And welcome to the first annual, Panem Challenge. The Panem Challenge is a game to test you physically and mentally. You will be put through numerous challenges and situations to fight for survival in this years arena. Do not be fooled, these games are hardly the same as any other ordinary game. Please read our FAQ, and if you have any questions do not hesitate to ask. All applications will be due by November 22nd by 11:59pm CST. The reaping will be taking place on November 23rd at 11:00pm CST.
Tributes you all need to resubmit who is in your alliance and where you are going to go in the arena, since about 50% of you didn't do this earlier. This will be due by Saturday at 11:59 PM CST, thank you.
Tributes, Citizens of Panem, the Capitol's special gift. Brenda.
“Yes, well, I suppose we can’t UN-dye it. That shit’s real expensive and if she should die, at least her hair will still be beautiful even in death.”
“But they specifically said she should look like the other—“
“I don’t care what they said. There’s no way we could possibly make her look like anyone else in the arena. She’s too modified. We don’t have the time.”
She groggily began to awaken but kept her eyes closed so she could listen to the conversation without them putting on a front for her. She knew these people too well. She knew their type. They’d smile and lie to your face and then turn away in disgust once they thought you weren’t looking. That’s what got her in trouble in the first place.
“Don’t you think we could at least remove the glitter? We don’t want her to be too intimidating to the other contestants.”
“The more intimidating, the better. She has to—wait.”
Shit. They know I’m awake. The girl opened her eyes and blinked at her stylists sweetly. “Good morning, Aquata! Where am I today?”
The two stylists exchanged glances. The first one, who had long, magenta fingernails and short hair that matched, said to her, “Honey, you’re not at work today. Remember? My name is Verez, and this is Gratidi. We’re styling you. We told you this yesterday. You’re going into the games with the other districts? Remember?”
She pretended that a rush of memories was coming back to her. “Oh, yes. Wishful thinking. I was just hoping that I was back at work. Well, hopefully soon, right?” She laughed lightly as Verez and Gratidi looked at each other sadly.
After that was a blur of exfoliating and waxing and covering up all the scars she had given herself from her “accident”. The same accident that got me here, she thought bitterly. She ran her fingers over the long, thin cuts that she had lovingly carved into her legs one last time before they disappeared forever, and memories actually did come to her:
She could barely even stand as she was escorted home that night. She was laughing too loudly and too much at every word that her butler was saying, and she knew that if she didn’t sober up soon, she’d be in deep with her parents, but she didn’t want to. She was young, effervescent and young, and it was going to last forever whether they liked it or not.
But they didn’t like it, and after they found her collapsed on the living room floor, choking on her own vomit, they called their personal ambulance and had her escorted to the hospital, where they pumped her stomach and implanted a chip in her stomach that all the older Capitol citizens had. Alcohol would no longer affect her the way that it affected the youth. It wouldn’t have the effect she wanted it to have. And in the days following, she began to feel different. She didn’t know was that they had also implanted an experimental chip in her brain that hadn’t been approved by the CMB yet, and they were using her as a test subject for this new chip that was supposed to help rid her of any negative feelings. How could she have known?
Over the next few days, she began to lose her grip on reality. She was feeling growing amounts of anger and on the fourth day after she got home from the hospital, she felt positively sadistic. She tried going to work each day, but the cats at the salon kept growing and shrinking out of proportion right before her eyes, and she could feel nothing but anger toward them. That night she went out and bought a machete at the vending machines on the outskirts of the Capitol and slashed her legs open. She has no idea how she got there, but she woke up in the hospital again the next day.
Since it was a federal offense to attempt suicide, they sentenced her to 90 hours of community service and she had to spend three weeks in jail. They gave her a night to say goodbye to her parents and to sleep in her own bed again, and then she would be carted off in the morning. But she wasn’t about to let that happen.
“Ow! Fuck!”
