To say thank-you for being so patient, This chapter is Epically long.
I was going to cut into two simply for aesthetics, but there was no where that worked.
Let me know how this works or if you have any questions about the species used!
Now the HungerGames theme really starts to show through, and we get some proper action!
Please enjoy!

All this is thanks to Unfathomablefandoms. Go read her stuff. Sometimes we collaborate and she has some great ideas!

The Survival Trials

Chapter 7

Ezra didn't need to wait long. Barely a few hours after taking his seat against the cold wall, and falling into a fitful dreamless sleep, he was jolted awake by a hard metallic thump against the door.

It knocked on the cell across from his, and cell next door, and continued making a racket that echoed all the way down the corridor.

"All candidates rise for inspection." Shouted a voice in clear accented basic. "Get up you lazy sons of Bathas. Up-UP!"

Ezra rose to his feet quickly, stumbling a little on his numb legs.

He stood, shaking the prickly feeling out of his legs. Inspecting him for what? Should he play weak? Should be play downtrodden? Should he play dead in hopes that maybe they'd just ditch him whole into the disposal chute and he could escape on a garbage barge?

No.

Ezra was done pretending to be weak for now. If they wanted to inspect him, to see what he was made off, then let them.
They'd probably keep him for parts if he played dead anyway.

He heard footsteps outside in the corridor pacing causally between the rooms. Metal hatches were swung open and closed. Some stayed open for longer, and some were snapped shut as soon as they were lifted.

Ezra followed the footsteps as they moved, until the shuffling was right outside his door .
He waited, tense and anxious. He struggled to come up with a plan, his head still ached and he drew a blank.
Then the panel lifted.

The eyes were oddly familiar, but Ezra couldn't place them, other than knowing they were dark and far set, and humanoid; he couldn't see who the Inspector might be.

The pupils dilated, running him up and down. Ezra swallowed down the shiver. He folded his arms across his chest, and stood back on his heels, with his spine straight. Thinking hard thoughts, he grit his teeth and stared back unblinkingly.

This was the stance he took when he was trying to stand off against Zeb, trying to make himself bigger and unmovable.

The familiar posture gave him a bubble of strength, thinking about the purple giant; laughing and roughhousing with him. Pushing him down, tripping him over, punching him in the arm. Chopper ramming into his toes or shoving the electro prod into his knee. Sabine leaning against the doorway and shaking her head with a lopsided remark. Hera, always nearby with a warm smile and a kind or sharp word. And Kanan.

Ezra felt his cheeks tighten, and his chest relax, and while his lips were dry and sore- he smiled. Forgetting where he was for just a moment.

The panel dropped and Ezra was startled by the sudden slap of the metal flap.

He stood awkwardly for a moment, feeling off balance. Then fell back against the wall with a huff, the tension leaving his body.

Was that it? Was he headed for the Gutters now? Barely a few seconds of judgement? Ezra slid slowly down the wall, and retook his position on the floor. He felt like he'd failed some sort of test, one he could never have expected to pass. And now he was going to die, and his promise to the crew would be broken, unless they could get here in time. But what would be waiting for them? A starship worth of trainers to blast through? What if they were hurt trying to save him?
Ezra pulled his knees to his chest, pressing his forehead into his legs and gritting his teeth to deal with the pressure building in his head. This was unfair!

The hatch suddenly let out a hiss and clicked, as what sounded like bolt locks withdrew from the frame. The door groaned a little, and was wrenched fully open. Another blue uniform appeared and waved him forward with a dull glaze in his eyes.

Ezra hesitated, aware that there would be no false feelings of safety outside these walls. He didn't want to be cut apart.

His muscles seized.

"Oie- Come on." the Trainer huffed, "I don't have all day. You stay in there and they'll send you down the body chute- you catch my drift?"

Ezra blinked. If? "Wait- you mean- I'm not going to the gutters?"

The man narrowed his eyes, "You are if you don't get movin'."

Ezra pushed away from the wall with a jolt, nearly stumbling over the bottom of the doorframe on his unsteady feet.

He straightened up quickly, forcing his arms flat at his sides and his hands open. The Trainer half rolled his eyes and moved behind the boy. He lifted his baton, and Ezra half thought that he was about to hit him, but instead the man casually tapped the cold rod against his shoulder, and then prodded him once hard in the back.

