To say that Fissile was scared would be a gross understatement. She wasn’t scared, she was terrified, frozen in fear, nearly paralyzed at the thought of ending up in the Tribute Tower for the foreseeable future. After watching the last games and seeing how brutal they were, she did not have high hopes for herself or her brother at making any allies or friends among the kids there. It seemed that all any tribute was ever focused on was winning, and Fissile and Atom would be liabilities in the arena, more likely to die in the bloodbath than make it past that first hour.
She thought that she was following their escort to the correct floor, that she had stuck together with the team from five and that she could lock herself in her bedroom until it was time to leave for the Tribute Parade, but when the person in front of her turned around, it wasn’t someone she recognized, and she realized she was somewhere entirely different. “Oh, I’m s-s-sorry, I think I t-t-took a wrong turn. Could you, um, would you mind helping me?”
