"Alright, let's get you ready," Aquilia says. I'm forced to focus on what's happening around me, jolted from my daze by her words.

"Yeah," I reply. Whatever enthusiasm I possessed earlier in the week is gone, drained from my existence by the harsh reality of what's about to happen.

I'm Standing now, with Aquilia, in the Launch Room, preparing to enter the arena. The cold, white room feels menacing, causing chills to run up my spine. I rub my arm, still sore from where the doctor injected my tracker earlier.

Aquilia helps me into the simple outfit that all of the tributes will be wearing. I'm glad that's she's here to help me because I feel far to numb to do it myself.

My apparel consists of black cargo pants, complete with enough pockets to hold everything I might need. I also wear a form-hugging, charcoal gray tank top. Heavy-duty combat boots and a thick belt finish the look.

Aquilia gathers my hair into a high ponytail, tucking in my blonde wisps. She pulls me into a hug, her warm embrace subduing the tremors I hadn't realized were racking my body.

"No jacket," Aquilia murmurs, taking a step back so that she can look at my appearance. "Prepare for a hot environment."

"Look, Aquilia, if I don't make it-"

"What did I say about goodbyes?" She gives me a fierce look. "What I don't want is for you to think you can just give up, or that you're going to die in that arena. You're strong, stronger than all of those other tributes, and I know you can win, so I need you to believe it too."

"Well, how can I possibly die after a speech like that?" I joke halfheartedly.

"You better not."

"I'll make it back, I promise," I whisper, giving her a sad smile.

"I'm going to hold you to that," she replies.

An automated voice comes out of the speakers, crackling with static electricity. "Sixty seconds to launch."

"Time to go," Aquilia says. She begins to lead me over to the glass tube. Suddenly, she stops, turning to face me before frantically pulling something out of her pocket. "I almost forgot! You'll need your token." Taking the mother of pearl necklace, she quickly secures it around my neck. "Now you're ready."

"Thank you," I say, gripping the pendant in my fist until my knuckles turn white. "I had forgotten about this."

"Of course, now hurry." Aquilia practically shoves me into the tube, barely making it in time.

I place my hand on the glass that now surrounds me, wishing for more time to say goodbye. I have to win. The familiar thought doesn't ring the same way that it has in the past. It contains more desperation than pride, shaking my belief in the simple statement that has fueled my life for so long. I have to win, but no longer am I making such a vow just to bring honor to my district and family, no, now I'm fighting so I can return to the people who have placed so much faith in me, to begin with.

The metal plate which I'm standing upon starts to rise. Stealing one last glance at the stylist who has helped to get me this far, I begin to prepare my mind for what is about to happen. I can feel the platform stop suddenly, causing my stomach to churn with queasiness. I take a deep breath, calming my nerves.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Claudius Templesmith's voice reverberates through the arena, "let the sixty-seventh annual Hunger Games begin!"

Sixty seconds.

Raking my gaze across the arena, I fail to recognize the tributes on either side of me. They're not Careers, that's for sure.

Fifty seconds.

Black soot engulfs everything in sight. The sun beats down on the volcanic wasteland with scorching rays.

Forty seconds.

A few scraggly, dead trees are scattered around the rocky terrain. Streams of lava appear to go on for miles in a maze-like pattern.

Thirty seconds.

I can't find a water source. Where is it? There has to be one somewhere.

Twenty seconds.

I spot Linh a few pedestals away from me. Locking eyes with the District 4 tribute, I give her a nod, jerking my head towards the Cornucopia.

Ten seconds.

A pair of swords sit, waiting for me, at the center of the gleaming horn. They seem to be begging me to use them.

Nine seconds.

Lars is nowhere to be seen.

Eight seconds.

I can feel panic begin to rise inside of me, fighting for control over my body.

Seven seconds.

I beat it back down, forcing my tense muscles to relax.

Six seconds.

I move my feet, preparing to run straight for those precious words.

Five seconds.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Four seconds.

I clear my mind of the unnecessary thoughts cluttering it, focusing it on one purpose.

Three seconds.

Survival.

Two seconds.

At all costs.

One second.

The cannon sounds, leaving a ringing in my ears.

Let the Games begin.