"Move it, Fodder."

Ezra tried not to let the scowl he felt cross his features, and began to walk. The word was quickly becoming his least favorite. Even more so than Urchin.

They marched him along the stainless steelum corridors, making a few sharp turns, until they reached a set of transparisteel doors. The doors lead into a small room a little bigger than his box. Ezra could see another set of doors on the other side. An elevator?, he wondered.

The doors pulled apart and the Trainer stepped aside to wave Ezra through, giving him a final push into the room with the round end of his baton.

Ezra caught his footing, and stood up straight between the two sets of doors. These ones were frosted, but Ezra could faintly make out the shadows of a few shifting figures beyond the clouded surface.
A larger dark form separated from the rest, and stomped past the door. A wave of unease swept through Ezra, and he lay a hand on his gut, which was suddenly painfully tight and empty at the same time. The back of his neck prickled and Ezra recognized the feeling instantly; danger.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, focusing on his centre, like Kanan had taught him. After a moment the anxiety faded to a tender throb.

I'm going to be fine, Ezra told himself firmly, shifting his shoulders under the itchy jumpsuit. After a moment feeling his stomach slide about like eels in his belly, he snorted; he couldn't even lie to himself. He was so boned.
His only hope right now was the crew. Hurry up, guys. Before there isn't anything left of me to rescue!

Ezra turned around, ignoring the prickling at the back of his neck, and watching the guard key away at data-screen set into the wall.

A bright red light shot out from a bauble in the ceiling, and in one clean sweep, scanned the room. Ezra jumped- but the light had already scanned him and withdrew. A computerized voice said:

'No foreign matter found.'

Nothing happened for several seconds, and then the floor began to hum.

The second set of doors were opened with a hiss and the floor rose up unevenly from behind. Ezra found his feet with a gasp as he was literally tipped through the open doors, which closed behind him with another short whoosh of air.

This room was about as large as the Ghost itself, and built entirely from solid white panels. There were two long viewing windows set high in the walls on opposite ends- but besides the door Ezra had been tipped through- he saw no vents, ducts or other exits.

Inside the room, spread about, was a colourful collection of some of the roughest thugs and hunters Ezra had ever seen.

There was about forty all up, shuffling and gathering in small groups or standing alone. They all turned as one to study the new entry.

Ezra hesitated as every cold eye in the room turned to towards him, a hard shudder of warning ran up his spine and he shivered-

The shudder visibly shook his shoulders, and all at once each scarred, bulbous, scaly, or ugly face snorted dismissively or shook their head as they turned away.

Ezra realised, with a hard suck of shock, that these were the other candidates the Trainers had spoken about. The people he would be fighting against. And that he'd just trembled in fount of all them, like a scared child.

So much for making a first impression. Ezra thought darkly, eyeing the closest thugs and carefully moving along the wall to his right. He stopped when he reached a point where he was an equal distance from the two closest candidates- a Dug crouched furtively in the corner, and a pair of Duros that turned away when he glanced at them.

Ezra shifted his eyes toward the centre of the room, which was filled with a handful of large and brutish species.

Most of them he recognised. Along with the he Dug and the the two Duros, he also saw an Aquaish, a Gotal and a Nikto, standing a short distance away, muttering darkly and shooting surreptitious glances about the room. And an Ithorian was seated backwards at a table, leaning on his skinny elbows and scanning his eyes across the room.

There were a handful of species that Ezra recognised but didn't know the names of, like the large haired beast with two yellowed tusks protruding from his jaw, or the three eyed insectoids who seemed to be looking everywhere at once, twitching constantly.

Some were humanoid at least, but the rest were, for lack of a better or more fitting word, Alien to him. Ezra tried not to gawk at the odd mixture of clawed hands, multiple limbs or shifting colours. There was a man with a capped head and his lower body made of tentacles, who was floating, and talking briskly with a yellow skinned humanoid with horns growing from the tips of his forehead. A fat, toad looking creature had sat himself in the centre of the room, patting his fingers against his chest. And in the far corner was a pale female with long sharp talons extending from her fingers, rapping impatiently against her folded arms.

