<div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/3/33/Wreck_Portrait.jpg)</div><hr/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong>  Name:</strong>       Marcus Magnusson<br/>  <strong>Title:</strong>          Wreck<br/>  <strong>Affiliation:</strong>  Resistance<br/>  <strong>Location:</strong>   Los Angeles County Art Museum at the corner of Wilshire Blvd and Fairfax Ave<br/>  <strong>Tags:</strong>          Teletrix<br/></span></span><hr/>The cry of pain snapped Marcus back into the here and now.  He turned towards the girl that had been unconscious up until a moment ago with concern etched into his face.  Marcus had already heard enough of those cries to last him a lifetime.  He stepped away from the door and began to cross the room when he saw the girl look at him. As her eyes focused he saw her face contort in hatred and he sighed.  He deserved little else.<br/><br/>Yes he had his reasons, but they paled in comparison to the damage he had done to so many.  What of his sisters?  Had this choice damned them too?  If any of his squad survived they were sure to report his betrayal. Even if they were dead, he would be considered a casualty too.  His compliance had been the only thing keeping his sisters from Judgement.<br/><br/>Margie stumbled back from Teletrix in surprise and fear as the girl’s mutation manifested.  She saw the look of anger on the girl’s face and the young man at which it was directed.  Margie reached an arm out to try to stop the girl crying, “No!”  But she was too late.<br/><br/>Margie’s warning roused Marcus once again from his dark thoughts.  His eyes widened and he began to hold up his hands in a non-threatening gesture when the pulse of telekinetic energy slammed into his chest.  It picked up Marcus’s large frame and tossed him backward like a rag doll.  The wall did little to stop his super dense frame and he disappeared in a shower of sheet rock and a cloud of plaster.  Marcus slid to a stop half way across the floor of the adjacent room and groaned from the pain.  The blast and wall had shredded his uniform jacket into a tattered mess and the bruises were already beginning to show on his torso.  The blast would have killed a lesser man instantly.<br/><br/>For a moment the room with the refugees was quiet except for Teletrix’s sobs.  Margie sat on her knees, mouth a gape, watching the cloud of pulverized wall float gently to the floor.  The others were huddled in the corner to stunned too speak.  This seemed to go on forever until a deep cough was heard from dark hole in the wall.  Marcus steps through clearing the white dust from this clothing.  He tries to shake out his jacket, but there isn’t enough of it left to matter, so he removes the remains and tosses them aside.  Coughing again he shakes out his still ringing head and runs a hand through his curly blonde hair sending little plaster bits falling to the ground.<br/><div class="floatright">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/e/ef/Ripped_Wreck.jpg)</div><br/>Marcus looks up appearing almost embarrassed by all of the people staring at him.<br/><br/>“Um…I guess I deserved that.” He says.<br/>