[b]Reggie - The New Orleans Museum of Art[/b]

The scouts had managed to secure the entrances, trapping the art museum gang inside their own home. The surprise attack had forced the gang to come out in haphazard waves, ultimately mitigating their possible strength. Though some of Reggie's men had suffered wounds, they were all at least alive so far. The wounded were left behind with the newer members to watch the front entrance while Reggie moved deeper into the museum with the sharpshooters. Eventually, the core of the fighting settled in one of the exhibition halls, gunshot fire zipping by discarded art exhibits.

Reggie spotted a tall man issuing orders from across the hall and nudged Simon at his side. "That man has to be taken out!" Reggie said over the gunfire. "Ben's death is on his head!" Simon nodded in affirmation and moved to duck behind a dividing wall. Though the man had only recently recovered from his wounds, Simon was one of Reggie's biggest supporters. This attack had been eagerly anticipated by Simon. Reggie might have been scared of the man's grin if he wasn't on their side.

That grin was plastered on Simon's face while he awaited a chance to get into position. Yelling, Reggie rose along with Phon and fired on a lone statue to the right, sending a group of gang members scrambling to find new cover. This gave Simon a chance to move forward and get into a position where he could take out the leader. "For Ben!" Reggie could hear the man yell as he fired on the unsuspecting leader. Most of the shots went wide, but a bullet managed to clip the man in the head and sent him dropping to the ground. There was a raucous cheer from the scouts as the gang scrambled in the face of their fading confidence.

But then someone screamed. Reggie saw the grenade before Simon did. He tried to yell out, but the blast forced him to duck down and lose sight of Simon. A slight ringing in his ears kept him pinned. Blood pumped heavily in his veins and his ears thumped loudly. Reggie didn't rise until someone uttered the words, "He's dead! Simon's dead!"

He looked over his cover to find the dividing worn from the explosion. Red splatter could be seen on the wall and ground. Their first casualty, and their last. Reggie hopped over the low wall and rushed to the left dividing wall. His men pushed forward with him, sending the art museum gang scrambling to maintain distance. Their numbers had dwindled to pitiful amounts and Reggie could see some of them fleeing in fear. It was like a chain reaction in motion as the remaining gang members ran fleeing one after another. Reggie called out for his scouts to pursue them. "Thomas!" he yelled. "You're with me!" The man nodded and followed Reggie into the hallway.

---

[b]Marcus - The New Orleans Museum of Art[/b]

He was on the move now, trying to think of some way to fix all of this. He had always needed to move to live, it seemed. A life of vagrancy had suited him well in the apocalypse, but it had been a lonely way to live. No attachments meant no heartbreak, but Marcus had done a whole lot of that when the world was still functioning. Eventually he decided that he wanted a change in the new world. That's why he finally stopped moving and fell in with Barker and his gang. Most of them were far younger than him, but he had pulled his weight. Perhaps Barker saw wisdom in Marcus' years and made him second-in-command for that reason. Perhaps Marcus was just lucky.

Actually, no, that wasn't true. If Marcus was lucky, he wouldn't have been in this position. With Barker dead, it meant Marcus was in command, but there was very little left to command. He had been forced to leave the fighting with only Clark and Berg by his side. Winning was not possible at this point; All Marcus could hope for was to get himself and his two companions to safety.

Shouting from further down the hall stopped Marcus and his followers in their tracks. He hesitated, unsure how to proceed. They were likely surrounded from every direction. If only they had been more diligent in their security, then perhaps--

"We'll split up!" Berg said, suddenly rushing down the right hallway. "Meet at the emergency exit!"

Marcus looked at Clark and the man sighed. They both ducked into the left hallway, hoping for salvation. They ran as fast as their legs could carry them, which was surprisingly fast for Marcus at his age. He knew he was running mostly on adrenaline and that he probably would be feeling like shit later if he managed to survive this. "Damn it! Marcus--" A shot fired, making Marcus duck. He looked up to find two men standing before him in the hallway, one with a goatee and pointing a gun to Marcus' right. A slight gurgling noise made Marcus look in that direction, and he found Clark on the ground, blood leaking from his neck. It was a harsh sight, but Marcus only looked back toward the two men and shook his head.

"Who are you people?" Marcus asked, his voice sounding rather even.

The man turned his gun on Marcus and paused. "You killed one of our own," he said. "You were a threat to our way of life."

Ah, so that's how it was. "I'm sorry to hear that, but--" Marcus would die here, he knew. It had been a long enough life, if not a terribly happy one. "That's the way of things now. If it was not us who killed your friend, it would have been something else eventually."

The man stared at Marcus with a blank expression. He then nodded. "This is the way of things now." The gun in his hand fired. All Marcus could see was red.