Before The Arena

I sit next to Gladius in the hovercraft. No one is talking, not even Arabella. Hadrian gives me a weak smile, but I see that he’s just as nervous as I am.
That isn’t the face of a killer.
Marina tries to start up a conversation with Hadrian, but he’s not interested. I think she’s trying to take her mind off the Games.
I can’t help but think about what Tule said to me. Did I already have fight? Not the kind that Tule gave me. She’s right about it being indirect too. I’ve never been one to follow rules that didn’t seem reasonable. Tule didn’t mean for it, but arguing against her has given me a little more of a will to keep going.
Gladius and the girl from Five exchange a few words. I don't catch them, but they seem to be a greeting. When I look at the girl's ankle, I see it is still a little swollen. She must have sprained it badly. No wonder she scored so low; receiving only a four after her individual session. Her ankle is red enough to look like it still hurts.
When I glance back over at Arabella, I see her trying to get Hadrian's attention. Even though she's strapped into her seat, she still pulls off provocative without a hitch. Hadrian is busy rubbing his arm. His tracker has just been injected into his arm.
A woman comes round to Gladius, and I bite my lip. Needles aren't bad, not compared to what I'm about to enter, but I still find them sore. She grabs comes to me, and grips my arm tight. I look away when my tracker is injected. The Gamemakers can't afford to make a mistake when the Games are such a big event. Losing a tribute would turn them into the laughing stock of Panem.
All the tributes have their trackers in, and the engines change from a dull hum to a thunderous roar. A calm female voice comes on over hidden speakers, and tells us to stay strapped into our seat at all times. According to her, the journey the arena will take around an hour and a half. They never use the same arena twice; each year is different. The arenas are build in part of Panem no one inhabits, far away from the Capitol and the districts.
My heart ratchets up a few beats. Until last night, the Games seemed far away. Impressing the Gamemakers and the Capitol were priorities. Now I need to survive.
The harsh white lights in the hovercraft die down to a calm blue. Shadows are cast over faces, making them look far more sinister. Even Hadrian looks gravely serious, something I never expected from someone who seemed so easy to be around, flirty and relaxed. Parts of his well-defined face are cast in darkness, and for a moment I totally believe that he's been trying to get me to trust him so it's easier for him to kill me.
But then he does something that takes me back to the first night in the Capitol, back to the Tribute Parade.
He winks.
It's a small gesture, and one that isn't meant to restore confidence in me. I am pulled back to my indecision. Before we enter the arena, I want to know what Hadrian's thinking. The only way to know is to shout across the hovercraft, and then I'll appear stupid. It's not like he'd tell me anyways.
Neither Gladius nor his allies talk. Arabella occasionally says something to one of the other Careers, but doesn't converse with them frequently or loudly. I only see her lips moving; I am unable to make out the words over the drone of the engines. Hadrian looks vaguely irritated when Arabella says something him, which makes me assume that she's passing out last minute advice. That, and it looks like Hadrian is becoming less and less tolerant of Arabella's demand for attention. She must have had a half-million boys chasing after her at home.
It's a different story in the Games.
Another fear is brought to mind; I've always assumed that there will be a selection of weapons at the Cornucopia. I've all but forgotten the year of the Games were there were only clubs for the tributes to bludgeon each other to death. What if there is only one kind of weapon? Most I handle okay, but an axe is really the only one that I feel comfortable with. I've only ever seen a weapon sent into the arena a couple of times. It's only the good-looking, skilled tributes that receive the most expensive gifts. If anyone, Hadrian will be the one to receive the weapon he uses best. The Capitol has already made it clear who their favourites are.
Most of the tributes that are tall are also reasonably heavy set. Out of the twenty four, I can only estimate that I'm one of the fastest. The sprint to the Cornucopia is fifty odd metres. I'll have to push off from my plate hard to get a reasonable head start. If there are packs, I won't have time to look through all of them. If I manage to grab one, I'll only be able to check the contents once I'm safely away from the bloodbath. All of the packs contain something useful, but some contain better items than others.
There is a slight turbulence. My fingers grip the armrest so hard that my knuckles look like they're going to burst out of my skin. I feel like I'm going to vomit my breakfast up, I'm such a mess of nerves inside.
Over the past few years, District Eight's tributes have rarely made it past the Cornucopia. If I die, I want to last long enough to make an impression. I'll be seen as a joke if I die seconds after stepping off my plate after receiving such a high score, wearing the most impressive outfits, getting through my interview without even a stammer.
