This really wasn't the first time rumors had almost gotten him killed, nor was it likely to be the last. He'd heard tell of a unit of Marines, still held together, nearby. It was a real long-shot, especially this late in the game, but he'd been willing to believe it. When he arrived, he found that a Marine unit had indeed held together, however that hadn't been as large a unit as he'd thought. He'd watched a squad of 5 Marines enter a building, just for the tell-tale screech of a Trant to follow, echoed by many more soon after. It seemed they'd been particularly unlucky, having stumbled into an awakened hive. Plenty of gunshots followed, but soon enough they began to change to screams, and then nothing. The Captain was all for Semper Fi, however following after them to try and help would've only gotten him killed. Making a note to tell the scouts to stay clear of the building, he began to crawl away, just for a moan to startle him into action.

It seems They were here, which was surprising in all honesty. Generally, They weren't in the same area as something so volatile as a Trant nest, but it seems that rule was being broken here, or perhaps it hadn't even been a rule to begin with. They were one of the infected, perhaps someone who drank the Blackwater before knowing its effects, perhaps infected by one of the many other things around, or perhaps some survivor thought dying to the virus was better than dying of thirst and so drank the Blackwater. However, none of that mattered now, regardless of their past life they were now a threat. Captain Jason Mcintyre, or "Chemo" as his code name had been in the Corps, leapt to his feet and immediately began to back away.

Firing his weapon this close to a Trant hive was a death sentence, and as he counted Them, he found 10 of them. Way too many to tackle in Melee combat, especially when a loud noise could summon more Trants than he could handle. So, he turned on his heels and took off at a light run. Refuge was a long while away, and he didn't want to stop for anything. Of course, that was only likely to happen in a perfect world, and this was anything but. That was symbolized when he heard another moan after about 30 minutes. Looking over, he found a larger pack of them, fifteen this time. Raising an eyebrow, he decided to invest the rounds. Raising the M4A9 Carbine, he carefully aimed down sight at his foes.

He took a breath and held it before lining his sights up on the head of the closest one. Chest shots were a waste of ammo, so he didn't even bother anymore. He fired off a quick grouping of shots, each round racing out to hit its target, until 10 of Them lay dead. They were the easiest threat to deal with anymore, slow and predictable, but given the fact that this used to be New York, they were everywhere. Deciding not to handle the other five, some other poor man could, Jason took off again. He didn't take the time to stop and loot, chances are the area was already picked over, no instead he just kept moving. As evening fell, he arrived at the gate and the guns trained on him. He gave a simple, two finger salute to the man up-top, who opened the gate. Walking through, he went to the checkpoint where he said "Jason Mcintyre."

With that done, he was free to do as he pleased for now. His guard shift wasn't until later, he'd volunteered for the night shift since he was used to night sentry duty even before the Incident, so he was free to goof off before then. He debated entering the bar, but with sentry duty yet to come the chance of getting drunk was too great. With that, he found himself wandering over to the machine shop to do some maintenance. He set the carbine on a table and took it apart, then set to thoroughly cleaning it. This was an important part of being a field soldier, keeping ones gear prepared.