He stood on the scaffold, hands manacled tightly behind his back. His face was set into a dark, bleak expression, completely passionless, free from any defining emotion.

Everything about him was impassable, in every meaning of the word. Utterly, unbelievably impassable. He'd grown up hearing that man was made in God's image. He had wiped the image of God clean from his soul.

And nothing could change that expression. Even the sound of keys rattling into the door opposite. Even the slow, steady sound of boots, as they made their way towards him. Even as the blindfold went over his eyes.

They would pay, he thought. And it was all he thought. He wasn't frightened: not in the least. It was just a dull, clenching bitterness, clawing through his gut.

But he didn't let it show.

He didn't let anything show.

And it was at that moment that he decided:

He would survive.