A look around the room left Mark wondering what it had initially been designed for. The walls were a pale blue, almost soothing, in stark contrast to the machines kept inside. Silver and green dominated the landscape within, the floor scattered with a mixture of medical devices and larger green boxes that looked like they were built to mold metals. The green paint covering the sides of these large boxes was chipping from overuse, and the patches left behind were black from rust. Mark wondered if these were used to build the assault weapons that he could see lining the far wall, or perhaps the ammunition. For a school that has publicly denounced gun use, they certainly keep lots of them around. Mark closed his eyes to think, realizing there was far too much in this room to distract him. His mind whirled from the quick events that led him to be held captive, and the desperate need to know why he was being held at all. He had come to the Academy to be trained by them, the great heroes of his day, to fight on their side. That very morning, he walked off the plane bubbling with excitement, ready to prove his worth. Ready to become a soldier. Their soldier.
