The final rain, not from the blue sky but of the darkness of the cold concrete ceiling of the 'box'. the screams of children the occasional laugh of the guards. those who hide well would live, those whom tried to fight would die, or get wounded enough to make it out alive on a cart. my job was to watch from the loft, me and the other lead trainers were to pick our next group. the kids with stealth and strength and were able to survive this little game. the lights were dimed ten of the thirty minutes left on the clock. more than half the kids lay dead on the ground, so many years of training wasted on those weak links. but I had my eyes on a few kids, they out ran the guards and did well in hiding.. I lean on the lofts railing and smile, the kids of 13-15 were doing well. I'd have a good bet on them once selection came around.