AN: firstly I would like to thank all the reviewers and artist that have been so supportive. I cannot believe the quality of the stuff you guys have put out just to show me how much you've been enjoying the story. I intend to post links to the images that accommodate the chapters, but to do so I will need to repose the chapters which I unfortunately don't have time to do right now. Please check out my authors page for three incredible images!

A Big Thank you to my Beta's Unfathomablefandoms and Meepicheep who push me to do better in all my writing and without whom this story wouldn't have gotten even this far.
A hope everyone has a wonderful holiday season!

Chapter 12
The Survival Trials

It had been an eventful few days. Exactly how many, Ezra wasn't sure. There were no chronometers or sunlight to judge time, but after a long period of light, the filament set high in the wall would blink out and plunge the cell into darkness for several hours.

The sudden lack of light left spots on his vision, but the darkness was a welcome change to his tired eyes, and sleep came easier than expected.

Every day here had been exactly the same.

The Trainers fed him twice between the blackouts, a thick pasty porridge made of protein powder served in a shallow dish. He got water three times a light cycle and was given a fresh steel bucket to use however he saw fit before the end of the light cycle.

But that was all the interaction he got. Beyond the occasional scrape of the metal door slot or muted footsteps in the hallway, Ezra hadn't heard proof of life outside his cell for days.

He was unsure how long he'd slept after the tattoo session, but when he woke, the sharp pain had faded. Now it was only a dull throb that flared in time with the pounding in his head. It was bearable, lessening every day.

He was certain he hadn't heard any other candidates being pulled since the final call so he figured the lack of interest was a good sign. He spent his time doing what small exercise he could in the limited space, resting, and meditating.

There had been no answering pulls on the strings of the universe as Ezra sought his Master's presence, but that was no reason to give up. Ezra knew Kanan would be looking for him, all he needed to do was to be ready when his Master's answer came.

On the fourth artificial day in his solitary cube, Ezra's resolve was still strong, but he had to admit some disappointment, if only to himself, that the Crew was taking their time to find him. There was no way Azmorigan of all people could have gotten the jump on them. They were on his tail surely, but further behind then he'd hoped. If the Crew could infiltrate a star destroyer, some gambling den shouldn't be a problem, right?

But, if Ezra was honest with himself, he had to admit, he'd encountered more trouble trying to escape from here than from all the local lock ups on Lothal and the few imperial detention blocks he had the privilege of visiting since joining the Ghost's crew. For an underground killing club, the Survivalist's were organized, deadly efficient, and well funded to boot. Ezra was begrudgingly impressed.

This did not bode well for his imaginations of what the fighting rings would be like. He wondered if they'd be like the steel lined pits that they used for Loth Rat fights on Lothal. Those were gladiatorial battles, a clear fight to the finish.

But this, clearly, was no simple ring fight.

Shaking his negative thoughts, he focused instead on balancing upside down on his hands, doing push ups against the wall, and listing as many snarky remarks he could come up with that focused on the Crew's poor time management.

A hatch door opened somewhere on the same level and Ezra sat up.

"Dinner time." He spoke just to hear a voice, even if it was his own.

There was a long series of noises. A few barked orders and the occasional metallic thud as a Trainer kicked a door or tapped their batons against the metal. Ezra got up, stretched his legs, arms, and back, then stood by the door. He watched the little panel for movement, listened to the footsteps in the corridor.
The little panel lifted suddenly, and the metal tray fed through the slot.

Ezra moved, taking the cup and shallow dish off the tray before it could be withdrawn.
He'd learned on the first day, if you didn't take the food off the tray quick enough, or tried to take the tray itself, you didn't get fed.

The tray disappeared and the panel dropped again.
Ezra took his food back to his spot against the corner. He took a carefully measured sip from the steel cup and appreciated the feeling of moisture in his mouth before he swallowed and wet his lips.

He put down the cup and turned his attention to the dish. The porridge was as thick and stodgy as usual. He gave it an unenthusiastic stir and left the spoon stuck upright in the middle of the bowl.

Ezra played with the mix for a moment, watching the gruel stick to the utensil, fighting gravity. Despite the food's appearance, his stomach growled.
"A kids gotta eat." he muttered, and shovelled the spoon into his mouth. By the third spoonful, his eyes were growing heavy. The fourth he swallowed, but had to rest his head against the wall, vaguely forming the thought that something was not right. He never got the next spoonful. The half eaten dish clattered to the floor and he blacked out.

Ezra knew something had changed the moment he cracked one eye open. The light filaments set in the ceiling were too bright. His head felt like it was full off loose wires and the floor was cold and...wet?

