Optional CYOA

C

Gosh fine I'll roll for it
1 - B
2 - C
3 - D (ermahgerd 3D)

The member 'Corenat Rovarnus' has done the following action : Dice Roll\'d

'threeface' : 3

It's time for a night out on the town. You walk a couple blocks downtown to the restaurant district. The bright lights and flashing signs confuse your poor country eyes, but you make out some appealing places.

A. McProZ - Familiar nation-wide franchise chain. "Fast food for fast ProZ"
B. WOK into Mordor - A buffet-style establishment with a celebrated history serving Oriental cuisine.
C. I'm Ladris - Full service restaurant staffed by stuffy elves.

A

A. Eat like a pro, eat McProz

C) Pick a fight with the sissy boy elves.

C

C

You walk into the I'm Ladris restaurant, and are overtaken by a fresh oaken smell and the forested atmosphere within. The building itself appears to be made out of numerous trees fused together. A fair-haired elf dressed in green velvet stands at a podium at the entrance.You request a table for one, and he asks if you have a reservation. You reluctantly admit you do not. He turns up his nose at you. "Hmph, impulsive humans. You'll have to wait for a few minutes while we find you a table."

After about 10 minutes, you settle into a vine-coated seat and grab a menu. It doesn't look like any of the dishes have meat in them. The elven waiter comes along. "Are you ready to ord...." he stops short, staring at your chest.
Confused, you look down to find that the black cotton shirt you were changed into has a large picture of you wearing the wheat-suit printed on the front. The waiter bursts into laughter.
"By the light of Valinor, where did you get that shirt? I remember seeing that tribute at the parade this evening. Media sure works fast these days." Annoyed by the delay in service, you refuse to answer the question. He gets some of his friends over to see and they start laughing as well. Hiding the fact that it's you in that picture, you try to explain how not funny it is, but unfortunately you can't argue with elves. You trump back to your room 2 hours later with gourmet vegetables, beans, and elven tofurkey in your stomach.

Lord Kelvin wakes you up early the next morning at 8:30AM with a splash of hot tea on your face. "Rise and shine, sweet child! It is time to prepare for the Games!" He downs the remainder in the cup he is holding himself. With a reddened face, you change into a nondescript black tracksuit with a 9 printed on it while trying not to wince or show signs of pain from the tea that your mentor could exploit. Normally your District uses green or yellow color schemes but right now they remind you too much of those inconsiderate elves and the wheat costume.

The elevator brings you down to the Training Center proper, a vast gymnasium with a high ceiling and grey walls. Various metallic training equipment, cushioning mats, and weapon racks are distributed throughout the chamber.
You arrive at nine sharp, seeing that most of the tributes are already assembled in the center, where the training guide wearing a white headband and workout clothing stands with a microphone. Behind her stand the various skill trainers. It is a few minutes past 9 when the last of them walk in, including the boy from your District. White spotlights mounted on the ceiling girders activate, and the guide begins her speech.
"Over the next three days, you will acquire all the necessary skills to survive and dominate in the Arena. At the end of this period, you will make a short demonstration to the GameMakers so they may make their evaluations of your prowess..."
Each spotlight illuminates a particular group of equipment or area. As the guide mentions each training station, the corresponding spotlight blinks red temporarily. The trainers scatter to their respective stations, and the Tributes move to pursue their areas of interest. You have a limited amount of time, so pick 3 areas from the following to gain proficiency in: (roughly sorted by category)

obstacle course, weight lifting,
swords, spear/polearms, archery, unarmed combat, thrown weapons
fishing, edible plants, edible insects/animals, shelter construction
knot tying, camouflage, modern tech use, fire starting

obstacle course(sprinting in all terrain), thrown weapons, and camouflage.
I assume as a poor farmer the PC would already know what insects and plants are edible, by virtue of being poor and having to scavenge to survive.

