Angry. That was all he could be. That was all he let himself be. Angry, angry, angry. Insanely angry, enraged, mad. That was all they wanted him to be.
Precise. Swift, quick and fast, but efficient. That was what he needed to be. That's what they needed him to be. That's what Master needed from him.
Cold. Ignorant, oblivious and mischievous. That's all what he had to be. That's what they made him into.
Vile, prideful, beaming, arrogant, crude and heartless, because that's what an assassin has to be. And he was one of them. He was an assassin. He was young, but taught the same rules as everyone else. Beaten up just like everyone else. Fed just like everyone else. He was a copy among copies of hundreds of years old teachings.
One of the few things that were his, was his name, for example. It was one of the very few things he could remember from his childhood. Ja'far.
