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[h3][color=00aeef][i][b]Emanuel "Manny" Newman[/b][/i][/color][/h3]
[i][b][color=00aeef]Location:[/color][/b][/i] Apartment 1D
[i][b][color=00aeef]Skills:[/color][/b][/i] N/A
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	Manny found himself in his room alone with his thoughts. He had had the chance to calm down, and was thankful for not lashing out. Years ago, even now at times, he found he had issues showing restraint in many cases. He wondered if apart of it was built of anger, or had something to do with how he used to let out Anger. How in his teenage years, and in his early twenties he would take his anger out physically on people who would cross his path. But there were other moments, little blips here and there of his slip ups of when he had started to lose his temper. Or worse, had lost it. He had snapped on the way to the funeral, but thankfully not to an extreme degree. Then there were those extreme moments, ones where he had enough and was willing to go rather far. The people that had wiped out his old settlement. The Edenites who had locked him in a cage. The men who jumped him while he was in medical school. The drunk who threatened his home.

	Though there was justification in every case, he always wondered if he had gone too far. He looked at his reflection against the rain strewn window, and looking at his face he came to a bit of a realization. He was not the man he was all of those years ago. He had to learn a lot of lessons the hard way, and many still to learn. Sure, he could handle a medical unit rather well, but his temper still flared up from time to time. Socially, he had adjusted poorly to what most people had gotten used to nowadays. And even by many standards of the old world he was starting to struggle with, likely due to lack of social exposure beyond his small group of survivors. A mini tribe almost. Sure, he wasn't perfect at it, but he had his place then. He was getting the idea of how his people needed their attention, and when to give a break. But he had a lot to get used too again. Sure, he would have easier times adjusting then others, but he still had adjustment to do anyways. He continued to look at himself in the reflected window. He had fucked up, but he was ready to move on with the day and fix it up. When he had more time later, he would need to give Alexander a better apology. He stepped back into the main room of the apartment and straitened his collar, ready to take on the day yet again. 


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[h3][color=00a651][i][b]Hunter Monroe[/b][/i][/color][/h3][i][b][color=00a651]Location:[/color][/b][/i]  Jail (AA) Cell B
[i][b][color=00a651]Skills:[/color][/b][/i]N/A
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	Hunter opened his fingers independently, and closed them all independently as he listened to Cage. His warden had explained a lot and Hunter was slow to process a lot of it. Worried he missed some as he spoke, he tried to pace his thoughts, but it seemed to do little to help. But he listened to Cage and thought about his situation. It was hard for Hunter despite the last two weeks to not compare this place to the shambled remains of the army in those last days, it was hard to not compare this place to how friendly Don and his crew was at first too. Things were rough, but they seemed so... Nice. Even when they weren't. When the National Guard tore itself apart, Lieutenant Anderson did his best to make a final difference. And the men who took his place wasted it. When Hunter felt alone and abandoned, he was taken in by a band of raiders who would later show their true colors to him. And later face all of their punishments. Though a lot of what Cage made sense, they had been good to him and Izibell. Even if rather strict and strange. But it was hard not to see every single suspicious thing as a red flag. Every off comment, every subtle armed guard, everyone he didn't know eyeing him, every threat, every friendly face. 

	Mostly. He turned his attention over to Izibell who had made herself comfortable ass end on his pillow. He wondered what it said about him when the person he trusted most was the dog who was currently using the place he put his head at night as an ass pillow. He let out a deep sigh. These people were far from perfect, and far from ideal of what he would call a utopia. But they had little reason to be seen as a threat. Despite it all, he was taken care of. And given time to adjust to things again, maybe he could leave on good terms and find a place he fits in better. Or maybe he'd learn to adjust? It was all a weird thought. He wasn't even sure what he thought an ideal settlement or home would be. He had seen countless settlements, but nothing of their lifestyles. Just... their empty husks. Outside of Don's crew, and the settlements he had gotten into conflict with, Hunter hadn't experienced much of any settlements outside what the ones that had fallen left behind. He wondered if that was something to add to his to do list, figure out what kind of home he actually wants. Would help if he remembered much of the list, but trying to memorize things by thinking it over and over had helped little.

	Cage returned with the food, and Hunter did his best to hide the mixed feelings of stress and deep thought. He dropped off food for both himself, and Izibell. He took the moment to utter a simple "[color=00a651]thank you[/color]" Before Cage left. He had about 20 minutes to decide what he might need before the trial. He found himself unsure. The most complicated thing he needed before he entered camp was decent lighting while attempting to read a first aid book to treat nearly ruined fingers, while passing out from the pain nearly every time he tried something. But after that? He found bullets were enough to solve his problems for the most part. Then he thought of how he must have looked coming in. How underweight he was wouldn't show through the layers he was wearing despite the heat, but he was armed to the teeth ready or any kind of fight. Over a hundred rounds of mixed ammunition, an M4 carbine that even though it needed some attention, did the job well enough. The visible grip of the sawed off shotgun for easy reach "[i]Just in case[/i]". A sidearm to add to it, and a decent quality axe if somehow all that failed. But not one bit of food, no more spare water. Surviving off gutter scraps, little raw meat Izibell could sometimes bring, and the ever so rare looted food that wasn't picked clean.  He was ready for any fight, but was losing none the less. He had no idea what he needed then, and he was worried he didn't now.