A particularly painful section of waxing jolted her from her reverie, and she came back to earth again. She tried to focus on the task at hand and watched her stylists as they applied purple eye shadow, lipstick, and blush to her face and they dressed her in a disgustingly plain T-shirt with the Capitol’s logo on the shoulder. They put her in tight-fitting pants and tennis shoes and gave her a backpack that also had the Capitol’s logo on it. She peeked inside and there was a plethora of food and several water bottles and—could it be? A spring cosh was in there as well! Gratidi winked at her. “For you. A gift from the Captiol.”
She stuck the cosh into her waistband where it could be pulled out and extended in milliseconds if she needed. She kissed both her stylists on the cheek and they accompanied her into a small room. Then they both started giving her rapid-fire instructions:
“The arena is an airport—“
“You’ve visited there before on school trips--”
“You’re a special tribute—“
“You’re going to be in the cockpit of the plane—“
“Don’t forget to find a place to stay—“
“Someone will enter that cockpit sooner or later so be prepared—“
“The other tributes don’t know you’re coming—“
“We love you, good luck!”
And then she was inside the tube and the platform was rising up and she could almost hear her parents screaming her name, screaming out in agony, screaming in pain—
And it was time. She looked around the cockpit. She knew this place. History was her favorite subject in school. She knew her way around an airplane. She looked around coolly at her surroundings and heard the countdown echoing throughout the arena. She looked out the window and saw them. Pathetic.
Suddenly the countdown was over and they were all running toward the plane. She ducked down so that they wouldn’t see her purple and blonde hair through the window, not that they would be looking for it. Luckily the room she was in was confined. She heard the scuffling outside the door of the cockpit and wondered who would enter first.
She heard a lot of screaming and a lot of collision, and she wondered who would be the first to die, and who would be the first to kill. She wanted to be the first to kill, she wanted it so badly…
She readied her spring cosh and moved stealthily to the other side of the door. Whoever opened it wouldn’t see her when they came in. And come in they did.
A short girl with brown hair and below-average features flung the door open in distress. She had with her a black backpack, and she never even saw the girl with purple hair. She was dead the second that the metal baton hit her head. The girl with purple hair smashed her head in so quickly that this poor little girl from District 9 didn’t even have a chance to scream. Emily, she thought. That was her name.
The girl with purple hair grabbed the black backpack and rummaged around in it for supplies. An empty water bottle, some matches, and a tiny razor blade. She took the matches and put them into her backpack, but paused over the razor blade. Did she want to do this?
Yes, she did.
She took the razor blade and, just to ensure herself that the girl was actually dead, carved her name into the girl’s neck. A name that she knew would strike fear into the hearts of the other tributes once they learned it.
And, with that, Brenda exited the plane. She stepped onto a hard surface, it wasn’t the same as the Cornucopia, the poor girl was so terrified of the Bloodbath she sprinted across the bridge and sought refuge inside another airplane on the runway. She thought she would be safe; but the Capitol had a Tribute of their own.
Clara vs. Donny vs. Matt vs. Ralph vs. Tyrell vs. Veronica x
"Tributes, it appears that nobody has decided to go for the same weapon as you. We could have left it at this but we thought it would be more fun, the Capitol wants an excellent show this year. As you may notice your bodies are frozen, but in due time you will be back to full form and able to complete your first task. As you may notice the exits of the plane are slowly closing sealing the six of you inside. The doors to the plane will not open until there are there are three Tributes dead. May the odds be ever in your favor."
As you run away from the Cornucopia to your new destination you hear nine cannons go off. You look into the sky and see the deceased, you shake it off, your glad its not you. Wether you killed anybody or not the games have officially started.
Tributes you have until Tuesday September 18th by 11:59 p.m. CST to submit where you are going to go next in the arena. Go to the Arena tab and email us ([email protected]) where you decide to go.
I would love to be involved in the next trials if there ever comes once! I assume its sort of like a group roleplay? If so, I'd love to join!
Yes there will be another one. Yes it is a group roleplay where the Tributes each write about killing eachother. You can probably understand better once The Bloodbath is released, which will be sometime next week.
