Cleo Jackson
Age: 18 years of age

     Cleo had been in the Bunker for what?  Four, five months now?  Maybe six?  She didn't know, but either way, she was sick of it.  She had absolutely no problem with the way it was being run.  No, the problem lay with the bunker itself.  It was frustrating being stuck in there when she had been outside her whole life.  She'd been born on the surface and had spent 18 years there. When it was suddenly taken away, it made her realize how much she had loved the forest, the sea, climbing the trees, startling the birds, and just being the little girl she had been. 

     But no.  That was all taken from her in an instant.  She knew it had been necessary for her survival and the others as well, but that didn't make it any less frustrating nor any easier to deal with.  She absolutely hated being stuck underground.  Breathing this filtered air, not having any freedom. Every moment seemed like a weight on her shoulders, intent on crushing her.

     Fortunately, frustration wasn't the only emotion she felt.  Unfortunately, the other emotion she normally felt was a pain.  Her two close friends had been killed in the conclave, and she hadn't been able to get over that yet.  A whisper in her head said she'd never get over it, but she did her best to ignore it.  She'd written almost every day in her journal about her pain, and her frustration with the bunker.  But mostly about the pain of losing Lexi and Gage, her two friends.  At least Lexi had made it to the final three before being killed.  Gage... she hadn't been entirely sure how he had died.  She didn't really want to know, either.  She could only hope that they were at peace.

     Most of the time, to keep herself busy, she roams the halls, and then finds somewhere she can sit and draw.  Once, while trying to find inspiration for a drawing, she'd watched a gladiator train for a while.  That Gladiator's name was Caztar.  He noticed her after a bit, and since she had been drawing, he had kind of assumed she had been taking notes to sell him out and possibly get him killed.  He was incorrect but better paranoid than dead, right?  He had asked to see her journal, and after a slight hesitation, she handed it to him. 

     She had hesitated because her entries were in there, and those were kind of private.  She disliked showing them to people, especially strangers, but she didn't have much choice. Since then, he's the only one who's ever seen them.  After he decided she hadn't done anything wrong and wasn't trying to get him killed, they talked for a bit, and then Cleo helped him come up with new combinations for fighting that "doesn't have his flare to it". 

     Cleo picked up a few tips on fighting from just watching him, but she wasn't likely to use them at the time.  Nothing ever happened in the bunker.  Or at least, she hadn't thought so.  But she had needed those tips a bit sooner than she had thought. 

     Cleo was loyal to the Jusleada, Skylar.  Because of this, she suffered a minor attack from the rebels.  She had been absolutely terrified.  At the time, she had still been the sweet, loving, and sassy girl she had been before being stuck in the bunker.  She had no idea what to do.  Her initial reaction was to use her words, but she felt that that wouldn't work.  So she tried to throw a few punches, as she didn't have a blade on her, but her hits were weak and feeble, and she looked terrified.  After kicking them for a bit, they backed off, but she knew she'd done nothing more than annoy them. 

     She lost a part of herself that day. But she replaced it with something new. A determination not only to live but to fight.  If anything, she needed training.  She needed to learn how to defend.  How to fight.  How to kill.  She needed to push past anything and everything.  With time, her old self would burn, and from the ashes, a new Cleo would rise. 

This was the beginning of the end.

A/N 

The story isn't finished yet.  There are still another 3 chapters at least.