Davik was little when he was taken into the custody of the state. He couldn't remember his parents. Sometimes he would have dreams about a woman in a pretty dress hanging from a tree, and wake up screaming, in a cold sweat.

Very early in his education, Davik showed an aptitude for modifying his personality to suit any social situation. Fitting in meant survival, and he was a survivor. This did draw attention from scouts, however, and by the time he was 12, he was receiving lessons that the other students were not.

Poison crafting, languages, bomb making. The tools of espionage. His tutor was Nav Pogin, a short man with short cropped hair who was aggressively average looking, presumably by design.

"If you survive my trials, Davik, you will join the Eyes of the Emperor."

Survive he did, and on his 16th birthday, Davik officially joined the Eyes in a secret ceremony in the catacombs beneath the Holy Temple of the Divine Emperor. Shortly thereafter, he was given his first assignment; to infiltrate the peoples resistance and provide intel on their activities.

Davik was excited to contribute. Excited to start a new life in a role he knew he could adapt to. Getting recruited was easier than Davik anticipated. He slashed a tire on an imperial supply truck, and stole food from the back while the driver changed it. Then he distributed it to the hungry children prowling the alleyways, before settling into a box himself and going to sleep. When he awoke, three armed men with the band of the resistance on their arms were towering over him.

He was questioned relentlessly, but his cover story held up. He certainly looked the part of a down on his luck young man with no prospects. It wasn't hard to summon a venom in his speech when speaking of the Emperors hands.

For two years he walked among them. Worked, ate and slept among them. For two years he left intel packets at the designated dead drop. The previous packets were always gone each time he visited, but there was never any response. Not until now.

Davik carefully opened the letter, since it was made of flashpaper and would combust with little agitation.

"Codename Chameleon, Assignment Complete. Extraction on hill outside rebel base tomorrow at midnight, sharp. All persons inside will be liquidated. Do not be late."

Davik crumpled the paper and it flashed alight and turned to cinders in an instant. That night he dreamt of the tree. He could see the womans face clearly for the first time, and she had his eyes.

Was this personality he had cultivated to infiltrate the rebels just another one of his forgeries? Is the spy really who he is, or can he choose? Never before had he considered the concept of choice in who he would be. Chameleon, they called him. Shifting who he was but never being just one person. Never finding a sense of self.

Davik chose. He chose to set his colors, permanently. Chose who he was, and it was treason. Davik knew he risked the hanging tree. Something deep within his heart told him, though, that it was a family tradition.