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<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000"><b>July 30th | 13:35 | Fresno Suburbs </b></span>​</div><br/><i>"Shit man...I didn't know you got seizures.....If you're runnin low on that, we gotta get you more. Same with whatever else you need dawg. I've got a feeling it's only gonna get harder to find this shit the longer we wait. Looters have been hittin stores all over, and things are getting crazier out there every day."</i><br/><br/>Clearing his throat, Malakai silently agreed with everything being said, however a bit surprised his friend misplaced the memory of his seizures as the man had helped him through one before... Perhaps Marcus had been drunk? Shaking the thought away, as it was useless now, the yet-to-respond tattooed man eyed his friend as his weight shifted.<br/><br/>Marcus stood from the couch and walked over to the window, stepping through the strewn about items on the floor.<i>"I heard gunshots not but 10 minutes before I got here,...Look, I know you want to have a good grasp on the situation, but damn man, I don't think that ever gonna happen. Especially not sittin around in here dawg. Did you hear the gunfire earlier? It was automatic. Could be military, and if that's the case they might have some sorta safe space we can go to. They would have the info that the government aint sharing with the people, and they would have weapons too man. I don't know what you got round here, but like you said, I need somethin to hold my own with."</i><br/><br/>Marcus walked back over to Malakai, and sat down beside him.<i>"I think we gotta get out of here while we still can. I sure as fuck don't wanna, but the streets look clear. If we go towards that gunfire, I mean, I guess there's a chance we get shot... And you know, them things ran that direction... But......But shit I mean what the fuck else we gonna do?"</i><br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#808080">"You're right.. about all of it.. I am not sure what the fuck I was doing to be honest.." </span>Malakai began softly with a voice deeper than to be expected from a man of his stature. As Marcus began sipping once more upon that near-skunky beer and plopping back down upon the couch, Malaki pushed upward to stand.<br/><br/><i>"You just let me know when you ready. Cause fuck it, I could use some excitement in my life."</i><br/><br/>Trudging through his own clutter, the former military man turned night-life enthusiast, disappeared into his bedroom. The sound of a sliding closet door could be heard along ridged carpeting in tune to the rustling of clothing and boxes filled with something Marcus may recognize as almost plastic sounding in nature.. But moments later and these interesting sounds became more and more dis-jointed and muffled. Malakai had drawn out a weapon he'd chosen to originally leave behind - A Benelli M40 Super 90 tactical shotgun, ones used in law enforcement and military...  This one was matte black in color and cherry-topped with a small recon optic and graced with a thick leather shoulder strap adorned with pouches of extra shells. In his hands it made Malakai look the part - the soldier he'd been, despite his current fashion .. though it also tickled some not so pleasant memories.<br/><div class="bbCodeSpoiler">
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</div><br/>Running a hand over the weapon he then grasped its pump action in his right hand, firmly, smoothly racking the weapon up and down one time to chamber a live shell already set to be utilized.. Almost instantly, however, he regretted the action - that moment of bad-assery - as his shoulder reminded him of why such things were not fun to do anymore.. A soft groan of pain and Malakai shook his head, rubbing the now throbbing arm with his free hand before walking the weapon out to the living room and presenting it carefully to his friend.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#808080"> "You ever fired one of these? It's all I got.. Wasn't going to take it.. too heavy with my current pack.. It's close quarters, however..."<br/>
</span><br/>Once the weapon was taken possession of, Malakai sighed. It felt as if a whole ton of memories left his grasp just then.... something he'd never get back should the gun disappear - which honestly seemed like a high probability the longer the events outside went unchecked..  Yet did he really enjoy the memories that weapon had given him?<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:gray">"About the medications... My anti-seizure drugs and pain management... I had to get from specialized facilities by the V.A... we would need to hit up a V.A Pharmacy near downtown to even hope of getting more. Besides all they do is restrict the number of occurrences... not stop them completely... which brings me to a matter of, well... life or death.."</span><br/><br/>Not really expecting to be having this conversation, as in most cases he'd just call up an ambulance to go to the hospital, or ride out an episode... Now?<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:gray">"Look, I will put it to you straight.. If I have an episode on the run... You have a choice to make. If I don't recover in less than 60 seconds you pull my sidearm.. and you put  a bullet right between my eyes."</span>The tone became serious, dark.. Perhaps uncomfortable as Malakai moved into the kitchen and began bottling up his medications as if this conversation were as simple as picking out a dinner.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)">"I refuse to fall to whatever that shit is out there... Or get fucking <i>eaten</i> either..  Your other choice? Should we be in a situation where we can ride out the seizure episode... Put me in a closed space.. and run. I would be nothing but a burden on your survival. Leave me with my rifle, some basics, and take what you need to flee with. If I survive the episode.. I will find you."</span><br/><br/>His eyes lifted then.<br/><br/>Was the veteran serious just then? So young to have such a powerful grasp on reality...