Marcus spent the morning cleaning his rifle for the third time. The weapon was already spotless, but his hands needed something to do while his mind churned through possibilities.
1400 hours. Dr. Vasquez. Questions he couldn't answer honestly without destroying everything.
"You're gonna wear the rifling out if you keep that up." Garcia flopped onto his bunk. "It's just a shrink appointment, not a firing squad."
Marcus continued working the cleaning rod through the barrel. The repetitive motion helped him think.
"Doc Vasquez is solid," Garcia said. "Helped Rodriguez through his divorce last year. Martinez wouldn't send you to anyone who'd screw you over."
Unless screwing him over was exactly what Martinez intended.
At 1355, Marcus walked across base to the medical building. The corridors smelled like antiseptic and floor polish. He found room 214 and knocked.
"Come in."
Dr. Vasquez sat behind a metal desk in a room designed to feel civilian. Soft chairs instead of military furniture. Potted plants on the windowsill. A box of tissues positioned strategically on a side table.
"Have a seat anywhere you're comfortable."
Marcus chose the chair farthest from her desk. Dr. Vasquez made a note on her tablet.
"How are you feeling about being here?"
"Fine, ma'am."
"Doctor, please. This isn't a military consultation." She leaned back, projecting casualness that felt calculated. "Colonel Martinez explained the situation. You've been having difficulties related to your parents' deaths."
"Some dreams. Nothing serious."
"Tell me about them."
Marcus had rehearsed this. Draw from movies, books, documentaries about trauma. Keep it simple. Keep it believable.
"Fire. Screaming. Sometimes I'm watching from outside, can't help. Sometimes I'm there but paralyzed."
"How often?"
"Few times a week. More lately."
Dr. Vasquez typed notes. "What triggers them? Stress? Specific situations?"
"Combat training sometimes. Weapons fire. Smoke."
"That must be difficult in your line of work."
"I manage."
"Yes, I understand you're managing quite well. Your marksmanship scores have improved dramatically since your leave."
Marcus felt the shift. Casual conversation to interrogation.
"Training pays off."
"Your previous instructor at Luna Station sent me your qualification records. Consistent scores in the 280s out of 300. Good, but not exceptional."
She consulted her tablet. "Your last three qualifications here? Perfect 300s. Every shot."
"Like I said. Training."
"What kind of training produces that level of improvement in six months?"
Marcus met her stare. "The kind that happens when you stop screwing around and focus."
"Interesting phrasing. Several of your fellow Marines mentioned you've seemed more focused lately. More intense. Sergeant Garcia said you're like a different person since your leave."
Garcia had talked to her. Provided baseline information about the original Marcus Thorne's personality and behavior. How many others had she interviewed?
"People change. Especially after dealing with personal stuff."
"They do." Dr. Vasquez set down her tablet. "But usually not this completely. Your shooting instructor described your old style as aggressive, intuitive. Now you're surgical, methodical. Your approach to weapons maintenance has changed. Your preferred grip, stance, even your breathing pattern during qualification."
Marcus kept his expression neutral while alarm bells screamed in his head.
"Maybe I learned better techniques."
"From whom? Your training records show no formal marksmanship courses in the past year."
"Self-study. Videos. Practice."
"Practice can improve accuracy. It doesn't typically change fundamental muscle memory and physical habits developed over years of training."
The room felt smaller. Dr. Vasquez leaned forward slightly.
"Private, I'm going to ask you a direct question. Have you experienced any memory problems since your leave? Confusion about past events? Feeling disconnected from your own experiences?"
The question hit too close to truth. Marcus forced himself to stay calm.
"No, ma'am. Doctor."
"Because the young man I'm speaking to today seems very different from the one described in his psychological profiles and peer evaluations. Different personality, different capabilities, different behavioral patterns."
"People grow. Especially after trauma."
"Growth, yes. Complete personality changes? That's less common." She picked up a file folder. "I spoke with your drill instructor from basic training. He remembered you well. Described you as outgoing, impulsive, quick to joke around with fellow recruits."
