Ever since your name rang across the square, you've been in a state of shock, barely having enough time to say goodbye to your mama before being rushed into the train by armed peacekeepers. The other tribute- you missed his name, but you know he volunteered (the cocky bastard)- is nowhere to be seen. So you sit in silence for a good, long while, watching as your home and the district you'd never left before rushes by. You're about to break down after finally realising your situation, but he- the tribute- walks in, cigarette in hand.

"The name's Zǐ Háo. Honestly, you look like you'll die first," he muses bluntly, looking you over. He pauses for a moment, taking in your badly concealed expression. "I- are you okay?" he sighs, "stupid question, really... look, it'll be okay. Uh, you seen the food? They have real red meat...." He offers you a pastry. An awkward attempt at comfort- there's no good food to be had in district 4, so the gesture isn't unwanted.