How's this voting going to work?
Obstacle course, camouflage, FIRE STARTING (THE FLAMES OF TRUTH)

weight lifting, unarmed combat, camaflage

fire starting, fishing, knot tying

Training Day 1: Camouflage

You venture first to the camouflage center, staffed by a large friendly man with a British accent. He introduces himself as Jorim "Panda" Barbecue. He starts off by showing how to affix shrubbery and other setting pieces to your head and clothing. The main attraction of the station however, is the body painting. Jorim offers to demonstrate his signature style, and in less than 5 minutes the Panda's skin has taken on the texture of birch tree bark. The realism of the camouflage is striking. The other tributes laugh and enjoy painting each others' faces.
The most prominent of them here is a lanky young man of medium height with bushy eyebrows. His tan-skinned head is unnaturally bald, and the silver number 2 is sewn on his uniform. "Hm, they did say that the samurai complemented their skill with painting. But skin as a medium..." he muses as he samples the colors.

"Ey, Amos, where's your partner?" asks a male tribute dressed in an aquamarine tracksuit with the number 4 printed in a bubbly violet font on the back. "Hm, partner? Oh, you mean Delia," Amos answers in a bored tone. "She's only concerned with perfecting her fighting technique, can't appreciate the value of the more mundane stuff. But don't go and tell her that." He jerks his thumb to indicate a muscular teenage girl with short auburn hair over at the unarmed combat station, clad in matching uniform to Amos. Long white cloth strips are wrapped around her hands and bare feet, which are in the process of furiously pummeling several rubber and straw dummies.
"So she'll be like, the fighter of our party?"
"No, it's called crippling overspecialization. Probably be dead weight after the bloodbath. Just my opinion though."
The boy from 4 scratches his head. "Maybe I'll just go it alone then..."

A soft tap on your shoulder brings your attention back to your immediate vicinity. "Um, does this look good?" asks a skinny, mousy haired girl in a hesitant voice. You turn to examine her. Her face, torso, and shins are coated with muted brown and gray tones, fitting with trees or earthy hills. You can just barely pick out the 11 printed on her uniform, which appears to be dull green underneath the paint. After a few seconds of your silent scrutiny she turns red and walks away before you can comment. "Uh, sorry, forget I asked."

You learn what color schemes are good for blending in with commonly encountered biomes, and how to extract pigment to use as paint. You can't hope to match the Panda's skill in such a short time, but you find that you can successfully replicate rudimentary patterns and colors for temperate forest, the savage tundra, and sand desert.

Training halts briefly for a lunch break. A squad of caterers methodically sweeps into the room pushing loaded buffet carts to a small dining area in a corner of the gymnasium. This is your chance to speak to and possibly form an alliance with another tribute. Who do you talk to?

A. Nobody, can't trust any of these dangerous gits
B. Amos
C. District 4 guy
D. District 11 girl

Feel free to pick some other random person

D.

B. Amos
and
E. Pickpocket the District 11 girl as she walks away

B. We can probably trick him into being bait later

B

You attempt to pickpocket the District 11 girl, but without any prior experience it ends up being just fruitless harassment.

Lunch is served. The Career tributes from the first four Districts gather at one table, while everyone else sits in scattered isolation. You work up the nerve to bring your meal tray over to the Career table, making sure to sit directly across from Amos.
You make eye contact with him, and he speaks to you first. "Sup. Hey, you aren't one of- what District you from?" he asks, unable to see your district number under the remnants of all the body paint.
You ignore this question and push forward your proposal for an alliance. His dark, intelligent eyes widen in incredulity.
"Really? You're asking me looking like that? Really now?" he says, looking over your scrawny body and weak left arm and shaking his head.
"I'm sorry, but a small fry like you stands no chance in the Arena. I could tear you apart with my bare hands."
He then sprouts a smile and clasps those hands together.
"But please, humor me. I can fight, I can forage, I have plenty of options. What could a weakling like you possibly do for me as an ally?"

A. I'm a great cook
B. I know how to throw a party!
C. [lie]I'm good at tracking and setting traps
D. Never mind, you're a jerk

D. He sounds like a traitorous dick. (+I've got a hunch he wouldn't be won over by food or parties, he doesn't subsist on either).

