"I'm Marcus, and this is Mira." Marcus replied, trying his best to sound more friendly in his punch-drunk state. Mira's little joke making light of the bloodbath all around them had gone some way towards alleviating the tension, bizarre as it was. However, underneath a part of Marcus still seethed with rage. The encounter with the Pontiff (as Marcus thought he might call him until such a time as he had learned the man's real name) had shaken his composure more then might seem normal. The reasons Marcus had voiced for his anger were valid, but there was a deeper feeling underlying it all.
Marcus had often treated the subject of religion with, if not outright hostility, then at least a certain amount of disdain. The outlook on the world formed during his youth had taught him that people were who they were, nothing more and nothing less. As such, Marcus saw religion as a way of people letting something else take credit for their successes, and of denying responsibility for their failures. As far as Marcus was concerned, the responsibility for his actions, good or bad, were on him and him alone, and he judged the people around him by the same standards; because if our actions do not make us who we are, then what?
Even if there was some kind of higher plan that dictated the course of their lives, Marcus felt he would be inclined to fight against it whenever possible, rather than accept it or even worship the idea of it. It was much better for Marcus' well-being to believe that the suffering in his life was the result of either his own doing, which he had the power to change, or random chance, which could have happened to anyone, rather than it being imposed upon him.
Marcus figured that that was probably the crux of his feeling right now, the way the Pontiff had portrayed himself as their 'savior'. That was what had particularly irked Marcus. There had been many times in his life when he could have done with a savior, but none had answered his call. He had learned the hard way that he needed to save himself, because no-one was ever going to show him the way. Where had his 'savior' been when he was dropped off at that shit-hole of an orphanage? Where had the Pontiff been when he was forced to start a new life, in a place he had nothing in common with at the age of 10? Where had he been when Naomi...
Stop it!
Marcus' thoughts (or was it just Mira) had carried him all the way to room 211. The name strip 'Mr. E. Larkin' was still in place. Their first day seemed so long ago already.
"C'mon" he said to the other two, now more able to support his own weight, "let's get this over with."
Marcus had often treated the subject of religion with, if not outright hostility, then at least a certain amount of disdain. The outlook on the world formed during his youth had taught him that people were who they were, nothing more and nothing less. As such, Marcus saw religion as a way of people letting something else take credit for their successes, and of denying responsibility for their failures. As far as Marcus was concerned, the responsibility for his actions, good or bad, were on him and him alone, and he judged the people around him by the same standards; because if our actions do not make us who we are, then what?
Even if there was some kind of higher plan that dictated the course of their lives, Marcus felt he would be inclined to fight against it whenever possible, rather than accept it or even worship the idea of it. It was much better for Marcus' well-being to believe that the suffering in his life was the result of either his own doing, which he had the power to change, or random chance, which could have happened to anyone, rather than it being imposed upon him.
Marcus figured that that was probably the crux of his feeling right now, the way the Pontiff had portrayed himself as their 'savior'. That was what had particularly irked Marcus. There had been many times in his life when he could have done with a savior, but none had answered his call. He had learned the hard way that he needed to save himself, because no-one was ever going to show him the way. Where had his 'savior' been when he was dropped off at that shit-hole of an orphanage? Where had the Pontiff been when he was forced to start a new life, in a place he had nothing in common with at the age of 10? Where had he been when Naomi...
Stop it!
Marcus' thoughts (or was it just Mira) had carried him all the way to room 211. The name strip 'Mr. E. Larkin' was still in place. Their first day seemed so long ago already.
"C'mon" he said to the other two, now more able to support his own weight, "let's get this over with."
