The gong to the 72nd arena sounds everyone in, the arena being that of a snowy forest lined with evergreens. You grab a pack and sprint off into the woods, the snow crunching under your feet. After an hour or so of running you have your first encounter with another tribute, someone pins you up against their body. “shh..” A masculine voice mumbles, the crunching of snow gets louder before it eventually fades out, the person removes the hand from your mouth and you turn to look at them.