Marcus said nothing.
"The Marines I interviewed here describe someone quiet, analytical, intensely private. Someone who seems to be thinking constantly, like he's working through complex problems in his head."
"Maybe I got tired of joking around."
"Maybe. Or maybe something happened during your leave that you haven't told anyone about. Something that changed you in ways that go beyond normal psychological adjustment to trauma."
Dr. Vasquez waited. Marcus counted his heartbeats.
"I went to Mindoir. Saw where my parents died. It affected me more than I expected."
"Except Mindoir has been under evacuation protocols for two months. The colonial administration confirmed no civilian visits were permitted during your leave period."
Caught again. Marcus felt sweat building under his collar.
"I may have gotten my timing wrong. It was an emotional trip."
"I'm sure it was." Dr. Vasquez made another note. "Let's try something different. I'm going to show you some photographs. I want you to tell me if you recognize the people in them."
She opened a folder and placed three photos on the table between them.
The first showed Marcus in uniform with a group of Marines. He was laughing at something, arm around Garcia's shoulders.
The second was a training photo - Marcus firing a rifle, his stance completely different from what his body now knew instinctively.
The third showed him at what looked like a promotion ceremony, shaking hands with an older officer.
Marcus stared at images of someone who looked exactly like him but felt like a stranger.
"These were taken over the past two years. Do you remember these occasions?"
"Some of them."
"Which ones?"
Marcus pointed at the promotion ceremony. "This one. Getting my PFC stripes."
"Tell me about it."
"Standard ceremony. Colonel Henderson presided. Routine promotion."
Dr. Vasquez checked her notes. "Colonel Henderson was transferred eighteen months ago. This ceremony was conducted by Colonel Martinez."
Another mistake. Marcus's academic mind cataloged the error while his body remained perfectly still.
"You're right. I misspoke."
"You seem to be misspeaking quite a bit today." Dr. Vasquez collected the photos. "Private, I'm going to be direct with you. Your psychological profile, behavioral patterns, skill sets, and even your physical mannerisms have changed significantly since your leave. Whatever happened to you during that time has had effects that go well beyond normal trauma response."
Marcus waited.
"I don't know what those effects are yet. But I will figure it out." She leaned back in her chair. "I'm recommending continued sessions. Weekly, for the next month. We're going to work together to understand what's happening with you."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then Colonel Martinez will be forced to consider whether you're fit for continued military service. The choice is yours."
Marcus stood. "When's my next appointment?"
"Same time next week. And Private?"
"Yes?"
"I've been doing this for twelve years. I'm very good at recognizing when someone is performing rather than experiencing genuine emotions. Next week, try being honest with me. It will make both our jobs easier."
Marcus left the office and walked back to the barracks in a daze. Dr. Vasquez was too smart, too observant, too well-prepared. She had resources he hadn't anticipated - photographs, interviews, institutional memory that trapped him in contradictions.
Worse, she was right. He wasn't experiencing trauma or psychological adjustment. He was performing them, using academic knowledge to simulate responses he didn't actually feel.
Garcia looked up when Marcus entered the barracks. "How'd it go?"
"Fine. Weekly sessions for a month."
"That's not bad. Could've been worse."
Marcus sat on his bunk. Could it have been worse? Dr. Vasquez suspected fundamental changes in his identity. She was systematically building a case that something impossible had happened to him.
Which it had.
"Garcia?"
"Yeah?"
"That promotion ceremony. Colonel Martinez ran it, right?"
Garcia frowned. "What promotion ceremony?"
"When I made PFC."
"Dude, you've been PFC for two years. You got promoted right after basic, remember? Colonel Henderson did that ceremony."
The conversation died. Garcia stared at him with growing confusion.
"You feeling okay, man? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Marcus lay back on his bunk and closed eyes. Dr. Vasquez had caught him in contradictions he hadn't even realized he was making. Next week would bring more questions, more tests, more opportunities to expose himself.
She'd said she was good at recognizing performance versus genuine experience.
The problem was, his entire life was now a performance. And she was determined to prove it.