DEAD GIRL WALKING ━━ 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔

𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲. meeting the competition

         Esther hadn't flinched when the axe was aimed at her, briefly smiling at the woman before clapping her hands playfully. Johanna chuckled, rolling her eyes. If Esther learnt one thing about Johanna whilst being friends with the woman is that Johanna was a person who was hard to read, not allowing people to get close, yet she was brilliantly confident and fearless. She was someone Esther aspired to be like, excluding the violence dancing in Johanna's eyes.

         Esther liked to believe she wasn't a fighter despite being a victor of the Hunger Games.

         "Hey, pipsqueak," Johanna introduced, planting down her axe. Seeing now that the weapon was set down, Esther launched forward, enveloping her arms around the woman without thinking. Johanna wasn't known to be a 'touchy' person, but Esther couldn't help herself. Johanna only replied with an awkward pat on Esther's back, almost instantly pulling the girl away from her frame. "You've been holding up okay, I see. Where's your brother?"

         Esther pointed to where Finnick had been training with his trident, waiting for his sister to join him to go through some skills. Everything Esther knew about the trident, she adapted from Finnick, carefully watching his form—where his hands were and how his feet moved—and replicated the same positioning, trying for hours until she had the moves perfected. "He's over there," she stated.

         Johanna followed where her finger pointed, nodding her head softly and ruffling the girl's hair before joining her brother's side, greeting each other after some time apart. She watched the smirk grow on Finnick's face when Johanna walked up to him, the woman having a scowl plastered. Esther chuckled to herself, continuing to look at her surroundings and watching the other tributes.

         Beetee and Wiress sat in one of the quiet stations, using a stick mended into the ground, creating fiction in hopes of a fire to start. She knew they weren't the best at combat, using their intelligence as their weapons, which wasn't the worst idea considering they won their games by electrocuting the remaining tributes, not needing to get their hands stained of blood, unlike any other tribute ( except for the morphlings, who stayed hidden until every other candidate was dead ).

         All other tributes, Esther included, had felt blood that didn't belong to them stain their hands, being permanently imprinted in their minds. Their nightmares would rain of bloodshed, the type that made people squeamish. It was true: there were no winners of the Hungry Games, only survivors whose innocence was snatched away from them in an instant. However, as Esther roamed around the training room, she did come to a pause when watching one boy with the number ten stitched onto his uniform.

         Atlas Walker, the winner of the 72nd annual Hunger Games, a year just before her games. Esther remembered watching that year—labelling the boy as ruthless and confident in his skills. Despite not coming from a careers pack, he still had the training of one. Atlas managed to kill three tributes within the seven minutes when running into the centre, collecting the weapons he specialised in most: throwing knives and spears.

         Atlas stood in the centre of the knife program, holograms of people surrounding them. With only four knives, Atlas had five figures charging at him at a speed Esther couldn't keep up. The boy threw two of his weapons, the holograms crumbling when they made contact, allowing the other three to come at a close distance. Esther inched closer, seeing the daring smirk litter the boy's face as his eyes were carefully glued on the holograms, suddenly pouncing at one of them.