Bellamy looked down at the floor, agitation blooming. He made peace with how the Ark had treated him and his sister months ago, but the idea that it might strip something from him now was frustrating. He shook his head, "It's not," he assured Glasya. "It had nothing to do with my capabilities." He folded his arms across his chest, not particularly interested in rehashing his family's troubles, but realizing it was really the best way to prove how dedicated he was. If he was dedicated to anything in life, it had to be Octavia, didn't it?
"Where I was from, on the Ark, you were only allowed to have one child. Population control. My mother decided she wanted a second child and after she was born, I was in charge of making sure no one found out about her. I was six." He sighed, "When she was 16, I was a cadet and there was a masquerade party. She'd never been outside of our apartment. We didn't even have a window. So I got her a mask and took her to the area my unit was working. But we got caught," Bellamy had to swallow back the guilt that still went twisting through him at the memory. "They locked my sister up, executed my mother, and made me a janitor."
He sniffed and shrugged, an attempt to brush off the bitterness that still lingered. "But we got to the ground and things changed. I proved I can handle myself and that I could do what needed to be done," Bellamy said, the words carrying weight, because in his world, doing what needed to be done meant deciding not whether or not to take lives, only how many to take. "So they let me back on the Guard." Bellamy shifted his weight, "I'm dedicated. I can do what it takes," he said, expression earnest.