We receive the opportunity to watch the Nightfire television show, a recap of what happened during the tryouts. All of them, the good and bad, are mainly edited to make a five-hour experience appear two to eight minutes long. In the end, they had to use seven one-hour episodes to fit us all. Epic warriors, the memorable, the entertaining, and even the embarrassing laughingstock receive five or more minutes of fame. Whereas Danny simply has ten seconds of the judges saying yes to him, they don't show his battle whatsoever.
Frankie's tryout is in the very first episode and the very first one the universe gets to see who's participating in the tournament. My teeth grind in frustration because he oozes charisma. First, his interview. Then he introduces himself to the judges and reveals a hidden fact about himself that I never knew. He has six girls' names tattooed on his butt. Three on the left cheek, and three on the right, are all in black cursive. All were representing the number of women he's slept with. I know this because he moons the entire audience, who foolishly finds it hilarious. Nothing from his battle against the reptilian stands out to me. All he did was shoot it with a pistol. The judges yet love him, don't have anything wrong to say, and he received four yesses. He was edited into about a six-minute clip.
I'm surprised they broadcasted my tryout in the first episode because I heard the judges didn't tour Prescyla One until much later. Not to mention, my tryout is an eight-and-a-half-minute edited clip. With complete coverage of me battling the reptilian. Close to zero cuts. It's conceivable to the people who aren't in the tournament to think Frankie and I had the same tryout date, but really, the continuity of the show is atrocious. Cody's seven-minute tryout doesn't air until episode five, and he went right after me.
The crew instructs us to be in the arena for drills. The weapons, guns, and gadgets hanging on brackets had been rolled in from the training room. I can see the four judges— Palmer, Amanda, Kendall, and Abigail—sitting in the same order as always from left to right and elevated on the platform, watching our every move.
Abigail gives us an introduction and leaves us with: "Remember what I'm looking for. I want a whole team full of Ryans." As if I'm capable of interpreting what she means by that. It can suggest anything. Of course, now the name lingers in my mind. Who's Ryan?
Once she releases us, everybody heads straight for the deadliest-looking weapons in the arena and handles them with aggression. The field is intimidating, destructive, and hazardous.
Somebody nudges me. Another warrior. His chestnut brown skin and eyes are familiar. I remember his tryout perfectly because it stood out amongst others. The story about how he lost contact with his mother, was kicked out of the house and became homeless moved me. Despite his sad story, he's positive enough to forget sometimes what he went through. "Your name is Sagittarius, right?" He's twinkling at me.
"Y-yeah," I answer.
The flamboyant boy smiles. "I'm Tyrone," he says. "Tyrone Davis."
I know his name already. He has the same amount of excitement he did at tryouts. "Hi, Tyrone," I say. "Nice to meet you."
"Your story moved me," Tyrone says. "The stuff about your dad. Must be rough."
"Yeah," I mutter. "I'm training to save him. Go figure, right?"
"I think what you're doing is beautiful. A classic story." Tyrone seems interested in me. More than standard. "Why don't we train together with swords?" he says.
I follow Tyrone to where all the knives, swords, and blades are. Weapons I have never seen before in my life. I see a pickaxe made from funky-looking metal that doesn't exist on Earth. Spears are also designed to turn into guns with just a quick pull on the handle. You must twist the handle back and forth to pull out the gun barrel to change its shape. Then you tuck the handle back inside, lock it into place, and then flip the gun around back at your opponent, so you don't shoot yourself in the face. Over half of these warriors can perform cool tricks to get this done faster within two or three seconds. It takes me a whole minute.
"It wouldn't be embarrassing, would it?" I say. "If I could ask you how to use some of these weapons?"
Tyrone chuckles. "Of course not, honey." He grabs two swords and equips one in each hand. They're made of steel, but he's holding them like they weigh a pound. "You've never seen these Nightfire tournaments on TV, have you?"
I flush with embarrassment. "How'd you guess?"
"You look clueless. Don't worry. I'll help you. Grab two swords."
I hesitate and just look at them.
"I'm serious," Tyrone encourages. "Stop worrying. I won't kill you. Breaking Abigail's rules might get me disqualified."
I cautiously grab them and wield one in each hand.
"Secret to sword fighting, honey," Tyrone says. "Is trying to get your opponent to drop their swords. If your opponent arms, never try to stab them—because you won't." He puts himself into a ready position; the swords point in perfect angles for attacks.
