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[h1][color=Gold]Marcus Weston[/color][/h1]
[b]The Harlot Cafe, Cajun District, Point Bordeaux[/b]

With help from [@GreenGrenade].[/center][hr]

The man had walked over to Marcus and lifted him up, introducing himself as Gareth Corrigan. Marcus grinned when he was told that they were even. "I'll be fine, all my bleeding is internal. Name's Marcus." He off-hand mentioned to Gareth, as the two headed out of the alley, but, only when they were a few meters away from the alley, a truck pulled up with inbred rednecks - the worst of the lot was a dude named Landin, Marcus had heard of him over the years. He was trained in a speraratist guerilla training camp for a few years, always harboring a strong Hyperhuman-Hate, they talked about a convoy, something he had heard about. "Stop." Marcus told Gareth, as the man let go of his arm, leaning against the wall, listening to what Landin shouted at Remy - their exchange wasn't long, and the sound of sirens coming for the men in the alley filled the air, forcing Landin and his boys to move out.


Marcus looked dryly up at Gareth, he had refused to answer his question previously, but he was more or less forced to now. "Yeah, I am, MARS-Type." He said, low-key, making sure others couldn't hear it. Marcus grunted, pointing towards the other street. "We should head that way, around the corner is where my car is at. We have to warn the convoy." 

"Yeah," said Gareth, nodding. "Okay." He began walking again before stopping himself, turning back to look at Marcus - his eyes were blank, near emotionless, but his voice told of something different - concern. "Are you okay to walk?" Nodding in response, Marcus leaned against the wall before stabalizing himself, walking towards the turn of the road, making sure to getting out of the area before the cops would start looking for them, he had already been in plenty of trouble with the P.B.P.D. Marcus shifted his weight, holding his sides while heading towards the parking lot on the other side of the harlot cafe, where his Mustang Shelby GT stood, the slate grey paintjob with the black stripes reacing over the hood to the wing made it a beautiful car.

Marcus opened the door, as he nodded for Gareth to get in the passenger side, once he started the car, he pointed to the glove compartment. "There's pain killers in there, I need some, you?" Marcus asked, digging through trash near the handbreak, finding about half a bottle of fireball alcohol, he screwed the cork off and took a big swig, following it with three pills. "All right. We could play catch-up with the inbreds, or we could try and find the convoy. You much of a detective, Gary?" Marcus asked as he backed the car onto the road, driving in the same direction they had seen Landin and his boys go to.

"You could say that," replied Gareth, handing Marcus the painkillers, not taking any himself. "I used to be Detroit Police. Worked there as detective for a few years before my wife died." Placing the painkillers back in the glove compartment, his eyes glazed over, as if he was getting lost in memory.

"Yeah, I was in law enforcement, too." Marcus mentioned, one hand on the steering wheel, the other taking another swig from the bottle.

 "I say we go to the convoy. Maybe we could warn them." Gareth paused, thinking. "It can't be too well hidden... I'm willing to bet they stopped somewhere on the outskirts of the city. Do you know anywhere that might be an ideal spot? Some factory, a farm, maybe?" 
 
 Marcus nodded. "Yeah, there's a pretty big place on the outskirts of town, Old Foster's Plantation. It's where I'd go. Got a good view of the surroundings." 
 
"Might as well check it out."

Marcus nodded, and with that, the two were off towards the plantation. After a few minutes drive - it couldn't have been longer than fifteen - they exited the city. The plantation came into sight a few minutes more, and Gareth and Marcus feasted their eyes to the display on hand: an enormous collection of cars, vans, trucks and motorcycles, all parked near the variety of people scattered on the property. They exited the car as fast as their injuries allowed them, making their way through the crowd of vehicles. "Excuse me," said Gareth, approaching a portly young man, "Can you take us to whoever's in charge?" He paused at the man's distrustful stare. "We're - we're Hypes." At that the man leapt into action, leading Gareth and Marcus to where they wanted to go.