It took a moment for Ezra to realize he was not wearing his scratchy jumpsuit. He jerked upright, and slipped flat on his back on the wet floor.

"What?" His hands flew up , and his shoulder deflated as he found the familiar smooth metal still encircling his neck.

A hygiene droid descended from a vent in the wall and without making the usual droid conversation and began to hose Ezra down with a sharp hot stream of water. The pressure was enough to bruise in some places. He squirmed and struggled. There was no where to hide in this room. Soon every inch, every inch, had been pressure hosed.

The last smears of engine oil we're blasted off his cheek. Ezra chewed on his tongue, his heart in his throat, knowing any moment now the droid would be called off so his face could be inspected.
They'll see the scars for sure now, he thought. The imps have our faces, they'll be here in minutes.

But the door didn't open and the moment Ezra had been dreading never came.
The droid whirred up into the ceiling hatch.

His eyes stung where the water had slipped between his eyelids and the soles of his feet felt bruised, not to mention his softer parts, but he had to admit it felt good to be clean again.

The collar chaffed. He didn't know if it was the electrical burn or the constant irritation of the metal, but his skin was red and peeling where the collar rubbed against his neck.

One of the trainers, the skinny one, entered through a door behind him.

"You gonna watch me get dressed?" Ezra demanded, his voice thick with accusation, but defeated because he knew he could do nothing about it.

The Trainer shrugged. "Privacy is a privilege, and slaves don't get those."

Ezra frowned, and stopped himself from snapping back that he had always considered privacy a right, and one he truly valued.

Instead he inspected the pile of clothes and turned his back to the trainer, biting down on the familiar groove in his tongue. He pulled out a pair of navy blue undershorts and a white sleeveless undershirt. He slipped them on, not caring to dry himself first.
Once he felt he had some modesty he took the towel and carefully scrubbed himself dry. He didn't like to think how the jumpsuit might stick and chaff if he put it on wet.

The jumpsuit was made of a strange rubbery fabric that stretched and flexed as he tested it, but still breathed. It clung comfortably. It felt odd to be clean and fully dressed for the first time in days, and yet he still felt naked without his tools weighing down every pocket.

The thick soled boots were tight and he glanced at the Trainer.

"How long do I have?" he asked, "Before it starts, I mean."

The Trainer shrugged again, but inclined his head towards the door. "You got until number Twenty-four is ready."

How long is a lit fuse?

Ezra had picked up a few things from his time undercover at the Imperial Academy on Lothal. One being that the boots the Empire supplied the young soldiers were hard soled and shoddily made . So when the cadets were issued with their uniforms, they often spent their very first day wearing the shoes down by any means possible until they could be worn comfortably.

So Ezra made sure to spend as long as he dared breaking the boots down, folding them in half and smacking them against the hard durracrete wall. He twisted them from end to end, trying to weaken the stiff soles.

The Trainer watched him silently with something like amusement on his face, and Ezra had to focus on the task and keep his tongue still.

If he wanted to have any chance of surviving this hell, he needed to be able to run. You can't run far in hard boots.

His chest fluttered as he slipped the boots back on, he was filled with anxiety.
Just nerves, he told himself, not fear. I just need to focus and stay alive. Follow my training.
Dodging a bad situation was always something he did best, right?

He put the boots on and bounced on his toes a few times. He was surprised that his efforts had paid off. The boots fit better and he could flex his toes. Maybe he could stand a chance at this.

Ezra sank down onto the bench and stared at his feet, wiggling his toes to keep the soles flexing and trying to focus on his breathing. His heart was hammering in his chest.
He noted in the back of his mind they hadn't fed him that morning, but it was probably for the best or he'd be throwing it up now anyway.

"Your not as stupid as you look, are you kid?"

Ezra jolted at the conversational address, staring up at the Trainer with surprise. It took him a moment to realize the Trainer had called him Kid. Not Six, not Fodder.

Then he scowled, remembering that this was the humanoid man who'd thrown his dinner on the floor only a few the nights before.

"Well I'm here." he heard himself snap back. "So I can't be too smart either."

The rat faced man actually grinned, baring a row of complete, but yellowed teeth. There was a blip of static on the Trainer's communicator, and he straightened up.

"Ok Six, time to go to work."

Ezra took a deep breath, but found it didn't do anything to calm him so he found his feet and approached the Trainer.

He expected the door to lift and be escorted down the hall but instead the Trainer pointed to the opposite wall where a door sized panel slid open.

Ezra was once again reminded how well funded the Hunt must be, and how that would reflect in the ring.

