[h3][color=#90adb1]Marcus Bradley[/color][/h3] [sup]Location: Cafeteria | [s]Interacting With: his own paranoia...[/s][/sup][hr]

It wasn't long before Marcus finished off his food. All the while, he watched the conversation the others were having, then figured that he should have sat a bit closer. From where he was, it was a little hard to hear every word but, he picked up the general gist. The main conclusion he started to draw was that most of them were probably older than him-- if there weren't lying, that is. 

Most people could probably chalk their mistrust of others up to being raised a certain way, but Marcus wasn't going to slander his mother's name like that-- his mistrust was good ol' paranoia. As far as he was concerned, the less people did honest work-- carpentry, hunting, butchering, farm work-- the more they couldn't be trusted. There were a lot of snakes in the grass and people from big cities were the fattest ones. Why would any of them walk into such an extraordinary circumstance and be fully honest and truthful? He had known people to lie when the sky was sunny and the plants were blooming-- so this strange place was probably pushing people into desperation.

No one could back up their truths with evidence here and lies couldn't be figured out so easily. Here, this was probably something of a clean slate for others to work on. Taking a tense breath, Marcus pushed his tray away from himself, then set his gaze on the door leading out of the cafeteria. What was next? He'd seen a placard with his name on it down the hall-- were those assigned rooms? Admittedly, he was curious at how fancy the rooms would be, especially since the rest of this place seemed expensive and high-budget. Yawning, he also admitted to himself he was tired-- this facility was well out of his timezone... maybe.

Where exactly were they?

Marcus squinted at the thought. How come he didn't remember? Oh, that's right, he had slept the whole way here. Were he not familiar with the mysterious lull to rest that traveling had on his senses, he would have accused the people that brought him here of drugging him. He rubbed his face with his palm and cursed himself. There were probably details about getting here that he should have paid attention to... not that he expected he would need them. Part of Marcus simply wanted the details to have them. What if everything here went awry? What was his contingency plan? More importantly, what was their contingency plan? Marcus shifted his gaze to the people in bio-hazard suits that were standing behind the serving line. There must have been a plan in place for... well, what if one of them developed some kind of wold ending hell-power? What if said hell-powered person had a mind for violence? He didn't exactly remember there being a psychological screening process maybe-- he wasn't completely sure-- but the main point was, any one of these freaks, including him, could be here with ill intentions, right? 

Hell. Magneto was an X-Man too.