[color=6ecff6]Marcus was still in his mind. The thoughts as he moved a napkin around his elbows, using his pen he found in the supplied clothing's pocketing. He was confused. This wasn't exactly his idea of fun...working with a corrupt organisation once again, forcefully under the watchful eye in hope that they get the chance and reason to end such a lifeless soul. He looked to his right shoulder, rubbing the makeshift bandaging. It hurt slightly, making his arm flinch backwards. It turned out that it was at least 2 weeks since he was captured, and he had only awoken two days ago. The thought of time made him think deeper into his memories, still trying to think of a way to calm his nerves. History...time and history. He had always been fascinated by the laws and ways of life before the [b]6 Minute War[/b] happened. What fascinated him the most, was the idea of Law. What struck his mind of memory linked to a book he used to read, on ancient combatants and strategies. It was in the [i]Vigilant Library.[/i] Something that was 5 pages, 2 chapters and over 5000 words long, the Geneva's Convention. It was a set of rules back in the olden times where war was limited to rules, to keep humanity and non-inhumane actions at bay. Scary, he knew...Well...sort of wondrous in some mysterious ways. War, if you would think about it off of your head, was mindless killing to determine who was right, who was wrong, who was the winner, and who was the loser. It was strange to think there was once a period of humanity's reign where rules were set. Things like not having the ability to shoot down a paratrooper, someone named for using the standard [i]chute's[/i] to land from above, whilst he was still in the air. Nowadays, if he were still with the Flock, he'd be shot gladly if he descended. It was extremely scary to think the New Order would just completely ignore the rules Humanity once had, and make rules that lead to them becoming the ultimate winner. He was still processing this when [i]She[/i] asked something. It wasn't the female voice of the formal and polite New-Order Operative, though...

"Ohh Honey...She's not worth it, no tail is!" She smiled mischievously at him. It made him feel worse. She was rubbing in her good-will and happiness to someone clearly depicted as being in pain and brutally gunned down, his soul stripped from the ranks of society. He grimaced slightly, before an idea popped into his mind. Grabbing the pen and the napkin beside him, he quickly began to write down something. Marcus started to mumble to the woman. It was his chance to get help. As he looked around, he saw his New-Order companion looking for him.

"L-Listen...T-this may sound s-strange and h-h-head on...but...g-get everyone you c-can and get o-out of this building! ASAP...Y-You got it?" He paused, his companion was only metres away. His pen, he slammed onto the desk, before a shoulder pulled him away.

"TIME TO GO, M'." She said cheerfully, smiling at the other woman. The bar-lady who spoke to Marcus was sitting next to the napkin. The New-Order female had no idea what it said, only Marcus and whoever was to pick it up...It read out in scrubby, bold writing...

[b]SEND HELP, PLEASE! PLEASE! 34th Floor, 2nd Department - Polis Detachment Building. PLEASE HELP.[/b]

Marcus looked back, only seeing the Black-Market dealer he entered with grab a seat where he was, waving him off as he was unable to respond to his re-capture. This was it...he could only hope that the woman had listened to his words and read the napkin, hopefully saving more than he wanted in the building, or at least himself.[/color]