In Room 212:

[oatmanspatient.livejournal.com]

Marty lays curled up in bed. His bloodshot eyes are wide open.

Grocer's song is still running through his mind.

He hasn't slept since detention.

Comments

[chasingangela]

deep breaths, Angela thinks. At least he's not a vampire, right?

She tries to remember if she's ever seen Martin outside in daylight.

"Your ... guns. I know you had a lot of them before the ban. You used them, kind of a lot." She brushes a lock of hair behind her ear, and the last, scary bit comes out all in a rush. "How does someone our age from Michigan get so good at shooting things?"

[oatmanspatient.livejournal.com]

Marty sighs. Time to come clean.

"When I left Michigan, I lied about my age, joined the Army and took the service exam. They found my psych results fit a certain profile. A certain "Moral flexibility" would be the best way to describe it.... I was loaned out to a CIA-sponsored program. It's called "mechanical operations." We sort of found each other...."

Marty trails off.

"But I don't work for them any more."

(OOC: Disclaimer: Taken from the movie more or less. Strictly for educational purposes. I swear)

[chasingangela]

Angela furroughs her brow; this doesn't sound so bad. "Mechanical op-" she starts to say.

Then the pieces fall together. The casual gun to Zero's head, the rage, the emptiness River saw inside him, the dangerous, almost feral energy that comes from Marty 90 percent of the time.

"You shot at people," she says. "You killed people."

She can see in Marty's eyes that she has it right, but she doesn't wait for him to respond. She can't, she's out the door, she's in the hallway, at the stairs, charging to -- somewhere, she doesn't know where -- slick with sweat and tears.

[OOC: *wild applause. Now we need to figure out what comes next.*]