Bob existed. Did he? Did anyone really exist? Why was he doing this? He hated thinking! Bob waved goodbye to his friends, mostly human, but one had strange red-and-black skin patterns and called himself a Melded. Through some strange coincidence, all of Bob’s friends were named Bob, and recently people from Bob’s friend group had been chosen for the games. Bob supposed he should feel sad to leave them. He was sad, a little bit. He probably should be more sad. He wasn’t. Was this bad? Was he bad? Bob didn’t know, but he certainly didn’t like it as he got on the train to the arena. The games would start soon. Then Bob could shoot stuff. Bob liked shooting stuff.