Ezra pressed his back against the wall, feeling somewhat safe from at least one angle, and studied the rest of the room and trying to keep his jaw shut. At first glance, everyone was bigger than him, which wasn't a surprise.

But then he noticed a Corellian man in the back, who had made himself look smaller by wrapping his arms around himself, and rocking back and forth in the corner. There was another boy, a skinny pale grey Xexto, huddled underneath the window, four of his six limbs hugging his narrow chest.

So I'm not the only blaster fodder, Ezra thought absently, and then chided himself for letting himself admit he, or anyone else stuck in this sorry place, was or ever ever would be fodder.

Ezra couldn't pull his eye off the wilted boy, and but the Xexto's eyes stayed flat on the floor. He realised with a jolt that he was standing with his back pressed against the walls too, and Ezra had unconsciously mirrored his body language.
Ezra quickly stood up straight and lifted his chin, looking up to the windows.

From this angle, he could only see through one, but he figured there probably wasn't much different about the second.
The transparisteel was tinted, and the long wide light filaments reflected off the clear surface. He couldn't make out much, but he could see vague humanoid shapes, and oddly a figure in white, who stood near the glass, his arms behind his back and his face obscured by the reflection of the ceiling lights.

A hard hacking noise jerked his attention back to the floor, his heart immediately in his throat. But it was only the furred beast with the tusks laughing at something that was said, the sound short and guttural.

Several forms and shapes moved, and Ezra caught a glimpse of blood red skin and a hard bowed spine hunched over a bench at the furthest end of the room. Even slouched, Ezra could see the muscle definition, rippled with scars and battle wounds. He was struck by a wave of cold air, that he thought might've only been in his head, but he rubbed his hands harshly down his arms, feeling goosepimples rising.

Ezra closed his eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and pushed away the urge to throw up.

I'm supposed to fight these guys? He thought, outraged. These were soldiers, warriors, hunters.

Ezra was just some Lothrat who knew a few tricks, and he certainly couldn't rely on the Force in here. There wasn't a single trustworthy face here.

How can they expect me to fight any of these guys? They were all bigger than him, or at least most of them were clearly prepared for whatever was coming. They were all just milling around, talking or sitting aside, like they were stuck in some sort of kriffin waiting room.
A small voice in the back of his mind answered his question with doubt. They don't expect you to fight. You're just here to be Blaster Fodder.

They expect me to die, Ezra realised. The thought numbed him for a just moment, the bottom dropping out of his stomach. Then the hot anger returned. Pushing against his ribs and making his ears burn. He took in a deep suck of air and let it out slowly, trying not to lick his dry lips.
People had expected less of him before, and he'd proven most of them wrong, right? These Trainers were no different. I'll show them.

Ezra ground his teeth, leaning his back flat against the wall and swallowing on the acid taste in his mouth. His teeth felt furry, and he was pretty sure he smelled worse than any Lasat by now.

Though he wasn't alone. The whole room was thick with sweat and gritty odour. Those who weren't stuck in bouts of anxiety and depression, looked on edge- muscles tensed and ready to strike the first blow if someone so much as looked at them wrong. He could see sweat beading on the Duros' brows, and the man adjusted the sleeve of his jumpsuit again. I know that look, he thought, eyeing the stiff way the Duros held his arm straight.
Ezra's eyes drew down and his eyes widened a little as he caught sight of a glint of something white poking out the very tip of the Duro's sleeve.

Ezra could taste the desperation in the air. It nearly hummed with the strain; put a foot wrong and it would snap. And here the fool had gone a smuggled a knife in? Looking to start cutting down the competition sooner than expected, no doubt.

Something Zeb has once said floated into his ears. Something about 'biting the biggest anooba in the pack', establishing dominance.

Ezra snorted, he didn't have dominance, least of all here.

But... He frowned down at his cheap strap-on boots, his mind whirring.

Maybe he didn't need to do any biting. Maybe he could just take the other's teeth away. Maybe... maybe he didn't have to fight them-, maybe he could make them fight each other. He could goad them, like he did to Zeb and Chop. Like the thugs in bars, way back when. Misdirection and Distraction, how he'd been fooling Imps for more than half of his life.

