3:15 PM, the day before the Tournament.
A few people went sprinting across galvanize and jumping from rooftop to rooftop. They were fast on their feet. They swiftly made their way toward two buildings in the distance.
They were reporters, making their way toward the real citizens of the colony. Only they were strict with the survival of mankind, and other races alike.
They dropped down from very last building and drew toward an alley in the distance. The alley was a trifle dark, and cool. It was only cool because of Spike, one of the three great rebels.
Spike's body was almost completely covered in frost. He stepped out of the darkness, and inched toward the four reporters who had only just arrived.
Spike's eyes were completely white. There were no pupils present from what the reporters could tell.
"Speak," Spike said with a sonorous voice meshed well with a wheeze.
