Even had he wished not to, Gaspar would quickly have lost track of time. There was no sun, no seasons, no clocks, little variety in their daily routine and no incentive to worry about time. You paced yourself for the labour of particular days. The crews doing critically important labour had shifts, with a degree of pragmatic fairness insofar as the labourers had to be kept alive and reasonably functional, but no one else had to keep to any particular day/night cycle or hours. It was the life of the Midgar slums writ large.

It could have been weeks or months later when Gaspar was called upon to fulfil his debt. It was not much of a choice, when the district commander walked in and told him he was due to collect. He flicked one glance at Delphine, waited for her minimal nod, and then followed the district commander out.

"Here's the deal," she said en route, the district is required to send someone up in the lists to compete, and you killed our contender. It's only fair that you take his place."

"What do we win?" Gaspar asked, a bit muzzy. It was becoming difficult to care about things.

"Your life. And maybe some gear to keep you alive if your opponents have something good. Ms. District Commander sighed. "It's a stupid pecking order game, but if you don't play, we declare ourselves easy pickings to our neighbours."

"This is to the death?"

"No one cares if you die, but if you fight until you can't fight, you may survive. Try to game the system, and you will die fast, though. They know."

She seemed oddly helpful for someone holding a grudge, but lacking any better options he dropped into the arena early on. Having no opportunity to watch previous matches, he was confronted with an arena oddly reminiscent of Battle Square-he'd never competed, but he'd seen he matches on TV on occasion. There were four judges chairs in the VIP room, all empty today.

There was no breathless commentators or introductions, he walked into the arena warmed up and ready, he had enough time to take a stance before three red saucer things were released into the ring.

He was familiar enough with these things to have seen them before, but the preferred tactic for dealing with them was magic he no longer had. The first red saucer thing that approached he kicked without thinking, snapping the electric needle thing free of its mooring. The surviving two hooked in from either side, and he had to take a sting from the one to his left while slicing its compatriot, after which the third one fell quickly.

There were no cheers. Gaspar knew there was more to today/tonight than those, they were the first round drones designed to clear out the timewasters. Well, he'd managed not to be that, this time.

The following rounds were similar enough, he had to defeat a host of beetles, then a pair of strange winged red humanoid things, which each brought its own challenges. Then came the first true test, three armed DG soldiers. These were the bottom rung of the path up, tracking him at speed but no real intent, soldiers that knew they were there to die. Gaspar ducked inside the first one's guard and swing his sword across their body, deciding in a split second to swing across their armour rather than a decapitating stroke. SOLDIER strength was still enough to put the first one down and out. He took some shots on his armour before punching the second out and pommel striking the third.

By that point he was breathing hard, bruised and unnerved, but there was no pause before the fifth round. One of those soldiers in Heavy Armour carrying a rocket over one shoulder. It was a young soldier, not quite used to moving around in the bulky plate but tracking him diligently with the slow firing rocket that became dangerous once you had to get into close range.

Gaspar dodged the first few handily enough, but getting close enough to deal true damage without taking a rocket to the face was not so easy. After almost a minute of failed cat and mouse games, he took a risk and rammed his sword straight down the barrel of the launcher into a firing rocket, causing it to detonate in the barrel and blow the launcher apart. This meant taking a tremendous strike from a mailed fist, but the armoured soldier took the brunt of the shrapnel and impact. He was not put down, but was rattled enough that Gaspar was able to overpower him with no more than bruises and scrapes, although feeling good he was not.

That was all that was to be asked of him today, although his escorts did not seem particularly proud.

"This is the exam that culls the chaff" the district commander said with barely veiled contempt. "It earns you a place in more dangerous ranks."

"So did I do good or not?" Gaspar asked, tone light. It had become difficult to care about anything in just a short while.

"It's good for me. Not so much for you, as you gain entry into more dangerous fights."

And with that she left him to wander home, which, eventually, of course, he found the way there. Delphine appeared singularly unimpressed with his performance.

"Hey all, I won," Gaspar said, still apathy drunk.

"Which means what exactly? What did it get for us?"

"Status or some shit, I dunno. Not like it was my choice here."

"We could have used you in a day's work. Now you've just put us all in danger and might catch the eye of someone important, which will get us all killed."

"True true, but in the meantime, I fucking won! Wahey! Climbing the ladder to the top of the pile of shit!"

She spared him another glance. "You- are concussed. In the preliminary screenings, no less. That's another days work wasted, and doesn't bode well for your survival chances going forward."

"Maybe so, but I'm here now!" he said happily.

Delphine sighed. "Go the fuck to sleep. If you're still alive in the morning, maybe you'll be some use."

"Yessum," Gaspar said saluting. He was starting to feel at home.