"Depends!" One man shouted back. "Depends on who wants to be friends!" He shouted as Conell continued to walk forward. "I'll say this the easy way. If you pull out one of your weapons on us? No. We're not friendly. If you don't and you're not an ass hole, yeah. We're friendly." He stated.

“I've been called an asshole far too many times to make any promises on that front brother, but I'm certainly not planning on pulling anything. For one, you've got what looks like a .44 pointed at me and I like my head how it is. I don't want it turned into a canoe. Two, I need people right now. I came here for a vehicle so I could travel and it looks like that's what you're doing. Therefore, I want what you want.”

“We don’t want trouble.” Spoke the other bloke. “We just want to take our stuff and drive out of here. There’s no need for a confrontation.”

“I'm not looking for confrontation, I'm looking for friends. Trust me, I'm not in the habit of going into confrontations unprepared, that's why my MP5 is hanging loose on my back, my Glock is tucked in my jeans and my blade is still in it's sheathe. No confrontation meant here at all man.” Conell spoke levelly, his voice sounding as peaceful as it ever went.

"If you're friendly, I'd tell you we've got a group - must be around 10 of us. Don't know the number off the top of my head. But we're not taking in dead-weight. If you are beneficial to us - if you can pull your own weight? If you're useful to us? We'll have you with us. If that's what you're after."

The man was smart. He offered peace but kept his gun trained. A wise attitude. 

“I can handle myself, but the only way I'm going to benefit you is if you give me a chance...” 

It was then that Conell did something he couldn't imagine himself doing. Was he desperate for people or looking for death? He couldn't tell, but he knew it was stupid, risky, but he did it anyway.

“You there.” He said, nodding towards the bloke with the machete. “You don't seem to have a piece. Take my pistol... A, uh, peace offering.” 

Conell very slowly raised his hands, placing them on the back of his head and turning around. There tucked into his waistband was the Glock. The handle visible as it had been tucked with his t-shirt for easy access.

“I'm going to have to insist on keeping the S.M.G, but I'll keep it on my back.”