Lock And Key Game Tasks

Task Two: The Maze of Death

Here is my entry for task two. Enjoy :)

The tube buzzed and hummed as it carried Sartan up into the arena. He kept his feet perfectly still on the platform, listening carefully so that he was aware of his surroundings.

The sound of crackling fire at set intervals made Sartan stop and think. Torches? They're using torches to light the place? They're making this a little easy on me, he thought.

There was a pinging clank, followed quickly by a whoosh. Sartan frowned, having no idea what the sound could be. After ten seconds there was another whoosh with a light thud following it. All around the room, people gasped, in shock about whatever had just taken place. Confusion prickled at the edge of Sartan's mind, but he brushed it off as the pinging clank sound returned. This time it was across the arena from where he was standing.

Sounds echoed and bounced off walls, staying low. It told him he was in an enclosed room. A room? Not an arena? What did they come up with this time? he wondered. Curiosity danced through his thoughts as he tried to imagine what creative horrors the Gamemakers had planned.

As the timer counted down to zero, the furious pounding of footsteps sounded around the room. Most of the sounds headed directly for the center of the room, confirming for Sartan that the Cornucopia was in the exact center.

He stepped off his platform, following the retreating footsteps. Crouching into a low stance, he stalked toward the center. The whooshing sound was almost completely overridden by someone screaming hysterically. What is that? Sartan thought. For just a moment, he hated being blind.

The pinging clank sounded somewhere to his left. One of the tributes cursed. "These stupid holes! There's no pattern to them!"

Ah, so they're holes, Sartan realized. Panic threatened to take hold deep inside his chest, but all the training he had undergone ran through his mind; the beatings by his father's hand, the brutal punishments anytime he showed emotion, the heart-shattering and demoralizing lectures that left him feeling cold inside... All of those rose up as chants in his mind.

Chants that transformed him into a cold-blooded killer.

All the feelings he had felt moments ago—the confusion, curiosity and panic—were locked away in the deepest, blackest part of his soul.

Judging by the sounds of fighting, he could tell he was about halfway to the Cornucopia, while everyone else had already gotten there and grabbed weapons.

Sartan heard the sound of running footsteps heading directly toward him. He stayed still, pretending as if he didn't know someone was coming his direction. There was a quick flicking sound. They're drawing a weapon—a dagger. The sound is too short to be a sword, he thought. A light thud told him that the tribute dropped the sheath on their left side. Their right hand must have the dagger, he told himself.

When the tribute was three feet away, he slowly turned, as if he had just now realized the tribute was there. The boy cried out, and wind rustled through his clothing, letting Sartan know that he was bringing his arm down.

Quicker than a striking cobra, Sartan lunged forward, stepping inside the blow. Grabbing the boy's right wrist, he turned his arm away and forced the boy down and forward, driving him into the floor. Sartan switched hands, grabbing the boy's right elbow with his left hand and took the dagger with his right.

He stabbed the boy in the back of the neck. Hearing the squelch of flesh, blood splattered onto his face, yet he felt nothing. It was one target dead, nothing more. Sartan felt an eagle shaped necklace around the boy's neck and remembered that it belonged to Andre Kenway, the district two male.