The broken door of the house hung askew as Marilyn cowered in a corner of the living room. A man stood in the center of the room and, unlike Cal, he frightened her to the point of fainting. This man immediately after what happened in the factory was too much for her to withstand. Like an engine run too hard, Marilyn could only crouch and shiver as she watched him with wide eyes.

He wore a uniform of brown tunic over tan pants, two silver bars on each shoulder, and a hat tucked under his arm. His uniform was meticulously clean and pressed with the ribbons of his exploits evenly arranged across his left breast.

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It was his eyes that frightened Marilyn; they were dead to emotion as if the man did not care what happened in the world, as if he had seen enough to last a hundred lifetimes.

He watched Marilyn with no emotion, only his presence forcing her further into the corner. He watched and waited, occasionally cocking his head to listen to noises outside the house.