[b]Johnathan Grimm 

Detroit Michigan

0500[/b]

As Marc climbed down to the ground level of the building John sighed heavily while looking at his rifle.He did a quick daily check for rust, dirt and other defects. Upon completion he slid the action and looked into the magazine to ensure there was still 4 rounds in the magazine. He slid the action forward with a nice solid clink, a sound he'd come to love.

John lowered himself to a prone position at a window. He placed himself inside a shadow to ensure that no glint would be visible from his scope as he watched Marc from afar. He could now see Marc walking out of the building walking with a slight haste. John brought the rifle up to his shoulder and the familiar smells of the oak and gun powder rushed into his nostrils. For half a second he remembered the times he used to take this rifle hunting with his Dad. John kicked the idea from his head; he had no time for idle recollection. Looking through the scope of his rifle he scanned the area ahead of Marc watching for any kind of movement. Sometimes he wondered why he did this since no one ever went into the damn zones. At least, if they did they didn't live long enough to make it out alive.

Several minutes passed and Marc was about a mile away now. John hated it when he wandered out this far. John [/i]could[/i] put a round through a man’s chest at a mile without much trouble but anything past that was near impossible without a larger caliber round. He looked ahead of him a little farther and could make out what looked to be some kind of military convoy. Grimm knew that was just out of his range and he that it was exactly where Marc was headed.

He sighed and muttered a string of profanity as Marc walked up to the trucks.

Marc had began rummaging through the truck when John noticed a figure moving through the landscape.

"God damn it." John said loudly.

Helga looked back at him rather confused: John didn't speak often and his deep voice was almost startling.

"What is it?"

"That motherfucker’s outside of my effective range. If someone else is in the zone I may or may not be able to shoot them before Mac gets himself killed"

John fiddled with his scope making adjustments for the range. When he looked back through the scope he noticed the figure was gone. He guessed that he was behind one of the trucks. He shifted his view to the far end of the convoy and in a split second he saw Marc turned around with his gun pointed at the figure. The unknown man began setting his weapon on the ground.

"Come on, you son of a bitch, give me an excuse."

While he was witnessing the situation he began to faintly hear the sounds of gunfire and people screaming. A flashback to the memories of the battles before the government fell. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. Grimm reverted to the weapons training he'd been given and modified. He began murmuring to himself again.

"This weapon is an extension of my body. My judgment is quick and my aim is true. My enemies will fall before me. In the name of the all father Odin. Aim, breath, squeeze and kill."

As the altercation appeared to end Marc walked back to the truck and grabbed something. John couldn't tell what but by how quickly Marc moved it had to be something important. He kept his sights on the other man, focusing on keeping his friend safe. The man appeared wiry and looked like he didn't have a lot of experience with weapons by the way he brought his rifle up. Marc was out of the man’s reach now but John still watched jim to see what he was up to. The odd man went to the same truck and grabbed something similar to what Marc had grabbed. He walked off in a hurry as well. 

John let out a slight sigh of relief as he got back up. Suddenly he realized that he hadn't moved in hours and had some personal business to take care of.

John tended to the small fire in an off-room while he waited for Marc. He moved to a different window and watched while Marc decontaminated. .

Time passed with the usual nothing happening and John heard the sounds of Marc stumbling back into the building. Everything else was dead silent. John glanced at Marc and saw the briefcase with the letters "USNA." It caught his attention and when Marc started talking he had to pay attention.

What Marc said came to no surprise to John no reason he could explain.

"If you think we can trust this guy I'll give him a chance. I've known you since we were both scrawny fucks in band in middle school. You and Helga introduce yourselves and get a deal worked out. I'll sit back about a hundred and fifty yards out in case they try anything. Once you know you can trust them call me out and we'll be on our merry little way."

Marc’s face clouded over. “I don’t know if I can trust Jameson. Not…. not anymore. Maybe once, but that was a long time ago. Let’s not take any chances here. Jameson never was alone before and I doubt he’d be alone now. You see which direction he headed in?” Osias hoped Jameson was farther away from Warren than he was. Old friend or not, he who has the advantage usually walks away alive. He didn’t plan to kill Jameson or his friends. It’d be a hell of a lot easier if they could travel together. 

John stared right into the fire, he could feel the heat coming from the fire on the scars on his face. 

“He was headed south-south-west. We stopped in that hole called Taylor on the way up. Same direction. They probably stopped there too.”

One of John’s scars started hurting. It was that one. The one that ran along the bottom of his jaw. He wasn’t very superstitious but every time this scar hurt something bad happened. Not many things frightened John, but this scar hurting was one of them.