Ironic thing was, Marcus might be about to die to the very turrets he probably helped design and produce. His feet were pinned to the floor, he couldn't exactly move out of the way.
"Because I'm very good at what I do, I didn't give up on Rheinland, they gave up on me" he sighed, wincing and tightening his right boot, again, to prevent himself from bleeding out, should he live.
"I know what you do and how you do it, and I want to serve an ideal that won't fail it's people" he coughed, "I can be more use to you than any of those other pathetic, untrained whelps you've killed today" he eyed up the plasma cannons again, "I can aim, I can dodge, I can fight, I know more about Military Science than probably anyone else this side of Liberty, I've created weapons responsible for the deaths of thousands of Liberty Navy pilots, as well as the Das Wilde"
He gripped the small crucifix in his pocket, that he had shaped out of a small paperclip as he talked, he smiled to himself for a second, he didn't believe in god, no god was going to save him from a nice pair of plasma shots. He was on his own.
He crushed the small shape in his hand and looked into the eyes of Bjorn, hoping it wasn't the last thing he saw. There were far too many people he'd planned on killing before he died.
