Game Over

Hey guys, this is my first story on here
And well I sorta got the idea from Team Fortress 2 and Battle Royale..so yeah hope you enjoy
==Chapter 1:Signing in==
"Do you understand the Terms of Agreement, Mr. Walker?"
"Yeah."
"And you understand that this contract binds you to at least three years of service to the Games, correct?"
"...Yeah."
"Then just sign here along the dotted lines, Mr. Walker…"
"Please, just call me Allen."
"Oh no, if anything, you'll be going by your handle from now on."
The tall man finished signing his name on the two documents before him and looked up at the round, plump, old man behind the desk, his frame silhouetted by the bars of light filtering through the blinds that covered the windows of his fifteenth-story office. A single cigarette lay smoking in the ashtray in front of his interlaced fingers.
"And that would be?" he questioned, peering at him from behind his mustard-yellow aviators.
His stern face gave only the slightest hint of a grin forming at the corners of the older man’s lips.
"Hawkeye."
Allen nodded.
"Understood, sir."
"Good. Your train will arrive tomorrow, at 3:00pm. Here is your ticket," said the man, sliding a piece of thick paper in front of Allen with his ticket information printed on it. "Take one of those documents with you for your records."
"Yes'm."
Allen picked up his hat from the chair and put it back on his head, giving the man - who had referred to himself as a “Recruiter“- a nod before turning to leave.
"See you on the battlefield, Mr. Walker," he said, a soft chuckle rising from his throat as the door shut behind Allen.
He awoke the next morning, his left knee aching. He raised his head up off the pillow, only to let it drop back down after seeing that the sky beyond his window was grey and distorted from the trickles of water running down the panes of glass. He groaned and palmed his eyes, rubbing away the dryness that sleep usually left him with. He finally mustered up the energy to sit up and stretch, scratching the fuzz on his chest as he looked toward the clock. 11:29am. Odd. He was usually up earlier than that. No matter. He would be getting up plenty early from now on.
Allen swung his legs out of bed and lifted himself onto his feet. He searched his closet for the uniform he was told to wear upon arriving to the station, or he would not be allowed on the train. The “Recruiter” had stated that his room would be fully outfitted with enough uniforms for the work week, and that all he needed to bring were the basics like casual clothing, sleepwear (which he didn't need), and toiletries like his toothbrush and comb.
He packed up what few belongings he had, including his wallet and a collection of crumpled sepia-toned photos of family and past events. He got dressed in the uniform, complete with leather vest and work boots. He looked over the document that he had signed the previous evening, reading over it again as he placed his hat on his head. It fully went over what his job would be, what hours he would be working, and how many coworkers he had. It also briefly explained the reason he was being recruited; To compete in some sort of pseudo-war game. It wasn't much his business, so he didn't care too much to read into it. He looked over the part just above where he had signed. It read, "I understand these Terms of Agreement, and by signing this contract, I understand the risks of the job I am applying for."
He looked at his hastily-written signature.
"What have I gotten myself into…?"
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