Motihater

Hate is a strong motivator. Rolando hated training. He hated everyone he trained with. There were four other operatives at the course and they all were hateable. Their handlers were nicer looking than Nihls, they didn't have a stupid name, and they all signed up and weren't press ganged into it like Rolando. He spent the moments not buried in mud or doing a physical task that seemed the opposite of espionage just sitting on his cot hating everyone. He also found hating himself was the easiest hate of all. That he had let things get this bad, let Trezlan and his life get him to the point that he can't enjoy alcohol anymore or make his own decisions. He could have left, could have just shifted out of the area and continued on enjoying being a useless person, but the hate wanted to be slaked, it thirsted to show everyone else he wasn't the screw up they all knew he was. So he stayed, and persevered, and took the beatings and the physical punishment. He didn't know what it had to do with espionage but his tormenters certainly seemed to think it did.

Two other operatives didn't make it. They tapped out unable to keep up, he didn't know what happened to them. He assumed they resumed service they were already apart of. Rolando didn't want to admit it, but he had no where else to go. So the hate and fear of what would happen without it kept him there. Eventually the physical abuse abated and the training began. Weapons training, lock picking, and electronic warfare were all covered. Rolando was crap at the lock picking, but figured shifting could save him there, he was surprisingly adapt at the electronic stuff much to the chagrin of Nihls who did not appreciate the not so subtle message he kept leaving on his work station.

It took six months, but eventually Rolando was finished with his orientation. He and two other operatives were officially recommissioned in a secret ceremony. The royal guard wouldn't acknowledge who they were or what they were to do should they be caught. Death before dishonor was stressed. He was given some money, changes of clothing, small arms and a mission. It was the most purpose he'd had in about a year, years if he was being honest with himself. And still behind it all like a puppet master orchestrating a grand show, his hate festered and waited.