And it is not just the symbol that is the same. It is his eyes. It is his face. Different now, as a grown man and as an experiment of the Federation, but still him. Now I suddenly understand why I’d felt so compelled to save him in the arena. The real reason. Red is that twelve-year-old boy. The same one who had held the gun and failed to fire. The same young soldier from that night.
Holy crap, I REALLY called it!!!