Ezra waited, watching from the sides, and filing away notes of who stood where. His mind piecing together a series of events.

No, he chided internally. I shouldn't try it. Kanan would want me to stay quiet, and out of trouble. I should have listened to him before.

But Kanan isn't the one going to the gutters.

He felt his eyes wander back up to the windows.

There was movement, and Ezra recognized the same Trainer from the transport that had escorted him from Azmorigan's clutches, appear from the back of the room. The other blue uniforms moved back, and he made a beeline for the man in white.
The man turned his attention away from the room of fighters for the first time, inclining his head as he listened to the Trainer. They spoke for a minute or so, the Trainer brandishing the datapad, while the Man in white nodded and waved a hand dismissively as he answered. The Trainer nodded in an affirmative, and then together, they turned their attention back to the candidates.

Ezra let out a hard breath through his nose, and then froze as he saw the Trainer's yellow eyes focused on him. His hands were crossed in front of him, and two pointed fingers very casually lifted and tapped the gold chronometer on his wrist, twice.

It was only for a moment, and then the narrow gaze was roving across the room, his hands flat at his sides.

Am I losing my mind, Ezra wondered or did I really see that?
He studied the dark man behind the glass for another moment, but he did not look at Ezra again.

Ezra heart sped up again in his chest as the message hit home. He was running out of time.
Ezra needed to act, he needed to get their attention, and he had an inkling, the attention of the man in white.

Ezra winced, then wiped his expression clean, and pushed away from the wall. He didn't have long.

His gut was a bubbling mess, it felt like it was tied in fluttering knots. But Ezra pushed his feet forward, and cut a clean path straight the near centre of the room. All eyes turned towards the footsteps, and he could feel the weight of every eyeball and tried to keep his face neutral, suddenly aware of every flutter of the muscles in his jaw. He needed to look calm, he needed to look unafraid.
Ezra reached a bench and table. His kneecaps tried to lock, but he forced his left leg up and stepped up onto the seat, and then the table.

Ezra squared his feet, locked his legs. Ezra cleared his dry throat, and lifted his jaw, with a firm friendly smile.

"Good Morning," Ezra called out loudly and firmly. "Gentlemen, and ladies." He briefly waved a hand in the direction of the pale woman who narrowed her eyes.

"What's it to ya, womprat?" She hissed, studying him over her claws.

Ezra forced his shoulders up in a casual shrug and, against his better judgement, shut his eyes briefly. "I just thought we should all get acquainted before we try to kill each other."

A murmur of quiet unease flowed through the room, and now he had their attention. He forced down the bile in his throat with a friendly smile.

The Duros with the knife narrowed his red eyes and he spoke with a thick smoky hitch in his voice. "What are you playing at, boy?" He fixed his sleeve again. Ezra grinned, surprised and sardonically pleased the Duros had given him such a easy open.

The boy jumped off the table, pleased when made three of the other competitors jump slightly. He straightened up, shoulders back, and walked with a familiar, fake confidence in his stride.
He spread his hands in an welcoming, friendly gesture. "Hey, what's wrong with a little friendly banter? I'm Dev. What's your name?"

He stepped forward, ignoring the invisible barrier of personal space and coming close enough that he could smell the Duros' breath. He stuck out a hand and took the Duros' right in his two before he could react.
He concentrated on pumping the Duro's arm, and with the movement, swiftly slipped the knife out of his sleeve, and up his own; pretending to scratch an itch as he fit it into safely into place. It was smooth, and lighter than he expected, making the transaction even easier.

He had wondered how the Duros had gotten it past the scanner.

Less than a second or two after taking the Duros hand, he released it quickly and stepped back. He spun around, arms out, like he was looking for someone else to introduce himself too.

The Duros' partner had taken a wide step back from the odd display, but now scowled as Ezra drew close.
Sensing there wasn't time for pleasantries, Ezra slipped between the two and put and around around their shoulders, like they were old friends. "Tell me, who did you two piss off to end up here? Ever heard of a chunk bucket called Azmorigan?"

