As Miles offered the rather opportunistic deal, many thoughts rushed through the head of Yeshua. His brain was filled with ideas which sparked a path to victory but ultimately not one that needed help from another soldier. While they were a team, and were going to fight [i]with[/i] each other rather than [i]against[/i], this exercise was not for teams. If anyone had made pacts, which they most certainly had, they were going to suffer for it. 

Miles seemed too distracted in himself to see others, Yeshua pondered. His eyes could only see so far ahead of him, but maybe that's what a soldier needs to do. Not see the consequences, the boy thought. Don't see the consequences and just do what you're told. A perfect soldier.

Yeshua folded his arms and lay his head softly against the back of the freezing chair. It felt of plastic and manufactured material, forged in a dying, blistering hot factory. The thought gave him some warmth as he looked at the ceiling, the mutterings of others slowly fading away into the non-audible goop that it truly was.