There were only a few days left until the annual games. Charlie, Harry and Jake woke up bright and early on Tuesday morning, ready to start another days training. It was their ritual, as much as the games were a ritual of South-Ariel. Their city, especially the southern parts, had longstanding roots in gunslingers. Many local heroes and legends were born and died in the days where arguments were settled with fistfights, and criminals prosecuted with bullets. The games were a way to pay tribute to that past, and a way of keeping the community close.
The sun had barely crept over the buildings when the three of them made their way outside. The multiple layers of clothes didn’t do much to protect them against the cold.
"Jesus it's freezing," Jake said as his breath escaped in clouds. He looked around at the early morning mist, still dissipating from the previous night. One week a year, during Ariel's coldest winter months, the city would be shrouded in thick mist from late afternoon until the early hours of the morning. It was in the thickest of mist that the games were played.
"Alright, let's go," Charlie said as he lead the other two on a steady jog. After only a few minutes of running through the icy air, their throats and lungs began to burn. It was that tolerance that they were building.
"Faster," Harry said as they kicked their speed up a gear. The dark streets were quiet as they shot passed trashcans, weaving around parked cars and onto the desolate street.