Arena
You take the night eyes from her, locking the goggles onto the bridge of your nose; and proceed to tear the suit into tattered rags.
Giving the body one last look, you continue on. You continue moving down the path for a few hours, eating the last of your food rations when you become hungry, realizing that next time you want to eat you will have to hunt for it.
The trail goes up hill for a long, long while; the hill becoming more and more steep until at last it levels off. When you reach the top of the hill, you pause for a few moments to ragain your breath, resting on a large rock that sits on the side of the trail.
If Coryn were still trailing you, you muse, it might've been fun to roll this boulder down at her. You chuckle a bit and shake your head, take a gulp from your water supply, and then rise to your feet once more.
The trail takes a few turns before finally ending in a savannah ahead. The artificial sun beats down hard on the tall yellow grasses, the few trees that dot the plain casting long dark shadows.
A blast of gunfire draws your attention to a cluster of activity some fifty yards away. A pride of about a dozen lions have two men surrounded, one lion on the outside of the group is rolling on the ground in the final throes of life.
At this distance you can't make too many details out, but you can see that one of the men has a whip of some sort and the other is using a staff, though the staff appears to be home-made, probably pulled from a tree and made with the free knife that all contestants were given.
Suddenly one of the lions pounces onto the man with the bo, knocking him to the ground. You hear a paniced cry from the man his friend cracks his whip at some of the other felines, keeping them temporarily at bay.
Giving the body one last look, you continue on. You continue moving down the path for a few hours, eating the last of your food rations when you become hungry, realizing that next time you want to eat you will have to hunt for it.
The trail goes up hill for a long, long while; the hill becoming more and more steep until at last it levels off. When you reach the top of the hill, you pause for a few moments to ragain your breath, resting on a large rock that sits on the side of the trail.
If Coryn were still trailing you, you muse, it might've been fun to roll this boulder down at her. You chuckle a bit and shake your head, take a gulp from your water supply, and then rise to your feet once more.
The trail takes a few turns before finally ending in a savannah ahead. The artificial sun beats down hard on the tall yellow grasses, the few trees that dot the plain casting long dark shadows.
A blast of gunfire draws your attention to a cluster of activity some fifty yards away. A pride of about a dozen lions have two men surrounded, one lion on the outside of the group is rolling on the ground in the final throes of life.
At this distance you can't make too many details out, but you can see that one of the men has a whip of some sort and the other is using a staff, though the staff appears to be home-made, probably pulled from a tree and made with the free knife that all contestants were given.
Suddenly one of the lions pounces onto the man with the bo, knocking him to the ground. You hear a paniced cry from the man his friend cracks his whip at some of the other felines, keeping them temporarily at bay.