[center][h3]Marcus Collins[/h3][/center]
The subtle but distinct [i]clicking[/i] sound of the pistol's hammer pulled back woke him from an otherwise bizarre dream, causing his still tired eyes to crack open and his attention to turn toward the young dark-skinned woman standing over him.

“I told you I'd kick your ass out come mornin’...” Her full lips -painted with umber lipstick- curled to a wry grin. “And it's mornin’, handsome.”

Marcus sat up, slowly rubbing the sides of his head that was pounding from the massive hangover of too much [i]forgetting--the-wasteland[/i] type partying he'd decided to partake in the night before. He vaguely remembered the group he'd runned into, who were really just a bunch of teens and twenty-somethings with nothing better to do than drink, fuck, and get as high as a kite. Marcus -being Marcus- needed a break from the chaos, from the life of a guy whose only means of survival in a world ravaged by mutated creatures was a warm gun and a pissed off disposition. No one asked to be in the situation, but you were either a fighter or just another victim amongst the carnage, and he wasn't about to go down quietly.

“I'm sorry miss...” He finally said in low and somewhat husky voice after a few moments of collecting his scattered thoughts and looking up at the tall, lean, and leggy girl dressed in a gray [i]Filter[/i] t-shirt that seemed oddly familiar. “But who the hell are you?” 

“Mother Fucker!” She exclaimed, apparently loud enough for the other to wince at the noise level. “You're something else aren't you? Coming in here all charm and good looks, drinking half of our shit, rolling around in my bed like an animal, and then you have the balls to ask me who [i]I[/i] am?”

“Whoa, first off stop yellin’ because I swear my head is gonna supernova if this shit keeps up…” Clearly he could see the woman was upset, even as she moved the gun closer to his head hoping to drive her point home. “Okay, okay...just lower the gun for fuck’s sake. Let me get my shit together and I'll be out the door.”

Marcus looked around the room with a puzzled expression and realized, aside from the fact that he had nothing but a tattered bed sheet covering his lower extremities, that he didn't notice his clothes anywhere in the small apartment bedroom, not even the Army rucksack that pretty much stored what was left of his life, plus and a few extras for a rainy day. He shook his head in disgust and stood up onto the cool wooden floorboards as the achy muscles, bruises, and cuts on his naked body reminded him of days past fighting his way out of muck and mire to end up where he was. Sometimes he wondered if his situation ever really changed, going from the frying pan and into the fire.

“I suppose you wouldn’t know where my shit is then?” He said, looking back at the woman who held the gun at him, and suddenly realizing why the shirt she was wearing looked familiar. “And judging by the fact that you're wearing [i]my[/i] shirt, I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. “

“...The fuck?” She laughed. “That shit’s on you dumbass. I’m not the one who drank too much and gambled all their possessions away last night…”

“What?”

“Yep, you heard me.” She said, shaking her head at the man across from her. ”Geez, you really don’t remember? I guess Jacob must have a had a heavy hand when he was mixing drinks.”

“Who’s Jacob?” The man said, slowing inching closer to the woman, but stopped when she arched an eyebrow challenging him to make just one more step.

“Jacob’s my husband.”

“Great.”

“But don’t worry, I won’t tell if you don’t.” She said with a smirk. “And besides you were good fuck and I’d hate to see that tough-guy mug of yours beat to shit on account of me.”

Marcus couldn’t help but crack a smile at his fortune, or perhaps lack thereof, but the one and only certainty he had of this whole situation was the fact that he wasn’t going to be shot by this woman. At least not today.

“Well lady” He said, taking a few steps forward toward the armed woman. “This has been a blast but I need to tell you something that you probably missed…”

Out of sheer stupidity or fear, the woman pulled the handgun’s trigger hoping to end the life of the man she clearly felt as a threat, but her intent to kill was left void by the echoed sound of an empty chamber and a gasp escaping from her lips.

“...That old pistol hasn’t worked in who knows how long.” The man said with a half smile as he swiped the gun from her grasp and backed her into the nearby wall. “And I should know, since you took it from my belongings. So I’ll ask you again...” At this point, he and the woman were just about nose to nose. “Where the fuck is all my shit and who do I need to kill to get it back?”

The dark-skinned woman was trembling as she struggled to find the words. “Look, y-your clothes are in that footlocker over there, b-but your Army bag isn’t here. J-Jacob went off to scavenge in a smaller abandoned town south of here and I know he took your bag and weapons with him...but-”

“But what?” The other said, grabbing her arms to keep her from running. “Speak up, because I have no problem breaking your neck if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“He left hours ago, and the road headed there is infested with those damn mutated freaks, so I don’t know if my husband’s still alive or if your stuff is still with him in that bag he’s carrying.”

Marcus thought long and hard about the situation, and without saying a word he walked over to the foot locker and grabbed his clothes.

“What are you gonna do then?” The woman said, letting out a sigh of relief that the man didn’t hurt her.

“I’ll do what any half-brained man would do at this time of the day...” He said, sliding on the worn black jeans and fastening the button. “...Eat breakfast before I go to kick some ass.”