I try to copy his stance, and it's more complicated than I realize. Tyrone twirls the swords fast enough to look like propeller blades—coming straight at me! A yelp tears from my throat, and I swing back. Our silver blades slice against each other, his thrust missing me by inches. As a result, one of the swords slips from my grasp, which is the worst thing that could have happened. I block him with my remaining sword. Tyrone uses one sword to blindside me. Luckily, I notice it just in time to stop it. But he's quicker, thinks faster, and blindsides me again with the other. I'm miraculously fending off his attacks—or he's letting me block them—but eventually, I'm not fast enough for him, and I stagger to the ground.
"You could have said ready!" I snap.
"A warrior never asks their victim if they're ready," Tyrone says. "On the other hand, that was a pretty good block for your first time." He offers a hand to help me up. I grab it with a thankful smile and pull myself up to my feet. "You can beat me, you know. Could probably kill every one of us if you wanted to."
I comprehend what he's talking about. It would have been easier to just blast the swords out of my opponent's hands. Guess there are no rules when it comes to fighting. You stay alive, complete the mission, whatever it takes. Tyrone is an excellent mentor. Although this is a competition, I'm glad he's taking the time to teach me how these different weapons operate.
We're sent back to our sleeping chambers. This is the time to worry impatiently. Pretty soon, they will call us out in a few groups at a time and tell us whether we're moving on or not. The expression on everyone's faces is noticeably clear to read like open books. We're troubled. Half of us are going to go home heartbroken. Knowing our dreams can be crushed after one little announcement is unthinkable. I can only hope my training with Tyrone was enough for the judges to see potential in me.
Someone from the crew speaks into an intercom, and we hear an announcement. "Attention, warriors! I have a list of names who will be called out first. Up next, we have Virgo Armadale, Tyrone Davis, Sagittarius Devlin—" I immediately sit up with adrenaline. "—Justin Finnick...." He calls out a few more names and then says, "Please report to the arena. The judges want to see you."
The competitors called appear confident. It's a good group. I doubt Tyrone is going to be eliminated because he's not one of the weak ones. And I doubt we're all going to be eliminated together. Maybe it's good news? Perhaps we're all going to move on together.
We make it to the arena after what seems like the longest walk ever. Like walking for doom. In front of us are the four judges sitting together behind a long table. Palmer's smile is meek. Kendall and Amanda look like they're about to cry. As if they don't want to announce someone's dream won't be coming true anytime soon. However, Abigail is more than ready to have fewer warriors.
It's always the same speech superiors give when making intricate cuts. Thank you for coming out, we know you tried your best, but the bar was set extremely high this year, and all this other stuff how mistakes that have flown in the past won't be tolerable now. Some of us rose to the occasion during training, and some of us didn't deliver. It's too late to ask for second chances now. Decisions are made.
They start to call names forward. Virgo, someone who looks just as shy as me—his lip pierced, dark clothes, and a piece of his dark hair dyed a bright green—I remember the moves he performed with battleaxes, and there's no doubt in my mind he's continuing. He does. Then suspense builds, leaving Tyrone hanging without absolution. Then he moves on, too. Not another surprise.
Three of us remaining wait to hear our fate. I'm standing side by side with another competitor I've never seen fight before. But it's immediately evident he's going to make it far in the competition. The last warrior standing in front of us—facing the judges and about to drown in his puddle of tears—finally breaks down to his knees in a hysterical sob when Kendall makes the revelation he's going home. She takes the time to rush off the platform to comfort the heartbroken warrior. She is taking his hands, helping him to his feet. "Don't allow this to make you weaker. Allow it to make you stronger." Her words are inspiring. I'm touched these decisions hurt certain judges as much as they hurt us. At the same time, who wants to be the person to crush another person's dreams? Besides Abigail?
"Will Justin and Sag step forward?" Amanda says, sounding pleased. The warrior standing next to me is Justin—handsome, bulky, and blond—I'm feeling his vibe, and our hearts start pumping faster together.
Amanda's smile is a dead giveaway that it's good news for both of us. Still, I need her to say it truthfully. Feelings aren't enough. "Guess what, guys?" She's teasing us a bit. "It's a yeees. You're both moving on in the tournament."