A. I'm a great cook, and a humanitarian.

D

E. Lean in close and whisper, "I have the answer you've been seeking. Your years of searching have come to an end."

Lawl, too good, I change my vote to E.

The wise vroopmaster has given my council that I should change my vote to E. So I do. E.

Vote change to E.

"W-what?" he sputters, hands down. "You...you can't know that...no...you can't!" You remain silent, making your best "Oh yes I can" face.
"Can't what?" asks a dark skinned young man sitting next to him, wearing a gold necklace and earrings.
"N-nothing." He takes on a conflicted expression for the rest of the meal, but you have the feeling he is inclined towards keeping you alive.

After lunch, you head over the the obstacle course area to hone your agility and endurance. Several drill sergeant type figures stand around yelling for everyone to get going. The course is divided into 3 "levels". The first seems like a standard military basic training track.
It begins with a series of short hurdles, then the ground opens up into a mud pit over which a hemp rope hangs, ending in a knot. Behind it is a double layered rope wall, which must be climbed up and down both ways.
With a running start you leap most of the hurdles with relative ease. You stop for a minute at the rope swing as a small line has gathered there for the single rope. A female tribute loses her resolve and falls, making a large squelching sound as she lands in the mud below.
The others do not wait for her to climb out before taking to the rope. With some concern, you make sure to plant both feet firmly on the knot before setting off. This caution pays off in you reaching the other side shortly and smoothly.
You scale the rope wall with some difficulty, finding some simple simulated rocky terrain on the other side. You sprint through to the end with ease, thankful that you also received new shoes when you were unconsciously changed.
This leaves your wiry body somewhat winded, but you recover in a short time. Some tributes go through faster than you, others slower. You will go through the other levels in the next 2 days. Fulfilled, you jump into bed to await the next day.

Training Day 2: Hatching Fire
An energetic redheaded woman heads the fire-starting station, which bears the following symbol:
You acquire several different primitive methods of pyrogenesis, including striking flint with steel, and using a glass lens to focus light. Unfortunately you cannot enact the most basic "rubbing sticks" method due to your gimped arm's lack of endurance, and the bow drill is difficult to set up. Most of the other tributes have no trouble mastering all methods, some taking to fire starting with an unhealthy passion. You see the boy from your District here as well, but he has purposefully maneuvered to put other people between you and him at all times.

This train of thought is interrupted by a female voice right next to you.
"Oh, are you having trouble? You can wind up the string before planting the sticks and drill in the ground."

"Don't help her, we'll be facing her soon enough in the Arena," chides the boy next to her. "Oh, Ralph!" Your helper frowns and crosses her arms, bearing a blockish yellow 8 on the right sleeve.
"It's true, woman. You're being hopelessly naive." Unlike his counterpart, Ralph wears a long black leather coat, unbuttoned.
"That doesn't mean we can't be friends, right?"
"No you don't understand, everyone is your enemy." The boy attempts to make a tough, serious grimace as he begins his declaration.
"FOR IN THE GRIM DARKNESS OF THE S-"
"Ralph, you're on fire!" she cries.
"Huh?" He looks back to discover the back of his coat ablaze. "Whoa, now I look even coo-" The flames lick his head, and his hair begins to smolder. "AAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!" He panics, running around and whacking himself in the head.
Nearby, a plumpish, nerdy guy with a face like this watches in amusement. "AHH-HAHAHAHAHAHA!! GOTCHAAA!!" he crows in a distinct voice. The number 5 is emblazoned on his uniform torso, along with what appears to be an equine-form muttation wearing sunglasses.
The other tributes roll their eyes at the spectacle. The various fires are quickly extinguished by the training staff and lunch break is called.
Who will you talk to today?

A. District 8 girl
B. District 5 guy
C. No one

A

A

A.

