â€œIâ€¦â€  Micah hesitated, taking in the commonplace appearance of the bar and the almost relaxed sound coming from within.  â€œI donâ€™t know.  What will be expected of me here?  I canâ€™t see any rebel cause showing much care for an ex-soldier.â€<br/><br/>Inside, Micah tried to regain control of blood that had suddenly run cold and a heart rate that was beating approximately 8 bpm too quickly for his liking.  He supposed it was naturalâ€”entering a new place, seeing new faces and taking in an entirely new lifestyle was bound to catch anyone off guardâ€”but he couldnâ€™t help suddenly feeling that after everything, he might not actually be prepared for this.<br/><br/>As soon as he stepped through these doors, he would be going dark.  He would have no communication with Dorian or anyone outside this place until he was ready to make his move.  Until then, he was to immerse himself completely in a new persona. He became Micah, the freelancer, the dischargee, the mercenaryâ€”the rebel.  Even his thoughts must now reflect this.<br/><br/>Allowing his gray eyes to flutter closed for a millisecond, Micah pulled down the shutters over his mind, locking away who he used to be and sinking into his new self.  It was a persona not so very different from what it replacedâ€”details had shifted, places and faces and names had transformed into something new, something neither real nor pretend.  He had woven a secret into a truth, and must now test it against all that he feared.  The next few minutes could make or break his resolve.  He was determined not to fail.