[hr][center][h1][color=steelblue]Ashton Holloway[/color][/h1] [img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/bf/24/21/bf242114f2b516cb8b3c311fd773cd87.jpg[/img][/center] [hr][center][b]Location:[/b] Newnan [b]Interacting With:[/b] All present [/center][hr] The din of melee combat rose from behind Ash's group, prompting the battle hardened engineer to raise his Detonix .45 to the rear. The five to their front were far enough off as to not be an immediate threat and could be handled in a moment or two. The sight behind them all was downright disturbing, though he wasn't certain what part about it worried him more: the herd of Living Dead that seemed to spring up noiselessly behind them, or the uncommon battle-rage that had overtaken the resident combat trainer, Caesar. On the one hand, the scattered Dead had noticed their warm, living bodies and closed up the hole they had pushed through, effectively surrounding them. They had the option of fighting a hard fight forward, or wasting bullets to push back. On the other hand, there was pain and anger the likes of which Ashton had never seen on the man, and he was using every piece of it to turn large dead things into several small dead things. The Captain's conscious mind wouldn't let him process what might be the cause of such a reaction, but deep down, honest dread grabbed his stomach with icy claws, pouring venom through him. Pulling up behind the Latino Berzerker was the truck that he and Meghna drove out in this morning, carrying at least one other person. As the truck pulled closer, he could make out the details of Meg's face. She looked worried, and she kept looking to Caesar. Something happened. That feeling of icy dread? Just got worse. Then, pulling up from the rear came the sound of a familiar engine; an alcohol-burning diesel Freightliner. He knew this truck. He built this truck. Some of his blood was in the welding. He had lived in it, worked in it, weilded it as a weapon against a sea of death. The Hordebuster. The halt Ash had called earlier stood, their situation actually much improved from ten minutes prior. He addressed Leann about just this. [color=steelblue]"We have been reinforced. All non-combat can pile in the back of the 'Buster; it's as secure a position as we've got. I want you in there, too. Newnan can stand losing me. It still needs you. We can be at the Infirmary in two minutes. I'll check with 'Lici and James, see what their status is."[/color] The awful feeling continued as Ash jogged past Caesar, the old man giving him a stare of uncertain meaning. Curiosity, morbid and intense, splashed across his brain. His pace quickened. Once he reached the Hordebuster, now just behind Meg's truck, he hopped up the mounting steps and grabbed hold of the window grate with three fingers of his machete hand. [color=steelblue]"Ok, you two are in deep shit, but I'm glad you're here. I need you to swing this big bastard around the truck and run blocker for our unit. Destination's the Infirmary. You're taking on passengers, back in the dump body. You read me? Do you fucking read me, James?"[/color] Ash peered into the cab, noticing a number of people that weren't Alicia. He saw her rifle. He saw her bag. He saw the blank and sorrowful expression on his friend's face, wanting to tell him something but unable to start. His voice grew quieter as he asked a question; one for which he suspected he knew the answer. [color=steelblue]"James. Where is Alicia? Tell me, James. Alicia. Where?"[/color] The slightest twinge of fear colored his voice. Too many details were piling on top of each other. Somewhere far inside the depth of his reason and understanding, he knew. He wouldn't let himself believe outwardly until he heard it confirmed by another, but he knew. [hr][center][h1][color=firebrick]Black James![/color][/h1] [img]https://v.cdn.vine.co/r/avatars/6AE78329E91063505631975227392_pic-r-1396533712688c4afde8ecf.jpg.jpg?versionId=ZnGOSit0zozlhxpJk0w6QVx4cSozVRdq[/img][/center] [hr][center][b]Location:[/b] Newnan [b]Interacting With:[/b] Ash [/center][hr] [color=firebrick]"She gone, man.[/color] he began, voice almost as quiet as Ash's. [color=firebrick]"Dead took her. Whole lot, nothin' we could do. I'm sorry Cap. I'm... I'm so sorry. She made sure these folk got out, though. She died a damn hero."[/color] James was not about to question or abbreviate Ash's orders today. The dazed Captain stumbled from his truck and landed in a heap. James waited until his friend recovered his footing and handed Alicia's sniper rifle down to him. Ash nodded to James, his stone visage betrayed by two vertical streaks of moisture, parting the dust on his face. [color=firebrick]"I know you, Ash. Don't hold it in. Not for too long, anyways. You find me after, we gonna talk, ok?" [/color] The esteemed Mr. Grady handed off Alicia's last clip, then acquiesced to the order of his executive officer, pulling the Hordebuster around and forward to receive guests. [hr][center][h1][color=orangered]Caesar Gonzalez[/color][/h1] [img]http://cdn23.us1.fansshare.com/photos/dannytrejo/machete-danny-trejo-machete-kills-vest-hero-breaking-bad-691917003.jpg[/img][/center] [hr][center][b]Location:[/b] Newnan [b]Interacting With:[/b] No one, with any appreciable communicative skill [/center][hr] Were it possible for his face to become any grimmer, it did the moment he recognized the rifle passed from that monstrosity of a dump truck down to Ash. It was silly name for a man, Ash. The word summarized how Caesar felt, though: Burned down to scrap and twisting in the wind. An involuntary streak of anger shot through him. How dare that man take his girl's rifle? It was never his. M'hija would bootstomp any man that touched her weapon without permission. Taking it, accepting it - it was disrespectful. Caesar's fingers tightened around the hafts of his machetes as if he were bracing for a charge, before he even realized he was harboring this amount of aggression for the man. Wrapped in his thoughts, Caesar barely noticed the man approach until he was right in front of him. That event, of itself, was strange. The grief stricken bladesman, were he inclined to speech, could tell you that there were five remaining Walkers in their general vicinity, plus the telltale shuffling of one in the building across the street. These threats, obvious and unobvious, were completely within his ability to perceive. Perhaps that was why. Decades of experience and an almost preternatural intuition did not identify the man as a threat, overruling his emotional need to open someone from crotch to clavicle and play a rousing session of "Pin The Tail On The Central Nervous System". This man with a stupid name; this man who was not good enough for his daughter in life, and not good enough to carry her rifle now that she was dead, now stood right in front of Caesar. He could see the emotion in Ash's face, but only in the details. Only in the small lines. The Soldier had taken over his psyche, that much was true. But that Soldier had to fight hard to supress the part of him that cared for Alicia. Caesar could tell, and he could recognize pain. The first piece of surprise that penetrated the shell of the former Federale came when Ash held Alicia's sniper rifle out to him. A single tear escaped Ash's cold, emotionless exterior when Caesar reached out to accept it. He still wasn't in full posession of his rational, conscious mind, but he knew that Ash was saying something. In reflection, the gist of the message that got across was, [color=steelblue]"We have a job to do. All of us. We will grieve later, but right now we have to fight, and we have to be smart about it. We need you, Jefe. Please help us."[/color] The younger man with the stupid name that wasn't worth his daughter's time was right. And maybe a good man. [i]Maybe.[/i] Caesar nodded his affirmation and followed him, shouldering his m'hija's weapon. There was a lot of work left to do.