls back onto the floor, sprawled out on her back, and as the boy leers over her, a knife in hand. It's then that Zev moves, swinging his mace into position as he jogs forwards. "Hey!" the boy's head turns, and Zev recognises him as the District Nine boy. He must have been about fifteen or sixteen whereas the girl only thirteen. The boy's eyes widen and he almost drops the backpack in surprise. He opens his mouth - maybe to scream, but Zev would never know - because a moment later, the mace had collided with the side of the boy's head and he had crumpled to the ground. The backpack flies from his grip and Zev kicks it towards Grey, blinking at her with eyes that lack expression. When she does not move, Zev speaks, "Take it," And that's when she stirs. Hands moving about rapidly Grey takes the backpack between her fingers and with one last look at her 'savior', pushes herself from the ground and runs towards the rocks. Zev blinks after her, feeling just a little sorry for the young girl. She was partially sighted, he could remember at least that. His eyes travel down to his mace and he frowns at the blood still dripping from the spikes. He deserved it, Zev tells himself with a curt nod.

Skene murmurs something incomprehensible to himself. He had wasted time helping that little girl; everyone had already gathered supplies and the bloodbath had truly begun. A backpack would do, a weapon would be even better. Had the little girl gotten out okay? Probably, he hadn't heard her cannon anyway. His eyes move to his District partner, Lyra, as she attempts to leap across the river but slips and land in the fast-flowing stream. She would be fine, but how would he fare? At nineteen years old he was the oldest tribute, but not the most capable. Of course he'd be targeted. Knife. . . His brain conjures the word before he even spots it. Skene's eyes light up as he sees a backpack still left untouched and just a few feet from it, a knife. But his expression falters when the District One boy catches sight of him. Talon, Skene believed his name was. Smirking, the blonde haired boy starts on his way towards the District Eleven male. Skene takes a cautious step back, his gaze moving quickly between the other tribute and the backpack. Talon notices this and steps towards the supplies. Taking the backpack in hand, he continues to smirk at Skene, "You want it?" his tone is mocking, and Skene has to resist the urge to leap forward and strike him with his fist. The District One boy chuckles darkly, "C'mon, we'll fight for it," he takes the knife in his left hand and tosses it lazily towards Skene who catches it with surprising ease, "No tricks, c'mon Eleven. You're not a coward, are you?" Skene glares daggers at the pretty-faced boy in front of him. Arrogant. Cocky. Stupid. Everything Skene wasn't. He didn't even care that all around him, children were falling. He could be next. And so he turns and he runs, much to Talon's dismay. But the District One boy does not give chase; there were bigger fish to fry.