As Ezra turned and was about to reluctantly pass into the next room, The Trainer stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

Ezra looked up, surprised at the gentle touch.

"A word of advice, Six." The man said, leaning outwards just a little. Away from the microphone in my collar, Ezra realized. "Don't fall for the treasure pit. There's gonna be all sorts of sharp stuff in there, but you just turn around an' run. You hide. But don't be too eager to run, see." he smiled lopsidedly. "The boss doesn't like anyone to get a head start. That wouldn't be fair."

Ezra blinked, trying to process why the Trainer would be telling him this. What he could possibly gain, how was he trying to manipulate him. "That's... helpful of you." he said finally, leaning on the words and making it clear he wasn't fooled.

The Trainer grinned again. "You're not like the usual fodder candidates. I think you'll make for a good show."
Ezra was actually grateful for half a moment, and then the Trainer opened his mouth again. "Besides, if you get blastered in the first twelve hours; I'm going to loose out on my bet. So you make sure to hide until then."

Ezra shrugged off the trainer's hand and lurched through the door, hearing the Trainers laughter behind him. It cut off as the panel in the wall snapped shut, Ezra was back in the dark. The hallway in front of him was longer then he expected, lit only by a thin strip of dim filament, running along either side of the floor.

Ezra slowed. Suddenly he was anxious not to run.

He entered into a another windowless box, but was caught off guard to find he wasn't alone.

There was another human boy in here, dressed in the same black jumpsuit as his, the same shinny boots and shaved head. He looked startled, and tired, and that maybe he was only a couple of years older than Ezra.

Ezra wondered why he hadn't seen this other kid before. Were there other candidates he hadn't seen? The boy looked drawn, guarded and unwilling to talk.

Ezra moved to lift a hand to wave in greeting, he needed all the friends he could get right now, and the boy did the same.

Ezra blinked, and then turned his head slowly to the side.

The boy mimicked him, and on the side of his bald head was a thick blue, backwards, Aurbresh numeric: Six.

Ezra let out a shaky breath, closed his eyes for a moment to compose himself, and then opened them to inspect his reflection.

The last time he'd seen himself in a mirror was at least seven days ago, in the fresher station on board the Ghost. He's fussed over the colour of his tongue and inspected the inside of his mouth while he brushed his teeth. It never occurred to him he might not see another mirror for sometime.

His face had been familiar then, so familiar that Ezra hadn't noticed things about is face that he saw now.

The shape of his nose looked a lot beakier without his dark hair framing his jaw, but it also made him look older, more serious. His ears stood out, but maybe that was just the shock of seeing the shape of his skull. His eyes looked wide and very blue set in the shadows under his thick brows. Ezra firmed his jaw, watching the muscles in his neck tense and rise. The saber burns across his cheek were hard to pick out in the dim under-lit room, but what were the chances the Trials would be just as poorly lit?

For just a moment, Ezra wondered if it would be a good thing to get the Empire's attention. The crew had gotten him out of worse scrapes with the Imp's before. Would a cell on the star destroyer be safer than the death match he was about to face?

His thoughts were interrupted by a ceiling panel opening.

"Back again?" Ezra asked. This droid was not the hygiene droid. This one was smaller, circular, and hovered mutely just inside the room.

When it didn't move, Ezra un-tensed.
"Not speaking to me huh?" The droid didn't answer, but after a long pause, it hummed and began to circle the room.

As it turned, an extension arm appeared from the chassis and turned to point at Ezra as the droid moved around him. At the end of the arm was a small glass eye. A small red light began to blink on top.

Ezra felt the muscles of his face construct as heat bloomed in his chest.
He resolved to stand and scowl until the droid stopped circling him, turning his face away from the cam. On the third rotation it must have reached it's footage target, and withdrew the cam-barrel. Ezra watched it vanish back into the ceiling, through a hatch he noted was too small even for him to attempt.

He turned to look at the tattoo in the mirrored wall. It was a deep, bold blue and sat high behind his ears. The skin around it was raw, and irritated. Standing there, without his usual orange suit or raven hair to soften the blow, Ezra truly didn't recognize himself, and it occurred to him he might never be the same after all this was over.

"Get a grip," he muttered, narrowing his eyes and staring himself down.

It hardened the look of his face. He pursed his lips, trying to relax the tremble in his jaw and watched the change in his reflection. The expression that stared back was resolved. Ezra tried to commit the sensation of tensing his brows and cheeks the right way, making the decision to wear this face as his mask for a long as it took. No one would be putting any bets under his number if they didn't think he could handle himself out there. He needed to play the part.

