
[There's a bit of tenseness in Marco's voice as he starts to talk-however, he's trying to keep playing the nice and easy, not totally a jackass card.]
Well well well, turns out I've got my own personal stalker. Seriously, this level of detail is just creepy. You've got my room, right down to the crappy 'participation' trophies that I got when I was forced to play sports. I've heard of secret admirers, but this seems to be more along the lines of 'Single White Female' than cute childhood crush. Am I gonna have to worry about my underwear getting stolen?
[There's a short, bitter laugh. And now his voice tenses slightly. Marco's losing it a bit.]
What a freaking creep. Let me go and let me go back home. I don't care if that cop shot me, I don't care if this is...if this is some goddamn Avalon or whatever this is, let me go back home. Are you even listening, Morton? Oh, I know it's you, it's got to be you, this sort of freaky mind trip is just the sort of thing you'd try to plan, you'd try to convince me again or some junk like that. It didn't work, old man. Just accept it.