Snowflake
"You are not special. You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. You're the same decaying organic matter as everything else." - Tyler Durden, Fight Club
Marcus Fenix is the kind of guy you only hear stories about. Frigging war hero, willing to do anything to save just one more life, always carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders but never complaining about it; he even manages to get the job done with a cool head and in a timely manner.
I used to hate guys like him.
Funny, because back in the day, my old man would've killed to make sure I hung around a guy like Marcus. Hell, maybe if we'd been in Jacinto, Marcus would be my little buddy by now. I'd be following him around like a little sheep, just like Dom.
"A man is only as useful as his contacts," my dad always said. And the Fenix name is a powerful contact to have in your arsenal. But men like Marcus are all the same; he just happens to be a special case because his dad scorched half of Sera.
It's an old money thing. You stand around and look important and people automatically respect you. No arguments, no trials, just instant gratification. The first time I observed Marcus around people, I thought he would throw that weight around like the others. A convict automatically promoted to sergeant had to have someone pulling strings, right? But no, I had him pegged all wrong. It was just Marcus being, well, Marcus fucking Fenix. He has something about him that people just respect; they don't question him because of his honest nature. They get out of his way without realizing he's about to jump into the fire for them.
It pisses me off. I'd tried being the nice guy once, so why couldn't I get the same respect?
Maybe I'm a little jealous.
As a kid, the only thing I wanted was a normal childhood. I wanted to play in the dirt and go for picnics with my parents while living my own life. Unfortunately, my parents were the kind that treated kids as pets-easy to control, only useful when needed. Yeah, we weren't the kind of family to have long talks about our feelings.
I just wanted to make my folks proud. I was top in my class not because of their pushing, but because I thought it would make them smile. My decision to become an engineer was supposed to make them proud. It was a respectable career and would showcase my skills, proving that the Bairds were more than just pencil pushing socialites.
But no. I was never good enough for my parents.
There are times I look at Marcus and know we come from similar worlds. And by that I don't mean my nut-job father unleashed a satellite laser on Sera, but that we're old money. Once upon a time, we both had a legacy attached to our names. But that's probably where the similarities end.
He probably got a pat on the head when he got perfect scores on his tests. He probably enjoyed ice cream and movie night with his parents. Hell, maybe even his dad told him he was proud of all the work Marcus did. Old Man Fenix probably said, "Go ahead and do whatever you want with your life, Marcus. You're such a good boy. I wouldn't ever dream of trying to control you. You make me proud, son."
Not me. I was labeled the disgrace of the Baird fortune. The one that wouldn't support the war effort, the one who always failed to meet expectations no matter how hard he tried. The little black sheep in the pure field of bleating relatives.
I know I'm nothing special. I'm just a grunt, an expendable piece of equipment for the COG. Marcus, although an outsider, is more than that. He's something special and everyone knows it; shit, they absolutely eat it up. Even trying to copy that soulless stare couldn't help me now.
I will always just be Damon Baird. The disappointment. The useless bastard. No one special, no matter what I do.