He wished there was someone around to tell him he stood a chance, someone who believed he could do this.
But it was just him and his reflection.
Ezra sucked in a shallow breath, and forced it out his nose as he spoke, meeting his reflection hard in the eye. He had been alone before.

"You made some big promises you gotta live up too. So harden up. I can do this."

Ezra wanted to tell himself, 'They're on their way. Kanan will find me'. But he didn't dare utter a word about the crew while he wore a portable monitoring station.

This is going to be tough, but I've done tough before too, he thought.

A red siren light began to flash in the corner of the room and Ezra almost leaped out of his skin. His eyes shot around, looking for an attack.

The walls hissed and the panel at the far end lifted; revealing a transport tube with a transparasteel door.

It was an elevator.

Ezra looked behind him, around him, there was nothing here. The room was completely empty.
It was just him, and the elevator.

I could stay here, he thought. They'll probably fry me, and when they come I'll be sent to the chutes.
But I won't have to play their game.

He truly considered it, for all of four seconds before he flushed with guilt.

He had promised to stay alive, or to at least try his best. All his work bending over backwards the last few days would have been for nothing. Staying here, he would be giving up before things had even gotten rough.

Ezra sighed, feeling his gut bubble, and moved forward into the elevator. He settled in the centre, eyeing the space around him and thinking about the larger candidates squeezed in a space like this. It was almost enough to make him smile.

The panel hummed to life and shot upwards. He startled, catching is balancing as the floor launched up. The walls through the clear tubing were dark, flashes of filament strips whipped past.

Up ahead, a bright light began to grow.
His heart hammered in his chest, and he tried to suck in the air rushing at his face. His spine began to rattle.

"Trust yourself." Ezra began slowly "Trust the force." Kanan would say. Ezra breathed great gulping breaths. " I will get through this... if I follow my Training."

He clenched his fists as the elevator shot him into brightness. The light was white hot, and burned spots onto the backs of his eyelids. He narrowed his eyes as they immediately began to water, desperate to keep them open and assess the situation.

The air was stale.
It tasted cycled, like the oxygen on a small ship that had been air-born for a long time; which immediately confused Ezra as the first thing he was able to see once his eyes stopped watering was a thick tree-line and brilliant sunlight beating down on them.

The platform driving him upwards slowed, and then halted, timed in unison with the rising platforms on either side of him. Ezra craned his neck, trying to take in every detail.

All twenty-four candidates were standing on their own platform. Everyone was dressed similarly to him, but each suit have been given species type alterations. The elevator platforms were arranged in a circle, surrounded by some of the oddest collection of flora Ezra had ever seen. and In the centre of the ring was a large deep steel sided hole set into the meadow floor: the treasure pit.

And it a was a treasure pit. Even from this distance Ezra could clearly make out a series of vitro-blades, wild looking spears, crates labelled as protein powders, and water skins. Survival would clearly be easier for some than others.

There was a loud buzz inside his collar and it hummed against his throat. Ezra winced, expecting the electric shock to come through at any moment.

When it didn't, Ezra opened his eyes and looked around to the others candidates, who all seemed to be looking for the source of the noise.

Suddenly the back of his collar crackled with static and the deep smooth voice echoed from the back of the collar, as if the speaker was standing right behind Ezra.

Ezra immediately recognised the crisp tone of the Man-in-white. The blunt nubs of hair on the back of his neck pricked and a shudder travelled through his body.

"Welcome Candidates. The Trial will begin at completion of the countdown. The Trials will end when only one Candidate is left standing alive. All methods of elimination are acceptable."

The bile shifted in his empty stomach at the sweetness in the Man's tone. He was condemning them to death, and he was smiling.

There was a long moment of silence, and then an heart-stopping Beep trilled in the air from some unseen source in the sky. Every candidate flinched, or ducked, but the echo was already fading away.

Another tone, and now the collar spoke in a different voice, the computerised voice from the scanner.

"Sixty seconds..."

Ezra swallowed down hard and closed his eyes and looked inwards, trying to focus.

Emotion, yet peace.

"Good Hunting."

It was several counts before Ezra could breath evenly. The timer was ringing in his ears. He forced himself to withdraw from the haze in his mind, focused it on the reality facing him.

He needed a plan.

The Dug next to him reached out and cracked its feet, balancing to lurch forward. Ezra nearly dry heaved.

Ignorance, yet knowledge. "Focus. Be in the moment." He muttered, shaking his head and trying to get a grip on his panic. He gulped a ragged breath, fisted his hands and tried to focus inward.

