In his uniform, Altaïr was nearly indistinguishable from the other Capitol solders. That was how it had always been, every time they sent him into battle. After they realized they couldn't trick him into being their assassin and spy—his attempt on the Head Peacekeeper's life was a clear betrayal—he was tortured and placed on the front lines, in the most danger.
He'd been good. He no longer acted out against his guards. That was bled out of him now. He had retreated inside himself and was content to lie dormant. He would not make a move unless he was sure he wouldn't be captured and punished again. Getting his face branded with a hot iron had been enough. So far, he had not directly attacked anyone on this train. Back home, he had learned how to avoid fights as well as start them, but now he was trapped in the confines of a moving train...
Sandy
Sweat threw the brand on his face into relief. He had worked hard to slip ahead of the other soldiers and not look suspicious. Everything here was unplanned; he only had his adaptation to go on. He didn't even know what the rebels were up to or if they would shoot him on sight, and yet he wanted to help them. As he was locking the train car's door to block more Capitol soldiers, he heard a sound. He turned, knife ready, hoping against hope that it was an ally he knew.
Re: The Last Stop
In his uniform, Altaïr was nearly indistinguishable from the other Capitol solders. That was how it had always been, every time they sent him into battle. After they realized they couldn't trick him into being their assassin and spy—his attempt on the Head Peacekeeper's life was a clear betrayal—he was tortured and placed on the front lines, in the most danger.
He'd been good. He no longer acted out against his guards. That was bled out of him now. He had retreated inside himself and was content to lie dormant. He would not make a move unless he was sure he wouldn't be captured and punished again. Getting his face branded with a hot iron had been enough. So far, he had not directly attacked anyone on this train. Back home, he had learned how to avoid fights as well as start them, but now he was trapped in the confines of a moving train...
Sandy
Sweat threw the brand on his face into relief. He had worked hard to slip ahead of the other soldiers and not look suspicious. Everything here was unplanned; he only had his adaptation to go on. He didn't even know what the rebels were up to or if they would shoot him on sight, and yet he wanted to help them. As he was locking the train car's door to block more Capitol soldiers, he heard a sound. He turned, knife ready, hoping against hope that it was an ally he knew.
It wasn't.