A

The obnoxious District 5 guy invites you to have lunch with him. "Ey, baybee, let's go Taco Horse" You ignore him and he proceeds to bother someone else.
You walk over to the table where the District 8 girl sits alone. She smiles upon seeing you. "Hi, you! Did my advice help?" She pats the seat next to her, and you take it. "I wanted to sit with the others over there but all the seats are full. Oh well."

As soon as you mention an alliance, her eyes light up and she claps her hands excitedly."Yes! Yes, of course! I knew you'd want to be friends!" She turns around in her seat and calls out. "Ralph, Ralph! We have a new team mate!" Ralph sighs and quickly comes over to shoosh her. "What are you doing? Now everyone's gonna know," he whispers.
"So what? It's not like they can make us not-friends." She turns back to you and grabs your hand. "I'm Kristine, from District 8, but you can call me Kristy. This is my other friend Ralph, he's from District 8 too." She shakes your hand vigorously. "Welcome to the dream team!"

Ralph eyes you suspiciously. "I, er, we are gonna trust you for now. So what's your District number? I need it for our strategy." You reluctantly tell them the truth. "Nine? Then we'll be starting pretty close to each other," Kristine remarks.
Ralph thinks for a few seconds, then sits down across from you.
"Okay, here's the plan: we group and run for that Cornucopia thing together. We'll grab the best weapons and kill everyone else who tries to get near, and then-"
"Raaalphie, that's not going to work," she protests, "I don't like weapons and fighting." He groans and revises.
"Ugh, fine, you can go and, like, gather supplies or something." He turns to you. "You, just stay out of my way. And don't even think about double crossing me." Lunch break ends.

The second level of the obstacle course is more demanding, and has moving parts. You must carefully make your way over large stone blocks that regularly oscillate up and down, jump across several elevated platforms in sequence, and walk through a narrow passage while dodging red boxing gloves shooting out of the walls on metal cylinders. You fall twice from failed platform jumps, slightly bruising yourself on the hard rubber mats below. Entering the passage, you find that your skinny form gives you plenty of maneuvering space, and you manage to avoid getting hit by the punchers. Oddly enough it is shorter and less tiresome than the first section.

Training Day 3: Wipeout

The trainers advised you to reserve the entirety of the last day for the completion of the obstacle course. Looking at the third level now, you can see why.

The final track is elevated over a large dark pool of frigid water. Along with several other tributes, you stare transfixed at the twisting, moving catwalk scaffolding, the spinning wheel of handlebars, and the ominous cranking of metal machinery beyond. It is a veritable gauntlet, and only the strongest Career Tributes are brave enough to dive into the pool without a second thought. The coaches eventually get the rest moving, and soon the course is filled with the grunts and screams of struggling tributes.

You step off from the edge of the pool onto the first of several green lilypad shaped floats, which together form a haphazard trail from the near end of the pool to the first platform. You begin hopping from one float to the other, each depressing slightly under your weight. Small icy droplets splash your heels each time, giving you a taste of the consequences of falling in. On the last lilypad you lose your balance for a moment, flailing your arms to remain upright on the rocking float. The fact that you can hear someone making their way across the pads behind you does not help. You manage to put your momentum into one more jump, putting you on a solid, anchored floor.

This elevated platform is but a small respite from the perils of the course, for it immediately begins tilting back and forth at wide angles, attempting to dislodge you into the pool below. You make your way through several connected platforms like this in ascending order, each tilting more vertically than the last. Fortunately their surfaces are coated with textured rubber upon which your feet can find purchase, without which you would surely have slipped. Looking down and attempting to keep balance, you fail to notice the tall pillars with horizontal rods spinning like propeller blades surrounding the next few platforms. A rod smacks into your side, knocking the wind out of you. At the worst possible time, the platform tilts sharply to the left and you start sliding off. Before you drop into the tumultuous waters below you manage to grab onto the edge, putting your arms under intense strain. Swinging your legs back and forth in the air, you wait for the platform to tilt the other way and hoist your body back onto the rubber. Having learned your lesson, you manage to dodge the rest of the rods.

