Arena

You sit up and motion the man over to the fire with your head. He hesitates at first, but his desire for warmth prompts him to action.

You allow him a moment of warmth as he holds his hands before the flames before you get up from the ground. You stand beside him and he starts to speak.

"It's freezing up here," He mentions casually as though this fire in the mountains was some sort of reprieve set aside specifically for socialization.

You reach over to him and snap his neck before he realizes what is happening. He should have seen your tatoo covered skin and thought better of letting his guard down. You can't imagine anyone would mistake you for friendly.

"186 contestants remain," The automated voice from above proclaims.

That makes fourteen dead and you responsible for two of them. You take pride in the destruction you are causing. One in seven deaths is a direct result of your presence.

You stand by the fire a few more moments before returning to sleep under the warmth of your furs.

You wake with the sunrise and the voice from the heavens informing you that only 183 are left in the contest.

You rise from your sleep and stretch. The body of last nights kill lays sprawled out on the ground not far from you.