Passion, yet serenity.

There it was, the force. A tiny tendril hiding in all of his fear. He took another huge breath and willed his heart beat to slow. The glaring light dimmed, the clear tubing started to swim as he began to sense the whole arena, each of the twenty-three other contestants, straining and sweating on their platforms through the eye of the force. The Nikto was bouncing on his booted feet, the Rodian stock still. The Massassi crouched forward, placing his limbs on the forward edge of his platform. The Trandoshan was thinking murder and Ezra's mind flinched back.

Chaos, yet harmony. He found the tiny strand of the force again, his eyes invariably resting on the treasure pit. He wished he had still had the bone knife he had lifted in the first sorting, but it was long gone with the scratchy jump suit and the safely of the Box.

The pit couldn't have been a more obvious honey trap. Yes there were supplies and weapons Ezra desperately needed, but the moment he reached it, every other Candidate would be right alongside. And unlike he, they actually had the strength to lift those heavy things.

No. The trainer, as much as his advice had been for his own gain, wasn't wrong. Ezra was completely set on turning around and running in the opposite direction. Running and hiding, those were skills he had.

He glanced rapidly around, trying to pick a spot that looked like a good path through the trees. There was a rocky outcrop visible just to the left over the tall trees. Maybe he could hole up somewhere high?

The sunlight shifted though there were no visible clouds, something at the top of the pile glinted. Ezra squinted, trying to make the sight clear.

Then he saw the helmet.

...Forty four...

It was perched on a corner of a storage crate at the top of the pile. It was an a design he'd never seen before in a smooth matt grey. The visor was two round blue portals and the mouthpiece looked built to withdraw up into the sides rather then open out like the Trooper's did. The whole piece was slim fit, made to fit around the wearers, ideally, humanoid skull.

Ezra wanted it.

With the sensors and filters built into that mask he was more likely to stay alive if he could see further, in the dark, and move in environments the others could not. He could hide his face. He didn't think it was likely the Empire monitored these feeds, but it was better safe then sorry. It might even alter his voice...

Ezra was a good runner. Much of his youth was spent dodging his way through the markets as he escaped the Trooper patrols or in the early days, a merchant that was quicker to realized the weight of his coin purse was absent. He'd spent whole days exploring the wide grasslands on Lothal on foot before he'd really picked up the skill of lifting speeders.

Ezra's gait was obviously shorter then a lot of the other candidates, one who wouldn't be so intimidated by close quarters with their rivals. But they were bigger, and climbing in and out wouldn't come as natural to them as it did to Ezra. he could be in and out in a flash.
He could do it, he was sure he could.

Stay alive. Stay in one piece. Don't get dead.

All good advice, and all promises Ezra would be putting in jeopardy if he took such a risk...

May the force be with you.

Ezra glanced to either to side on him. He was flanked by the Dug, and the Coralian man. The Dug sneered at him and cracked his long front toes. but the Coralian man was simple standing frozen to the spot, pale and seemingly resigned. Ezra scanned the rest of the line up. If he squinted through the heat haze, he could make out the Nikto and Number Seven standing on the far side of the loop. The Xexto was wringing his four hands together, glancing over his shoulders into the patchwork treeline. Good, Ezra thought. At least he's got more sense then I do...

...Twenty six...

Almost directly opposite him, the furtherest away form his spot, the Trandoshan was eyeing off the pit... or was he looking at Ezra?

Number Eight bared his teeth and the way his face twisted Ezra could only describe as grinning manically. Ezra did his best to keep the drop his stomach did out of his expression and glanced away.

This made up his mind. There was clearly going to be no shaking this lizard, the everyday hop-and-stop that fooled a bucket-head, wasn't going to deter a sniffer like his. Ezra was going to need all the help he could get. He needed that helmet, and any weapon he could get his hands on.

He backed up, preparing his body to dive off the small step.

"Fifteen seconds," the computerised voice announced.

This would be like the time there was a mob after Arena Day on Lothal. He didn't need to look to know to the Dug was gearing up to run. He had to beat him off the starting block, or there would be no reaching that pit.

"Six, five…." The droid announcer's computerised voice boomed from the back of his collar.

It would be chaos.

"Four."

Ezra rolled his shoulder and cracked his neck, trying to shift his weight around for optimal push off. Breathing in sharp deep intakes, trying to flood his blood with oxygen.

"Three."

Chaos, yet harmony... He would do this.

"Two."

His whole body tensed as he leaned forward, focused. On the treasure pit.

"One."

The Trials had begun.

R&R For good Karma and a Speedy Update