Half of the tributes struggle through the Games alone. Others make flimsy alliances that have too large a history of backstabbing to make me want to form one. Velia might have been right about teaming up with Hadrian, but the only time I'll get to ask him is in the arena. If I'm lucky, or possibly unlucky, enough to get him on his own, then he might decide to kill me then. My money is that he'll traipse around with the Careers. If he does, how will I get him alone? When and if the Careers split up, they go off in pairs, one of them always backing another up. The only time that this is untrue is when one of them goes after a tribute that they think isn't capable enough to fight back.
Arabella and the others have seen my score. They've seen me during our training as a group, so they know what I'm able to do. Would they still call me weak? Would they still let Hadrian go after me alone?
His skills are superior to mine, but I don't think Arabella would let him on the off chance that I catch him unawares or strip him of his weapon.
The arena still scares me. A large source of water would be impossible for me to cross if I needed to. If a tribute backed my up against it, used it against me, then I'd be dead. I can only hope that there's a way around the source. The Careers will most likely use it to their advantage, perhaps even to their leisure. Marina and Hadrian especially.
Plains or a desert would leave me exposed. I'd be too easy to spot. It'd be too hard for me to find cover. Is the source of water, which I haven't even seen yet, the only way to stay hidden?
My life is nowhere near as plush as those who reside in the Capitol. At the end of the day, I've always been able to come home to shelter. In the Games, I might not even have that much.
The voice comes back over the speakers, telling us we are halfway through our journey. Time seems to be running irregularly; running slowly then speeding up. This means we are less than two hours from the arena. It's like I'm running a countdown even before the Cornucopia.
I'm trying to gauge how long I have left to live.
As we get closer and closer to the arena, I can only think how much I'd rather take part in the petty events that embarrass the tributes and amuse the Capitol than take part in the actual Games. Although I will never be the drop-dead gorgeous or flirty member of the group, I'd rather humiliate myself on stage rather than die in the arena.
Hadrian is perfect for both the Games and the events beforehand. I still remember when he dropped his act. When he comforted me, it was like he was someone else. He no longer had his arrogant, full of himself persona, which was somehow likeable. It confused me at first, but now it makes me think. Is Hadrian just acting flirty to win the Capitol over? When he dropped his act, he seemed normal. Like a tribute no different from myself. Like an ordinary person, who didn't have a life of perfection.
I've become so focused on scrutinizing Hadrian every word, every movement, that I know next to nothing about his life back in Four. After all, isn't our friends, our family, our homes that shape us? He must have been the same before the Games. What made him like he is?
I'm willing to be he's always been handsome. Always had an air of perfection no one else could attain. Why?
I look at him. When I first saw him, when I first talked to him, I imagined him in the hovercraft. I imagined him talking, laughing with the other Careers, like the Games were a joke. Now that I know him better, he's different from how I thought he would be. He's shown me he's capable of not just impressing me, but being kind to me. I wish that I could see several things again before I enter the arena, all of which are unrealistic.
I want to see the other side of Hadrian again. Where he was almost protective.
Gladius and I accidentally make eye contact. I almost drop my gaze, but he starts mouthing something.
"Good luck."
Does he really mean it? Even though he's acted in all sorts of different manners, he's still my piece of home. He means something to me because he's from my district. And for this reason, I mouth something back.
"You too."
He turns away.
I think of what Velia said to me. Did she say something similar to Gladius? Did she advise him on allies like she did me? Both he and Hadrian won't reveal their secrets to me, no matter how badly I want to know them. It must have been something as equally clandestine as what she said to me.
I've only heard the slightest mention of Hadrian's victor, as Tule never liked talking about District Four. But the words lying, deceptive, backstabbing and double-crossing gives me a clear idea of who she's talking about.
I can't remember his name, but I know he was a victor ten odd years before I was born. He won in the most deceptive and unfair way; he joined the Careers, waited until there were only seven tributes left, and stabbed all the other Careers while they slept. He then allied with all the tributes left, stabbing each in the back.
The crown was his in days.
Hadrian is so different to his mentor, though. He's showed kindness, sympathy, concern. Human emotions.
I allow myself one more look, which only lasts a second. I don't want to be attached to him, but if I can't talk to him, I just want to see him before he is corrupted by the Games. After all he's done, I can't help but admire him a little. Even if he does kill me, he'll be fair about it, unlike his mentor.His expression is serious, giving him even more of a sense of power. He shares a bad habit with me; we both bite our lip. It's the only common ground we can find, as he's far more popular, skilled, better looking, and above all, more likable.
Too bad he won't be any of those things after he's tainted by the Games.
The hovercraft's engines die down and we begin to descend. Dread grows in the pit of my stomach, wrapping its icy tendrils around me. The Games give us hope, one of my brothers once told me. It gives the districts a false sense of hope. That's why they have a victor. The Capitol enjoys watching the districts wince, turn away as their tribute die.
