[color=6ecff6]There were muffled voices coming from the outer-end of the doorway. And from the few weeks he had been in the captivity of the New-Order, Marcus would've just set aside the conversations and would've imagined it were officers discussing their next move with himself. He was a high priority within the building, or at least the James he was. There were plans for him, and without the knowledge on whether the Flock were still around fighting or dead in their own homes...was something that terrified him. His own kind of fighters for freedom were almost incognito to his own knowledge, and that meant he was forever past the aid of rescue. There were buzzing outside, a few radio checks going on at his terminal, when something began to shift. The door opened. And through the door came another body, which Marcus could only see through the corner of his eye. He saw a uniform, therefore didn't even bother to look up. His forehead laid still in his hands, as per usual. The study teams and security monitors would constantly check if he were alive, when in reality he was only remaining still and low. He heard the footsteps come closer, stopping a few metres from where he was. Whoever this New-Order personnel was, they were greeted by a mess of slightly bruised arms, marks from where a painful shoulder injury once was and the long haired man. In the corner of the crystal clear room was a glass cylinder cupboard. Inside the shimmering glass was a suit. It was only familiar to Marcus, out of both him and the [i]stranger[/i] who walked in. It bared small dents, showing a long-time usage and experience handling. No doubt it was Marcus' seeing as the size of it was roughly peaking the height of the Man's. There was a battle-worn helmet on a rack, a little left to the cupboard, adjacent to the shelf carrying the technician arm piece that fitted nicely onto the suit. Marcus didn't say anything at first. He didn't have anything to say...that was until he was eventually going to find out who was there, about to reintroduce themselves. Eventually he grumbled, knowing the person might be waiting for him to greet them or say something. He spoke, in a low, helpless and broken tone.

"W-what...do you want?"[/color]