07-06-2020, 07:07 PM
Marcus raised an eyebrow, allowing a small smile to form on his lips. The man was imposing enough, to be sure. The scars on his face, the bruises on face and hands, the blood spatter still on his face, and most of all, the rage he exuded told the story of a man who was at the end of his rope. The question was, was he strong or was he brittle? One was an asset, the other a simple tool.
Ascendancy trusted this to him. And he knew he was capable- mostly. People were not things, not truly predictable in the way equations of matter and energy were. While the masses could be counted on to behave in specific ways, individuals were another thing entirely. And no file truly captured the deepest essence of a man. A person could be counted on to behave in a certain way, given their past, only until it was no longer in their interest to do so. And determining that shifting point was nearly impossible before the fact.
And so Marcus knew that he had his work cut out for him. That he had not one goal but rather a number of them. Some more preferable than others. Above all, to Ryker. It would not be Marcus who paid the price, after all. He considered the seething mass of anger and hatred, feeling a kinship with it. A kinship, but also disappointment. The man was a slave.
His voice was unperturbed. "An apology...Heh. No, I think not." His look took in the room- and the entire facility, really- and his face relaxed. "The Ascendancy's...guests here are usually the ones to apologize. Not that I expect you too. Though..." he looked to the folder in front of him. It was an affectation, really. Marcus had read and memorized his record. Still, it provided a focal point. He touched it, flipped it open, read for a moment before looking at him again. He had his suspicions as to what had happened in Ohio, especially with the tsunami so fortuitously timed with Ascendancy's latest travels. "First San Quentin. And now Butryka."
A small smile appeared as he considered his scars, the single milky eye. "Out of the frying pan and into the fire, no? One would almost think you liked being in lock up." The man was ego, at this point. That much was obvious. But if he was to be more than cannon fodder or a suicide bomber, he'd need to gain the mastery. "I am curious. Why did you choose to come here?" The question was deliberate. His actions were his own. The fruits of those actions were his to own as well. All of it.
Ascendancy trusted this to him. And he knew he was capable- mostly. People were not things, not truly predictable in the way equations of matter and energy were. While the masses could be counted on to behave in specific ways, individuals were another thing entirely. And no file truly captured the deepest essence of a man. A person could be counted on to behave in a certain way, given their past, only until it was no longer in their interest to do so. And determining that shifting point was nearly impossible before the fact.
And so Marcus knew that he had his work cut out for him. That he had not one goal but rather a number of them. Some more preferable than others. Above all, to Ryker. It would not be Marcus who paid the price, after all. He considered the seething mass of anger and hatred, feeling a kinship with it. A kinship, but also disappointment. The man was a slave.
His voice was unperturbed. "An apology...Heh. No, I think not." His look took in the room- and the entire facility, really- and his face relaxed. "The Ascendancy's...guests here are usually the ones to apologize. Not that I expect you too. Though..." he looked to the folder in front of him. It was an affectation, really. Marcus had read and memorized his record. Still, it provided a focal point. He touched it, flipped it open, read for a moment before looking at him again. He had his suspicions as to what had happened in Ohio, especially with the tsunami so fortuitously timed with Ascendancy's latest travels. "First San Quentin. And now Butryka."
A small smile appeared as he considered his scars, the single milky eye. "Out of the frying pan and into the fire, no? One would almost think you liked being in lock up." The man was ego, at this point. That much was obvious. But if he was to be more than cannon fodder or a suicide bomber, he'd need to gain the mastery. "I am curious. Why did you choose to come here?" The question was deliberate. His actions were his own. The fruits of those actions were his to own as well. All of it.