The second Duros was the first to throw his arms off and the two withdrew, confusion and irritation clear in their eyes.
"What is your game, runt?"
Ezra tried to look a little offended, but took the opportunity to put some distance between them, mindful not to move too quickly. "Game? I couldn't say what your on about sir."
He took a step backward onto the closest bench and sank his rump onto the table. "I'm just trying to make some friends before we all end up down the chutes." He dropped the shrug from his shoulders and the half grin from his face.

The Duros huffed and exchanged amused looks. "We do not have to worry about that." Said one proudly.

"We are official candidates." said the other.

Ezra looked between them, now confused. "Official? So you... didn't come here in a transport from auction?"

The Duro's red eyes went wide and together they let rip a loud and obnoxious laugh. Some of the closest candidates snorted, shoulders shaking.
Ezra frowned and looked back to the Duros for an explanation.
The first one smiled thinly, "No, worm. We did not come from an auction. We were invited. We put forth our own fees. And we will be the ones to take home the title of Survivalist!"

Ezra tilted his head. "You... paid credits to get in here?"

"Yes." hissed the second Duros, but Ezra could hear the twang of uncertainty in his voice. "What of it, Worm?"

Ezra cocked a skeptical eyebrow, but internally his gut twisted with worry. So these weren't just the unlucky and unloved in here- there were fighters- Trained and skilled and who paid money to risk their lives for a ring fight?
"You want to be here?" he repeated. "If you paid good money- then why are you here with the fodder like me?

The Duros exchanged a glance with each other and then turned back to the boy.

"They are making the final candidate call." Hissed the first irritably, eyeing Ezra from his ill fitting boots to the top of his messy and unkempt hair with disdain. "Dividing the trash from the... suitable candidates."

The narrow look he gave Ezra was pure supremacy, and it irritated something mutinous inside him.
He pulled his legs up underneath him on the tabletop, leaning backwards and grinning- the same grin he knew irritated his favorite Lasat.

"I was just thinking, since you paid good cred, and you're clearly so much more prepared than everyone else here, shouldn't you two be up there, where the good seats are?"
He punctuated his words with a pointed finger and the Duros, and several quiet candidates nearby followed the point to the narrow viewing window set high in the wall.

The figure white was still visible, standing by the transparisteel, his arms folded at his back.

"You know," Ezra continued, lazily waving his hands around and absently gesturing the crowd of quiet onlookers. "Instead of- down here. With the trash."

The insult clearly had the right effect, as several cold glares were shot towards the Duros, who now visibly seethed. Both of them pulled back their shoulders and set their jaws with hard frowns and narrowed their red eyes.
"Well, all the luck to both of you." Ezra said, shrugging dismissively. "Though, if I were you, I wouldn't want to go into a competition like this," he gestured again to the silent circle and rolled his eyes back to the pair with a clear gaze, "with someone I couldn't trust."

The words had the desired effect, and now the Duros turned their scowls inward, scrutinizing each other briefly, now with true apprehension.

"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded the second.
The first took a step closer to Ezra, his hand reaching up his sleeve. "I've had about enough of you-"

His red eyes went wide as his hand ghosting at his sleeve came away empty. His glare became icy, narrowed in fury and his head snapped up.
"You!" he bellowed, pointing a grey spotted finger at Ezra.

Ezra opened his mouth in shock, laying a hand over his heart in affront.
"Hey, don't look at me. It was him! He's the one who has your knife! Look!"
Ezra punctuated his words with a wide swing of his arm and pointed an accusatory finger at the second Duros.

The second Duros seemed to realize what had happened, and his hand immediately felt at the back of his belt where he knew Ezra's fingers had been.
He pulled back his arm, holding the shiv, just as his partner swung around in time to witness him brandish the blade, with the sharp end pointed conveniently at the chest.

Ezra could now see why the knife had been so light and easy to maneuver in his slippery hands- it wasn't any metal he'd seen before. It was an off white, with a odd knobbly end and the other filled into a sharp point. It was bone, and completely organic. That was how the fools had slipped it through the scanners.
Hoping to take out the competition, no doubt. Smart.

But Ezra was smarter.

"You!" shouted the first, and Ezra watched as the crowd line around the three of them suddenly seemed to expand. Their eyes now no longer unfocused and furtive, but turned with interest. Now that a weapon had appeared, they were eager to watch the scene play out, the only way they knew it would.