I have no hope. Only fear.
We will be taken down to the web of tunnels underneath the arena. That's where Marcille will wait for me with my clothes for the Games. There are tubes that lead up to the arena, and the metal plate acts like an elevator, taking us up to the arena.
Taking us to our death.
No doubt the hovercraft will land in an underground hangar. The Gamemakers like to keep the arenas terrain secret until we see it for the first time at the Cornucopia.
The female voice informs us we are landing, and tells us to remain seated. The hovercraft isn't spacious, with a row of twelve seats along each wall and a gap of around three metres between us.
The descent is slow, and I start thinking that maybe this is on purpose. Are the Gamemakers, who have designed the entire system, trying to scare us further? If so, it isn't necessary. I'm more frightened they I could have ever imagined.
After what seems like an age, the hovercraft touches down. I hear the sound of metal above us, which must be the entrance to the hangar closing. A Peacekeepers tells us to unbuckle ourselves. The straps are rather tight on me, so I'm looking forward to undoing them. I find that I'm barely able to, though; my fingers are trembling badly.
I stand up, and my legs are near numb through a combination of nervousness and being seated for so long. I see Hadrian stretch his arms, the top of his head almost brushing the ceiling. A pair of Peacekeepers come to escort each tribute to their prep room. I wait for what I think is a quarter of an hour. I try to appear relaxed and confident, very different from how I feel inside.
I'm going to die. No, I can't think like that.
But I am.
I try to reassure myself, but I've never had a talent for it.
"Eunia."
My name is spoken in a rough male voice, the 'i' extended for longer than it is supposed to be. A pair of Peacekeepers wait at the bottom of the steps to the hovercraft, both of them with tinted visors and a white set of armour.
I step outside the hovercraft. The Peacekeepers each take one of my arms. I don't resist. If I wanted to make a run for it, I should have done so earlier.
The tunnels are constructed of cheap, colourless concrete. They all have high ceilings, which make my footsteps echo. The Peacekeepers walk in almost perfect time.
On the door to my prep room are the words; IDFEMALE8. They are painted in black lettering. After the Games, the tunnels under the arena will be open to the Capitol residents, as well as the arena itself. They'll be able to see my room, see my plate at the Cornucopia. See where I died.
The Peacekeepers open the door, and Marcille jumps to her feet. She waits until they slam the heavy plastic behind me before she embraces me.
"Eunia," she says quickly. "I'm sorry. I wish you the best of luck, and I've convinced all my friends to bet on you."
It's like she's asking for forgiveness.
"Thank you for the amazing outfits," I say. "You made me something incredible."
She smiles. "It was my pleasure. I'm glad that I got to design for District Eight. I finally met someone who understands fabrics like I do."
I laugh, but it's filled with worry. It isn't a proper laugh. "I don't think I'll ever understand them like you," I say. "You have the most wonderful ideas for costumes."
She sighs, and picks clothes off the rack that stands against the far wall."As for costumes, I have one more."
She holds a black unitard. I feel the material; it's thick but light. The unitard doesn't have sleeves, and is black with dark gold on the ribs; the colour of my district.
"The underwear you have on is what you wear in the arena," Marcille says. "As well as your shoes."
I take off the shirt and simple pants, and pull on the unitard. The material is spongy on my skin, but weightless enough that it feels like I'm not wearing anything.
"It's buoyant," Marcille says. "It'll keep you afloat in the water."
This proves my suspicion of a large water source. The Gamemakers must have made it very large, or we wouldn't have these unitards.
Marcille zips the back of my unitard up. She then undoes my hair, and ties it back up in a bun.
We sit in silence until the launch. I'm too nervous to talk, and Marcille understands my loathing of small talk.
The female voice is back; she asks the tributes to get into the launch tubes. The glass slides back, allowing me to enter. When I stand up, I'm shaking so badly I almost trip.
Marcille hugs me one more time.
"I'll see you when you get out of the arena," she says. Even in her arms, I still tremble.
"Ten seconds to launch," the female voice says. I step into the tube. The noise of my footsteps creates hollow echoes. I'm so afraid. The Games begin now. A fight to the death, with only one victor.
I could die.
The glass slides shut, cutting me off from Marcille, she smiles and waves goodbye. I would too if I wasn't shaking so badly I can barely stand.
"Five seconds to launch."
I check everything. My hair is tied back, my laces are done up, my unitard is zipped. At the Cornucopia, the last thing I need is to trip over.
I'm ready for the Games.
"Departure," the female voice says. The metal plate starts to rise. I can no longer see Marcille or my prep room, only metal rushing past.
Let the Games begin.