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<b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">July 30th | 13:00 | Fresno Suburbs <br/>
</span></b>​</div><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#bfbfbf"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff">Unexpected pounding on his front door, which hadn't so much as been touched in days, startled him from his state of steady gun gleaning into a state of short-lived panic. The moment this passed, the disassembled weapon in his hand was set upon the small coffee table in front of him and his .45 side arm snapped up. </span></span><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#bfbfbf"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff"></span></span><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#bfbfbf"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff"><i>"Yo, Malakai you alive in there? It's Marcus. I would really appreciate your help dawg!"</i></span></span><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#bfbfbf"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff"></span></span><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#bfbfbf"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff">Well the voice was muffled through the door, yet he knew the name and the man it belonged to.. How the hell he'd made it here and through his apartment complex, however, was nothing short of a bit suspicious.. Until the knocking and plead became a wee bit more urgent.</span></span><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#bfbfbf"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff"></span></span><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#bfbfbf"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff"><i>"I swear to god you best <b>open up!</b> I'mma kick yo ass if you ignoring me right now man! C'mon!"</i></span></span><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#bfbfbf"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff"></span></span><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#bfbfbf"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff">Malakai briskly jogged to the door and unlocked its flimsy deadbolt, leaning against the cool wood for a moment with weapon poised for a breach before taking down a deep breath..  <span class="fixed-color" style="color:gray">"Better not be bringing any of whatever those things are in there with you when I open this fuckin' door, Marcus.."</span> he warned with a hushed yet stern voice before quickly yanking open the door.</span></span><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#bfbfbf"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff"></span></span><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#bfbfbf"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff">Like the trained militant he'd been, the movement was sharp, and JUST enough to allow the huskier dark-skinned man to slip through the threshold whilst Malakai covered him with a hungry pistol out into the outside world.. which he hadn't seen in days.  His eyes rested upon what started Marcus - the pinned girl between two cars trying to escape - and the uncertainty only grew as he'd been unsure if these things remembered how to come up stairs or not...</span></span><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#bfbfbf"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff"></span></span><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#bfbfbf"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:gray">"Just how the fuck did you even <b>get</b> here, Marcus?"</span> he questioned, shutting the door and locking it while setting his weapon on the kitchen counter as he moved to grab a couple of drinks from a fridge now suffering a bad case of 'burned out light bulb.'</span></span><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#bfbfbf"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff"></span></span><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#bfbfbf"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff">It be clear to see the man was unwell in his train of thoughts - bottles of medication were set up along the kitchen counter, should Marcus look (despite it being in plain sight), with sticky notes labeled by medication type, expiration date, and amounts. Some of them were worryingly low and some he seemed to have quite a bit of stock on..  </span></span><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#bfbfbf"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff"></span></span><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#bfbfbf"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff">Peering down the hallway to his bedroom all Marcus would see is a random tattering of strewn about clothing, as if he'd pit picked what was useless and what wasn't, and his military bag. Other weaponry wouldn't be instantly visual just then, and the flat screen TV had a constant low drum of the news.. which seemed to be more repeats of the same old emergency broadcast system than anything new.. Any new information view news seemed to come in less and less as the days went by, as well as how easy his power stayed connected..</span></span><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#bfbfbf"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff"></span></span><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#bfbfbf"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff">Even as he handed Marcus a disgusting Pabst beer with an apologetic frown Malakai couldn't help but wonder what was next.. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:gray">"I'm not about to go running out there right now, Marcus.. Not until I get a more firm grasp on the situation."</span></span></span><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#bfbfbf"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff"></span></span><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#bfbfbf"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff"></span></span>