A long set of monkey bars over the foaming deeps leads to the final segment of the course: A series of steep ramps zigzagging up the wall, going over 5 stories tall. At the top stands a gray robotic giant with a rhinoceros head, who rolls steel barrels down the ramps at close intervals. Its head turns to taunt the struggling tributes attempting to scale the heights.

Taking a running start, you leap over the first barrel, then the second, then round the bend onto the next ramp. You begin to believe you can make it to the top...when the third barrel hits you full in the stomach. You tumble back to the first level, where you attempt to get up but are rolled over by another barrel. Determined to persevere, you start to time the barrel intervals and act accordingly.
Jump, run a bit, wait, jump, run. You make good progress this way, and are two ramps from the top when you suddenly find yourself facing down five barrels in a row. The rhino-headed giant's deep distorted laugh reverberates throughout the chamber. There is no way you can clear all 5 in one jump. Only one option remains: run over the barrels like a treadmill. You leap onto the first barrel and frantically start running.
After a few steps your left foot gets caught between barrels, and you fall, trapped in a 5-wheeled steamroller. The barrel group carries you all the way back down and over the edge of the first ramp, sending you splashing into the dark pool. You struggle to stay afloat, but the near-zero degree water quickly saps the remaining heat from your body. With the last of your strength, you take one last gasp of air before your body can no longer move. As your frozen frame sinks, your mind also descends into unconsciousness.

You wake up abruptly, the last thing on your mind your failure to finish the course. It is morning on the fourth day, and Lord Kai-Wario stands above you in a stoic pose, assuring you that he is proud of your progress in spite of it. He spouts philosophical gems like "Failure is your greatest teacher" and "wow such skill, very progress". You get up and eat mushroom oatmeal for breakfast, your whole body aching.

The three days have passed and you are now armed with a great deal more knowledge for the Games. You also touched briefly on throwing weapons, unarmed combat, fishing, and knot-tying, but not enough for any demonstratable skill.
The GameMaker evaluations begin, and you are summoned to a featureless gray corridor with stone benches where you wait in line with the other tributes to be called into the evaluation chamber. The tributes are sorted and called to evaluation by District number in increasing order, and so the boy from your District is forced to sit with you.
"District 1 - Boy," a GameMaker calls over loudspeaker. In the distance, a figure gets up and goes through the door at the end of the corridor.
The boy, whose name remains a mystery to you, shivers and scoots to the far side of the bench. Several minutes pass, with unseen tension building between the two of you.
"District 1 - Girl."
You stare at him with a murderous fire in your eyes, and start thinking about killing him here.
"District 2 - Boy."
Having trained your agility in the obstacle course you feel that you are fast enough to catch him now, but without a weapon killing him will be difficult.
"District 2 - Girl."
It is highly likely the other tributes or staff would interfere before you can finish him.
"District 3 - Boy."
You decide to abandon the thought for now.
"District 3 - Girl..."
A few hours pass by in tedious silence, interrupted only by the occassional tribute calling. You are about to fall asleep from boredom when you hear it:
"District 9 - Girl."
You get up from the bench and walk towards the chamber door in mild apprehension. Within the evaluation chamber you are to demonstrate your best skill to a panel of judges, who will assign each tribute a score on a scale from 1 to 12 based on the performance.
This score is released to the public the following day. The higher your score, the more likely you are to gain sponsors and alliance requests from other tributes, but it also makes you a bigger target.
What will you demonstrate?

A. Paint yourself and hide among several settings.
B. Set a fire and burn some dummies.
C. Perform various acrobatic feats
D.o Nothing

E. Chug copious amounts of alcohol without any visible detriment.

E.

F. beat the crap out of several men with a folding chair, while simultaneously doing tricks with said folding chair as if it was a skateboard, while singing showtunes.

F

G: chug copious amounts of alcohol and attempt to do option F

Change my vote to G

Lord Kai-Wario is wise, I change to G.!

G

All hail the master of powerofpoo insane! m(__)m


vote changed to G.

