It was cold. That was the overarching feeling she had, the first sensation of her new home away from home for the next however long it took to get back home. Of course, the snow suits were a bit of a giveaway, but it still hit her just how adamant the Gamemakers were: snow.
Neptune had prepared for this moment. The countdown reminded her of drills from the Academy, and sure enough, she sprung from the platform at the exact right millisecond to be one of the first into the supplies. Someone tried to get ahead of her, but it was a simple matter to throw a bag at their feet, tripping them up and allowing her to vault over them to the good stuff in the middle - where she had been taught the true goods were.
It only took a moment to spot her prize: a can of oxygen with shoulder straps. It was a prize for a winner - and win she intended to do. If the Gamemakers were putting it in the Arena, it meant it would be needed, and she knew she wanted it. Unfortunately, so did someone from -
District Seven. The red suit had managed to cut her off from a side vantage, and the bold "7" on his back belied his District. But it was of no matter. Everyone had to fall eventually, and people were already screaming and dying around her. With a growl, she sprung forward like a coiled tiger. Her arms thundered into his back, and the two tumbled over.
Seven screamed in fright, but it didn't matter. Neptune made short work of swinging her elbow down into his jaw, which would have cracked aside if not for the padding of her snow suit. It allowed the boy - for she could now see he couldn't have been much older than twenty - to scurry sideways, his hand clasped around the shoulder strap of the oxygen.
"No!" She snapped, grabbing it herself. The boy looked back for only a moment before Neptune saw his fist lance out. Despite everything, it caught her off guard. The punch connected with her shoulder, but it was largely ineffective. However, it did allow Seven enough time to pull himself to his knees as started to stand.
But no - Neptune needed this, and she knew she deserved it. She seized her own opportunity to grab the canister itself and twist it just so that his hand was entangled in the strap. After that, it was a simple enough motion for her to take to her own feet, slamming the tank up. The sickening pang told her she had made contact, and the boy slumped sideways. It wasn't enough, though, and Neptune knew it. She got fully to her feet and detangled the strap from the boy's hand.
As she stood there a moment, she looked down at him. Red was piercing through the snow around his head. But then he turned his neck to look up at her. His eyes were a deep hazel, made brighter by the contrasting red blood that smeared across his face. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. He raised his hand feebly at her, and Neptune couldn't tell if it was in reverence or aggression - and she couldn't take that risk.
She took the straps in her hand and whipped the tank around, bringing it down squarely on the boy's skull. His hand slumped sideways and ceased moving. It was done. Neptune took a breath, still hearing the screams around her. The Hunger Games had well and truly sta --
