<span style="font-size: 120%; line-height: 116%;">As he stared at his reflection, picturing the people on the other side of it, a door to his side opened. He turned his head to look, and then coolly moved so that he stood across the table from her, looking down at the woman seated before him. This was the commander, or at least he assumed she was. Would they really try his patience by sending someone else in? With little reverence, he dropped the crusty pieces of bagel he'd been crumbling onto the table between them, eyes locking to hers. <span style="color: #FFBF40">"Not really."</span> He smiled a little, the fingers of his left hand softly tapping out some never-ending, barely cohesive rhythm. Well, this was it. First impressions. He could do this right, or end up dead, followed shortly thereafter by everyone else. No pressure.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFBF40">"I'm sure you're wondering why I'd waltz into a death sentence like this."</span> He motioned, without looking, towards the door she'd come in from, no doubt now hosting someone who had orders to fire if he attacked. <span style="color: #FFBF40">"Thing is, I've kind of been looking for a new job."</span> He smiled one of those hopelessly earnest, timid sorts of smiles you might see in a romantic comedy. It didn't suit him. <span style="color: #FFBF40">"And when I found out that someone had told us where your base was, and that we were going to bomb the shit out of it, I thought 'here it is, my chance. Destiny!'"</span> He slammed a hand on the table, then instinctively ducked, realizing that might have come off as aggression and not wanting to be shot. For a moment the facade cracked, he was nervous - but then he rebuilt, piece by piece, the slick impression he was going for.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFBF40">"I came to warn you about the attack, because I want you to survive it. Hell, I want you to thrive."</span> He leaned in across the table, mindful not to get too close in case he was actually shot this time. His voice dropped to a low, smooth approximation of friendliness. <span style="color: #FFBF40">"I want you rag-tag motherfuckers to smash the state and reset the clock. But step one is surviving, and step two is not murdering me so we can change things."</span> He leaned back up, and then stepped away from the table, holding his hands up like he had before. <span style="color: #FFBF40">"I get that's probably hard to believe, but you have to take this first step on faith."</span> He laughed softly, repeating the word 'faith' with a childish giggle. Then he turned back to her, serious. <span style="color: #FFBF40">"I'm sorry I can't prove it's coming. But I saw the plans myself. Your losses if you stay here will be tremendous. And, when it happens, you'll know you can trust me. If I was with the bad guys, I wouldn't tip you off to the attack that was going to wipe you out."</span><br/><br/>As sharp as his gaze was - inside he was terrified. It didn't matter that he was telling the truth, or something like the truth, because he knew how it sounded. It sounded like a trap, a way to lure the resistance out of their fortress and gun them down. He sounded like a child who had just discovered reverse psychology. And even if he had known how bad this was going to sound, he had still made the trip here. He had still made himself known and subjected himself to this terrible, horrific moment - because it was better than one more second of being the pitiable creature he was when he woke up that morning. And if he took a bullet for that, he'd spend the rest of eternity burning in Hell with a smile on his face because he had done something unheard of.</span>