"No!" The accused his partner, struggling to find the words. He darted his slitted eyes between them, looking to Ezra with a mixture of shock and revelation. "He- No!"

He got no further, as the first Duro lunged for him, throwing them both to the floor with a loud cry, and knocking into the closest candidates

Ezra immediately slipped over the table, and backed away from the fight. His heart was pounding in his ears and his whole body tingled with apprehension. Any minute now the fools might realize he was the enemy. But for now they were locked in a stalemate, wrestling noisily on the floor, fighting over the shiv.
The Duros broke apart briefly, climbing to their feet and now squaring off. The second one was still in possession of the knife, and now all his furious focus was on his former partner. Thank the Force.

Ezra could feel the tension in the air straining, and much of the crowd now began to cheer and cat call. They pressed inwards, eager to see the fight, the boy who'd started it now mostly forgotten.
Ezra did his best to avoid touching the bigger bodies rushing past him, but the crowd was quickly forming a mob circle around the Duros, shouting and whooping. He squeezed between their shoulders, struggling to dettach. He suddenly felt claustrophobic, something he hadn't felt since he was seven years old and hiding in the dark room under his parants house.
But he felt it now, trapped in the throng of enthused maniacs. He broke free of one wave, and was pressed back by another. Through a fleeting gap in the crowd, he caught sight of the two smaller candidates, still pressed against the wall, watching with wide frightened eyes, half-petrified in shock.

Ezra was knocked sideways by the Gotal elbowing past, earning a bruise in the ribs. He
felt something slippery underfoot, and went crashing down to his knees, and it was only his quick reflexes that saved his hand from be crushed underfoot.

I'm going to be crushed in the mob I started, He thought bitterly. How ironic.

He made a quick dash, still on his knees and weaved quickly between the knees and boots.

Space opened up and he pushed to his feet and dashed for the break.

He clipped his boot as he broke free, stumbling and grabbing hold of the nearest table to steady himself.

He caught sight of a flash of scales and claws extending from grey sleeves from the corner of his eye, and his heart jumped. Could it be?

"Bossk?" The desperate question dropped from his lips before he could stop it. Loudly.

The Trandoshan spun around, his head turning with neck breaking speed and stood up from his seat. He stood tall, taller than Ezra ever remembered Bossk being, as as he rose up, Ezra's heart sank into his shoes.
As soon as his maw turned to face the boy, Ezra knew he'd made a grave mistake. This Trandoshan was thicker than Bossk, a little more square around the jaw. His face scales were a faded brown and there was a thick scar running down one eye.

Ezra immediately pushed back from the table.

The Trandoshan hissed and his skinny tongue flicked between his sharp teeth. He took one slow long step closer. The sounds of the mob were growing louder, buzzing in his ears.

"I- I'm sorry sir. My mistake. I thought you were someone I knew." Ezra quickly turned to step away, to put some distance between himself and the mighty lizard. Instead he found himself nose to nose with the Dug, who was examining his face closely. Ezra managed to stop himself from bumping chests with the low squat Dug, but not stumbling.

A heavy weight landed on his shoulder and wrenched him around, and now Ezra found the Trandoshan's teeth at eye-level.

"What did you call me, little meat sack?" The Trandoshan growled, a rumble of displeasure rising out of his chest.

Something in the sound drained all the saliva out of Ezra's mouth, and he struggled to move his thick tongue around an answer. Was the truth worth telling right now? Too late, he couldn't think of a placating lie.

"I- I thought you were someone I knew, Sir."
The Dug appeared on his right, walking on his hands, circling them. Eyeing the Trandoshan with a wary eye.
The Trandoshan flicked Ezra hard in the sternum, jerking the boys attention back to him.

The Trandoshan rumbled angrily. "All us lizards look the same to you meat sack?"

Ezra quickly shook his head. "No- No sir. I thought you were a bounty hunter, named Bossk."

The name pulled at the hackles of the lizard's mouth and he snorted hot breath across Ezra's face.

"Bossk is a friend of yours, you say?"

This Trandoshan knew Bossk? Ezra swallowed carefully, making sure to tighten his hold on his bladder, and carefully nodded shortly. "Yes sir."