You hum a familiar tune as you stride through the doors.
The evaluation chamber looks like a miniature version of the gymnasium, with personal sets of all the equipment that was there. A large window takes up the majority of the right wall, through which you can see several people conversing in lounge chairs.
At the forefront is a European man with a grim, windswept look, the insignia on his outfit marking him as the Head GameMaker. "Tribute. Your restrictions are as follows: Take up no more than 2 hours, No attacking the GameMakers, refrain from unreasonable obscenity, and no banned powers like dragons. If you do not require any additional materials, begin your demonstration."

You immediately request large amounts of alcoholic drinks and folding chairs. Eyebrows are raised and confused murmuring stirs among the GameMakers as you chug down gallon jugs of quality made beer. They do not provide men, so you must make do with beating up plastic dummies. With a maniacal grin you toss a straw dummy into the air and brutally slam quality portable furniture into it as it lands, knocking the head off and loosening the joints. Turning the chair on its side, you jump and hack away at the body until it is completely dismembered, then take the torso and douse it with beer. You take more smarties and start nursing them with the beer bottles, then screaming "DRINKING PROBLEM" and smashing the bottles on the floor to rub their crotches on. The judges are wide-eyed and slack jawed. Obviously they are impressed by your fighting prowess.

The skateboarding tricks invariably fail, as you have never skateboarded before and are going off the tricks they used in that X Games stunt show. Also, the skateboards are actually chairs. After an hour of strenuous effort you have accomplished the total destruction of 20 dummies, 5 chairs, 17 beer containers, and everything you thought you knew about being drunk. Lord Kelvin would be proud.

The Head GameMaker is visibly disturbed by your activities. "That's- That will be all. You may leave now." You laugh at the silly man and his silly words, and continue with your drunken rampage. Some people in funny dresses come into the room, and you pwn some of their weak butts. Unfortunately they brought nasty zappy things that zap you out.

You wake up in the middle of Lord Kelvin spoonfeeding you purple spaghetti in an Earl Grey soup mixture. With incredible prescience, he moves a napkin in front of his face right before you violently cough out gobs of pasta. A splitting headache from hangover wracks your cranium.
"ooovarygoot, just in time to see your score," he says, and drags you over to the couch to watch some quality television. Most of the tributes score in the range of 5 to 9. Your attention is diverted by the headache, but you are able to pick out certain people.
Your District 9 counterpart has gotten a 6. On the high end, Amos receives a score of 10, and a red haired young man with strange looking eyes from District 7 receives 11, highest of all. On the low end, you find that you have the lowest score, a measly 2.
Lord Kelvin sighs. "Son, I am disappoint." The scoring announcements end, to be replaced by a Capitol news broadcast.
"We are delighted to report that two high profile fugitives of the state have been hunted down and apprehended. The known Pig of the Capitol Sinai and Dr. 'nullset' Dao are in Peacekeeper custody and awaiting trial for high treason. Sources say..."
The Lord of La-mei stands his considerable bulk in front of the television and waves a finger in your face. "Son, you finish your spagherrio or I disown you from famiri." You brush him off and trudge back to your room, where you start marathoning all 90 seasons of Futurama.

A few hours in your programming is interrupted by a live transmission. A dark eyed woman with red pink highlights and a maple leaf pin in her hair appears on screen. "Didn't think we'd get through. You're District 9's tribute?"
You repeatedly mash the remote to change back to your show, but it does not appear to work.
"No, don't do that. This may be the only chance we'll get."
Frustrated, you try to turn off the TV but cannot seem to find a power button. She sighs.
"Okay, I'll keep things short. If you're interested in getting out or getting back at the real enemy, make an alliance with the District 12 tributes."
Suddenly, Lord Kelvin bursts into the room wearing Nyan Cat pajamas. "So you think allies are your choice!?!" he roars. "Wait, is that- ?" You look back at the screen to see a split second of the woman with a alarmed expression before Futurama S126E016 comes back on.
"No! Call back that channel! NOW!!" Lord Kelvin grabs your shoulders and shakes you with his demands. "DOO EET!!! DOO EET NAO!!!!"
You struggle to take his arms off, explaining that you don't know how.
"Nya! Nyaree!! Nyamo! NO!"
After screaming at you incoherently for a few minutes, he finally lets go, and you notice the rivulets of tears flowing from his squinting eyes. He falls to his knees, raising his fists skyward. What he painfully utters next can only be described as grief in its purest form:

