Writer Games: Pending Secrets

Quarterfinals - A Race Against Time

Cummings sits cross-legged with Mongolia Katurall, staring at a screen. The screen is split into nine small squares, all but two filled with different perspectives of the remaining tributes.

"This is boring," he remarks, resting his chin on his outstretched palm. "Give me an idea of what to do."

Mongolia turns to him, sitting cross-legged as well. "What kind of idea?"

"Anything."

She turns back to the monitor, a shrug forming on her shoulders. She skims the different screens until her eyes land on that of Shyen Ann Brooke. "Her," she points to the girl who holds her lower chest awkwardly as she leans against the plain walls inside the building. She turns to one of the gamemakers. "Injuries of Tribute 17?" She calls out.

The gamemaker opens something and skims through it. "Minor scratches on left cheek. Calloused and bloody hands. Bruised legs and chest. She has several broken ribs though," he points out, hardly caring for the wellbeing of the girl.

Mongolia turns to Cummings, a sly smile forming on her otherwise nonchalant face. "She needs something, Cummings. She needs something desperately."

He turns to Mongolia. "We can't, no. We can't give them anything we wouldn't otherwise give to the Districts."

"Okay, think about this. If this is successful, and we move on to choosing the tributes straight from the Districts and televising it nationwide, we need to think about more than just puishment. We need to have fun while at it." She pauses to make sure the President is still listening. "If these tributes are just huddling in corners and dying from hypothermia or starvation, it'll take out the point of doing this. We need to give the tributes a fighting chance, so the nation is entertained. We want fighting, we want blood, we want d-"

"Stop. I get your point." Cummings looks at her curiously. "What do you suggest we do?"

***

Days pass, and the remaining tributes wonder what they will do next. Most of them hide or explore the buildings, while others wander aimlessly through the streets or the desert beyond, with no true goal. The tributes shake off the deaths of the past few days:

Christian Twain, Felicia Reynolds, and Leann Thomas

Suddenly, one night, the president's booming voice echoes throughout the arena.

"Tributes, it has come to our attention that you are all missing something dearly, something that, once it has been given to you, will give you a fighting chance. In exactly twelve hours, there will be a Feast, where anything you could possibly want in your hands will be set out in the streets. It is your job to get to it before we release some sort of...disaster, into the arena. Although you are not required to get anything, it is advised that you do, for some of the things set out could potentially save your lives. The feast will start as soon as the gong rings. Good luck tributes, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

****

TASK: This, of course, is the feast! Out in the streets below will be practically everything (that is realistic) that your tribute will need. As soon as the gong rings though, tsunamis will form at the edge of the arena, slowly closing in on the city. It's a simple race against time.

DEATHS: You must have a number of THREE deaths in all, whether they are entry deaths or ballots, although it would be best if you have at least ONE entry death.

VOTING: THREE will go up for votes, and ONE will be saved, the other TWO eliminated.

NOTICE: I've noticed that at times in the past, the task descriptions were either not read all the way through, or not understood. Please remember to read the whole task description, and if there is anything you don't understad, ask me about it. The task descriptions are not just there to help you better understand the task, they are there to give you crucial information about the task. Thank you.

DEADLINE: Monday, May 9th at 4 PM PST

WORD LIMIT: 2500 words

Good luck tributes, and may the odds be ever in your favor.