The Trandoshan let out a deep and unsettling rumble, flicking his tongue. "Well he ain't no friend of mine. Meat sack."

"I- didn't say he was my friend exactly." Ezra started, trying to keep his voice smooth, but his throat kept tightening on his words. "More like.. former employeer?"

The Trandoshan growled, wet and rumbling.

Ezra felt the wash for warning coming- but for once, he beat it and immediately ducked out of the lizard's grasp as the claws reached out for him. Ezra turned and dove between the Trandoshan's feet. He lunged for the cover of the table, accidentally kicking the Dug in back of his elbows as he did so, pushing the man into the Nikto beside him and seeding another fight.

Someone shouted angrily, and punched out. Ezra crawled on his elbows and knees, making for the empty space under the tables.

Ezra heard the fight raging on, a rough tumble of cloth, flesh and angry groans. Meaty thumps of fists and boots. But he also heard the roar of reptilian fury and the sound of bodies being thrown aside.

"Gotta Move." he muttered in panic. The bench above him was ripped away. He rolled to the left, narrowly avoiding the bench being smashed down on top of him.
"Gotta move faster!"

The Trandoshan roared, and Ezra glanced back in time to see the tusked man had thrown the Gotal into the back of the lizard, who spun around and kicked the limp body away. The boy didn't wait to see what happened to either opponent, making a dash for the next line of tables. He dove under the seats and crawled quickly on his elbows across the floor, scampering over the table legs and ducking under the tabletops. He hoped the Trandoshan had lost track of him in the bustle, and lost interest in him.

The mob fight was in full swing now, fists clashing, bodies crashing to the floor. Ezra scuttled between the tables, dodging the wrestling candidates that were now causing havoc through the room. The collar bounced uncomfortably against his neck, and the hairs on the back of his neck and arms stood upright. Everything inside of him told him he was in danger, that he had to run. But run where?

He put out a hand, and a large boot stepped on his fingers as they bolted past.
"Karablast!" he swore loudly, and pulled the throbbing hand back into his chest. He needed to get off the ground before he got his teeth kicked in.

A loud crash startled him, and the table next door buckled under the weight of the body thrown into it.

No time like the present, he thought, his heart between his teeth.
He crab-walked, awkwardly climbing out from under the low seats- and a vice latched onto his arm, jerking him into the air.

Ezra felt his shoulder socket strain and grit his teeth. He opened his eyes, and found himself suspended in the air, facing the yellow slitted eyes of the Trandoshan.

Ezra felt his heart constrict and he was sure of he had any water to spare, he'd have lost it then and there.

A chill ran through him, and Ezra glanced frantically over the Trandsohan's shoulder in time to see a hulking red form, thick arms lifted high over head-

Again, fate intervened, and a bench was slammed across the Trandoshans shoulders. The bench broke in half, splintering with a crack. Ezra ducked, throwing one arm over his face to avoid the tiny wooden daggers.

The Trandoshan was pushed forwards, but not off his feet. He turned, spinning to face the red skinned opponent.

The vice hold on his arm dropped and Ezra hit the floor on his rump, and scrambled backwards without sense of a direction. Just away. Away from the two biggest threats in this room, who were now about to square off. He couldn't tear his eyes away as he crawled backwards.

The red skinned candidate was clearly male. He was thick, nearly bulging of the of grey jumpsuit that had be stripped of its arms and the chest rolled down to his waist. His skin was the colour of blood and now Ezra could see his bare skin was peppered with roping scars of all shapes and sizes.

Now Ezra saw him fully, he recognized the Massassi. A race he'd only passingly read about on the holonet, a brutal warrior race, and not one he'd had any intrest to learn more about. Something he regretted now.

The Massassi's eyes were cold and yellow, and focused entirely on the Trandoshan.

The Trandoshan was smaller, but not by much, and his arms had a longer reach. The claws on each finger flexed and the lizard hissed through his teeth.

Just as the Trandoshan took a step forwards, the lights dropped out, replaced with flashing red and sirens blaring in the ceiling and a recorded voice began to repeat an order.

"Step away from the other candidates. Step away from the other candidates..."

Most of the fighters had broken away from each other the moment the lights had changed, but a handful were still struggling with each other.