"DAAAMMIIIT KAAAEEEDEE!!!!! SAAADDUH FAAAAAAEEEEESSSS!!!!!!"

These cryptic words will haunt you for the rest of your life.

The following morning...

Today is the big day. The day you enter the Arena. You don your final uniform, a full body polyester suit coated in reflective hexagons.
"It is a good day to die." Lord Kelvin wisely quotes to you. You look at him quizzically.
"For them."
You take the elevator up to the roof, where a waiting dropship hovers. Attendants dressed in white hold you still, using a strange syringe to inject something into your left arm. You board the hovercraft. "Strap yourselves in, we're in for some chop."

After a few minutes of slight turbulence, you emerge alone from the craft into a dark corridor. At the end it opens up into a dimly lit locker room. On the left wall is a large cylindrical shaft, at the bottom of which rests a white round platform.
"Yes, that is the LIFT, it shall take you TO THE ARENA." Robert Lightshield stands beside you. "Just gotta make a few last minute adjustments." Taking out a small kit, he tweaks your hair and face with conditioning lotions.
"Now, I'd put a pin on you for good luck, but ah...we don't do that anymore. Run along now." He ushers you to the shaft.

A mechanical voice rings out. "60 seconds before the Games begin."

You step into the lift. "May the odds be ever in your favor," Lightshield declares, and glass doors close around you.
The platform slowly rises up into the arena with a soft hum. Cyan sky and fresh air greet you. The platform has emerged in a small grassy clearing. Behind you is a temperate forest area, while in front the environment transitions unnaturally quick to desert.

"Welcome to Hungerer's Rift"

You see the 23 other tributes rising up with you in a large ring, in the center of which lies the silver Cornucopia.
It is a squarish construction, with a curved tip arching up like a scorpion's tail. True to its name, it has piles upon piles of valuable supplies spilling from its mouth.
Within the gleaming hood of the Cornucopia itself are several weapon racks and transparent plastic boxes. The racks hold polished steel weapons of every variety you've seen at the Training Center, and some that you haven't.
Among the boxes there appear to be several advanced medical kits, dehydrated instant meals, sleeping bags.  In the vicinity of the silver horn are several piles of lesser items and large stacks of empty crates, which are less distant from your starting position.
One item in particular catches your interest. Laying at the fringe of a pile halfway between you and the Cornucopia is a small red lunchbox-size bag with a bottle strapped to the side. Finally, scattered on the ground in a wide area within the circle of starting platforms are many small trinket-like items that each require only a short walk to pick up.
*GONG* "30 seconds before the Games begin"
The sudden noise draws your attentionto a large holographic display above the Cornucopia, a yellow countdown timer set to 30.
"29...28...27..."
Once the timer hits zero the tributes are allowed to step off the platform.
"26...25...24..."
Directly to your right stands the District 9 boy, and to your left is a thuggish looking man with messy hair.
"23...22...21..."
You can spot in the distance the Career Tributes getting into a pre-sprint position, aiming for the Cornucopia.
*GONG* "20...19...18..."
You begin to form a plan in your head.
"17...16...15..."
What will you do when the timer reaches zero?

A. Go straight for the best weapons and gear in the middle
B. Run for the red bag
C. Grab two things on the ground and leave
D. Just leave the area

B

E. Wait until everyone rushes for something, and their backs are turned to... PICK A BOX(OPAQUE CRATE) and hide under it, Solid Snake style, until everyone else leaves.

E

B

B Also grab a folding chair if available.

I change my vote to Kaede's B.