Marcos was silent at the morning's meeting, looking at the pirates that came to greet them and offer them a meeting with their "King". He was sure he recognized a face or two in the group. He was sure one of them had dealt in slavery before. He wasn't sure, though. Maybe just the jitters of the sudden situation they were in. One of the brandishes on his right arm seemed to burn again. He couldn't remember exactly who had branded him with that one. Normally, he did. It was odd. Then again, it was the morning after his first ever real night of sleep, and he was a bit tired.

When the other group told them to follow, he did so with the rest of the crew. He remained silent so far, and didn't plan on breaking that streak. He felt sick when he looked at the surroundings around him. He had been a slave that worked here before. It was bringing back memories of his life as a slave. One particular memory was of him as a young slave boy, being beaten nearly to death by a group of slavers for sleeping on the wrong section of the floor. He was bleeding from almost all of his orifices and couldn't even cry. He did, just a little, and they beat him even more. The memory terrified him.

When Luro had snapped his fingers while trying to think of names, Marcos jumped out of his memory and back to reality. He didn't do so gracefully, either. It felt like something was weighing down on him, pushing into his chest. He couldn't breathe. Well, it felt like he couldn't. He was actually breathing just fine. His head got heavy and his feet wanted to give up. It was that oh-so familiar feeling of fear. And he didn't know where it was coming from. He just had a lot of built-up fear and it decided to come out right now, and it was not pleasant at all.