The electro collars of any candidates still fighting: lit up. The wearers all howled, collapsing to their knees and releasing each other.

Even those no longer brawling, took several steps back from one another, eyeing the distance between them. No one was eager to be given the same treatment as the ones fidgeting on the floor.

The panels in the two opposite walls suddenly lit up- fading from a dull non reflective white, to a bright active static.

The brightness hurt and Ezra squinted through his fingers. He saw the Trandoshan jerk back, shaking his head and shielded his slitted eyes, and Massasi's snout jerked to the side, glancing behind him. The boy took the opportunity to dart away from the claws of the two beasts, almost tripping over his own feet to stand.

The bright light and the flashing red sirens cast odd silhouettes out of the candidates, and Ezra dodged between the shadows, lunging for the dimmest corner.

The walls along the sides, under the windows were cast in a dull light now, and Ezra struck the wall with both hands flat and spun around quickly, pressing his back against the panel and sucking in air through his teeth.

He hadn't been followed but his heart kept thundering in his chest. Ezra pressed a hand over his pounding chest, certain almost everyone would hear it.

Everyone was just standing still, listening to the sirens and static and waiting for something to change.

After about half a minute, the sirens suddenly cut off, leaving the room filled with the constant static buzz.

And then the walls cleared, and Ezra found himself staring into the monstrous projection of a man. The image took up much of the space on both walls, slightly warped by the blue tint of the holojector.

He was a human man, and an old one at that. Maybe sixty, seventy, if Ezra had to guess. But while he was clearly entering his later years, his skin still had what looked like, in the blue tint of the hologram, a healthy tan, and his hair was, while stark white, still thick enough to wear in a stunted knot at the base of his neck.
His features were mostly unremarkable, and yet still somewhat handsome for his age. His nose was broad, and his mouth was set in a firm, pleasant smile over a neatly trimmed goatee. His eyes were crinkled at the corners like someone who smiled often.

The effect left Ezra feeling at odds, still flush with adrenaline, but now somewhat eased at this man's presence. Here was someone who would know what was going on. This was someone who would set things straight.

The projection of the man grinned, baring perfectly sharpened cannines, and Ezra was instantly on edge again.
The softness was still there, in his face. But it was thinner now, like there was something sharp just below the surface, like a Nexu ready to pounce. The image shifted slightly, and Ezra got the impression this was a recording, and not a live feed. Now Ezra saw the man's collar, trimmed in a stately silver on clean white fabric.

It was the man in white Ezra realized, he looked up - but the windows were darkened now, and even from his angle they were too dark to see through.

"Greetings, Candidates." the face boomed, and the words echoed off the walls, distorting the sound a little with an odd echo.
"I, am the head gamemaker. My name is not important. What is important, is that you understand you have entered into on of our galaxy's most honorable tradition."

His voice was steady and genuine and carried only a hint of some foreign lilt. Even his enunciation was clear, exact and formal. Forming the end of one sound before he started another, but without leaving an awkward space between his words. He was clearly well versed at public speaking.

"Many of you present, have passed the final call. I would like to extend my congratulations on making it thus far!"

Ezra tried not to let one word of it settle inside him. It was lies. He'd become well-versed in the smooth, pretty way liars liked to speak. He didn't need the Force to tell him that.

His spine almost sang with warning, a separate sensation to sharp paniced one he'd felt only moments ago. Every syllable this man spoke was another vibration through his nervous system. Do not trust this man, and Ezra was fully prepared to take the universe's advice on that.

"However," the projection continued, "this only serves to prove that your battles will be much harder from this point onward, and it is prudent to consider your motivations in the coming days."

Days? Ezra felt the weight of words slip through his ears and sank into his chest, a pressure began to build on his chest. He could feel the man's speech coming to a crescendo.

"Your goal, is to compete for survival, and prove that you are the single mightiest victor. Slay your opponents, and defend your right to represent your sector of the Galaxy. Prove, that you, are without doubt, The Final Survival. The Survivalist."

Ezra dry swallowed, feeling the world go numb. So this was the game?

If the Crew didn't catch up to him and find a way to bust him out, he doubted he would see them ever again.

R&R to see what the gamemakers have planned for our Poor Padawan D: