Happy New Year! Here's a new chapter. I apologize in advance, because fighting scenes are not my forte. I did my best!

Wherein Torn tries to survive his first trial with only a shitty gun, two knives, and his wits, since we can't all be pretty boys with magical eco powers. And then he proceeds to feel an unfortunate amount of feelings. Also, Sig!

Spargus

Torn was about to fall to his death.

He put all of his strength into heaving himself up onto the last platform, collecting the last of the Eco in his first trial. He'd managed to make all the jumps around the arena and collect everything, though he didn't really understand what it proved about his usefulness to Spargus.

As the elevator took him back up to stand in front of the king's dais, the roar of the spectators rang in his ears. He wasn't sure if they were rooting for him to win or to fail. Probably both, or whichever one was more entertaining.

He put his hands behind his back, instinctively falling into parade rest in front of the king.

"Anyone can make a few measly jumps. Let's see how you handle real combat!" Damas tossed him a red eco blaster that looked as if it had seen better days. The grips were worn utterly smooth and Torn was willing to bet that any recoil dampeners in the thing were burnt out, meaning it was going to have a hell of a kickback every time he fired.

There was no sense in protesting. He was sure that the subpar gun was part of the challenge. Besides, he'd managed to get two of his knives out of Haven-the guards didn't check for weapons other than guns, because knives weren't going to do you much good in the middle of the desert.

At least Damas had provided armor, ill-fitting though it was. Torn couldn't do much at this point but try and pass the test.

The platform he found himself on was circular, surrounded on all sides by entrances for enemy combatants. The layout put him at a grave disadvantage, but at least it was simple to navigate.

It took him a few shots into the air to get used to the gun, but he had a sense of it before Damas started sending out combatants, the first of whom were dead before they were two steps into the arena. The crowd whooped and cheered.

Two down.

Four men came from different doors at once after that. Torn took one out right off the bat, then ducked and rolled to avoid a blast of yellow eco. Two of the other men were closing in; he let them get close enough to finish them off with one blast of red eco.

Contestant number four was keeping his distance for the time being. Smart, given that Torn's gun had no range. He and Torn circled each other warily for a minute, but when three other men emerged onto the field, he melded into their group and pushed forward. There was no way Torn's shitty weapon would be able to get all four at once.

Heat from the lava just past the platform's edge was warming the backs of Torn's legs. If he moved back any further, his heels would be hanging over the edge.

One of his opponents grinned at him unpleasantly, half of the man's upper lip missing entirely and exposing his gums. He lifted his gun slowly, swaggering towards the former commander. Two of the other Marauders were not quite shoulder to shoulder with their comrade, eyes tracking his moves and imitating him.

As soon as the leader was within three paces, Torn dropped to his knees, sliding within two inches of the Marauder's dusty boots. The man's eyes widened in surprise before Torn fired up into his and his companions' faces, practically vaporizing them at such close range.

That left one Maurauder, the one from the previous group of combatants. Already close to him, Torn pushed himself up and into the guy's face in one smooth movement.

His knife was between the man's ribs before he could even draw his gun. His opponent fell to the ground without a sound, blood blooming across his chest.

Five more men. Precursors, this had better be the final wave.

Torn grabbed the more precise yellow eco rifle off of one of his opponents' rifles and started firing. He downed two of the guys in the first burst of fire-shoot enough times in a certain direction, and you're bound to hit something.

Three more. Just three more.

Said three were attempting to surround him-which meant they were spreading out, moving towards the edges of the platform. Torn could use that. He skirted their fire, ducking and rolling, but he could only dodge for so long and so far.

Torn managed to roll close enough to one of the Marauders to kick the man's legs out from under him, and he toppled backwards into the lava. He popped up into a crouch and killed the man across the way as he tried to register what had just happened. The last rushed him, firing wildly and trying to startle or crowd him off of the platform. Torn simply rolled out of his way at the last moment, and the man couldn't stop in time to keep himself from falling face-first into the lava.

Torn spun away from the edge to face the arena again, waiting to see if any more opponents would come out. But none did, and the elevator to the king's dais came down to pick him up. He trudged on to it, trying to keep his feet as the adrenaline rapidly left his body.

Damas stood to face him.

"Well done," he said, then tossed something to Torn. The exhausted commander just barely caught it.

"You have completed the first step toward becoming a citizen of Spargus," the king said. "This is the first of three battle amulets you will earn as you complete your trials. And here is a gate pass to allow passage in and out of the city. You will return to the arena for your second trial soon enough."

Damas didn't mention in front of the crowd that Torn was leaving the arena simply to return to the palace, where he was quartering him for the time being. He wanted to keep the commander close, and if, as he suspected, the man became one of his officers, he would likely live in the palace anyway.

One of the palace's luxuries included a bathtub, for which Torn was infinitely grateful as he sank into it, muscles aching. A burn on his calf announced itself with a sharp sting when it hit the hot water, but it wasn't painful enough to keep him from enjoying the hot water anyway.

He was just happy to have escaped from serious injury-bruises and burns were all that he had sustained in the trial. I can't believe I'm going to have to do that twice more. I hope the jumping part is first-time only, at least.

He had only just dried off and gotten into clean clothes when a knock came at his door, and he had to suppress a groan as he trudged toward it, rather than his soft bed.

Sig eyed him critically when he opened the door.

"You're actually looking better than I thought you would," he said as Torn stepped back to let him in.

"Trust me, it's window dressing. My body is just a giant bruise. It's been awhile since I was in the field for anything, let alone a brawl against about twenty guys."

"It didn't look like it, actually, if that's any consolation" Sig replied. "You handled that shitty gun pretty well. Damas was impressed."

Torn gave him a flat look. "I find that hard to believe."

Sig shrugged. "We don't get many exiles directly from Haven, and most of those who are eligible for the combat trials don't make it through the first one. And you completed it without breaking anything."

"How do you determine who's 'eligible?'" Torn asked. "I thought this place was supposed to be a city of warriors?"

"It is. But if we get a janitor who saw something he wasn't supposed to in the Palace, and that's how he got thrown out, it's not really fair to put him in the arena. Basically, if you find your way to Spargus and you've never worn armor or held a gun, you go through a different citizenship process. Monitored work detail, that sort of thing, until we know what your skills are and that we can trust you."

"That makes sense," Torn said, nodding and turning towards the window. "So. Spargus?"

Sig sighed. "I couldn't tell you. Any of you. If anyone in Haven knows about this place, they didn't hear it from me."

"I understand," Torn said, turning back to face him. Sig raised an eyebrow.

"Do you?"

Torn stood and walked to the window, leaning on the sill, with Sig following a few paces behind.

"At first I was pissed. But even though I've only been here a few days...I look at this place that Damas has built, and I can see what it's worth. I can't blame you for deceiving us for the sake of preserving all this."

"Sometimes I forget," Sig said smiling, ruefully, "how alien Spargus is to outsiders, whether from Haven or from further out in the Wastelands. People can't believe a place like this exists when they get here. After what you've been through in Haven, this must all seem unreal."

"It does," Torn said. They were silent for a few moments, watching the city outside in the unforgiving sun. "I'm...not sure I want to go back to Haven, even if I could. And I know I'm shit for that, you don't have to tell me."

"You're not," Sig said seriously. "You gave so much of yourself-"

"Not enough, dammit," Torn said, raising his voice a little. "It'll never be enough. Not until Haven is better."

"You did everything you could." Now Sig was talking to him like he was a wounded animal, and Torn knew why. Knew he had to acknowledge the fact that'd been creeping up on him since his exile came down.

He had to give up Haven. The rebellion. He was never going back.

He felt like he's lost a limb.

"There has to be a way for me to help them," he said, as close to pleading as he'd been since he was 20 and convinced the Shadow to let him into the Underground.

"You know there's not," Sig said quietly. "There's no way for you to return without making things harder for the Underground. And for yourself. Even if you could get back inside the walls-shit, Torn, it was hard enough before you were exiled. Walking back into the city will just give the Baron a reason to crush the Underground even harder."

"I just-" He swallowed and closed his eyes, unable to keep going without losing it. Sig's hand landed on his shoulder gently.

"Torn. It's hard to believe when I say I know how you feel, but trust me: I know how you feel. So does Damas. So do most of his forces. We all had to give up what we thought defined us when we ended up here. Spargus is a city of warriors second; it's a city of outcasts first. This is going to change you, but it won't break you. Trust me. I get it."

Torn closed his eyes and bowed his head, and a long time passed without he or Sig saying anything. The other man's hand never left his shoulder.

Finally, the commander lifted his head. "When you go back to Haven, can you keep an eye on Tess and Jak for me? And Ashelin, and the Shadow."

Sig nodded. "Of course."

"I know you can't tell them I'm alive."

"No. I can't. I'm sorry."

"I wish Jak could see this. All this sun and fresh air. I think he'd do well here."

Sig chuckled. "He'd love the garage. Probably go driving around in the desert like a maniac."

Torn hummed. "Maybe for the better that he's not here to get into trouble, then." He turned to Sig. "I should probably eat and then get some rest."

The other man nodded. "You should. You kicked some ass, Torn. See you tomorrow."