<strong>Name: </strong>Jack Hearth<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Parking Lot of the School<br/><strong>Wearing:</strong>Fully suited up in bike armor and accoutrements<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Survivor Group,  Open<br/><br/><strong>"Don't worry too much about it, Mike.  It worked out fine this time. Just practice, and you'll get used to it." </strong>He said, in his usual, dispassionate tone.<br/><br/><strong>"As far as gas is concerned, give me enough time, and I can figure out how to siphon it off. But, that's not the real problem. The fact is, give it a full year, and the gasoline will break down. It's refined and given so many additives, once they start to break down, the whole mixture stops working properly. A year, at most, I figure, before the gas goes bad. If we get a stockpile and mix it with fuel stabilizer, it might be stretched out to fifteen months, but that's in a best case scenario. Might have to make the switch to solar."</strong><br/><br/>As he spoke, ever wary of their vulnerable position, he caught sight of Chris. She might notice him tense up, but after only a few moments, the tension seemed to ease away. He didn't really know her, but that just meant she was more likely to be a solid person, and not a lunatic looking for an excuse to act up. The fact she carried her rifle the way she did also did wonders to put him at ease, though it made him wonder if he shouldn't try to learn if the opportunity presented itself.<strong>"Yeah, trouble. Their leader's got a sub-machine-gun, and isn't afraid to use it." </strong><br/><br/>Then, his attention turned to Madelyn, though some may note he doesn't seem to be giving her his full attention; he didn't give it to everyone. He was too busy surveying their surroundings. Call him paranoid, but hey, he did just have a gun pulled on him.<strong>"Yeah. I'm Jack. And don't worry about it. I've got a spare floating around my apartment, somewhere. Besides, I know how to properly clean out the stains." </strong><br/><br/>As Tristyn drew near, he might notice that Jack is still holding a folding knife that is locked in an open position, ready for use. The way in which he held it, was good for keeping it obscured, but as Tristyn was likely to have some familiarity with such things, or might just be in that 'sweet spot' where he could see the glint of metal, he might make note of it.<br/><br/>Jack, apparently deciding that in this day alone he should speak more than he has in an entire year of school, decides to answer the question he poses. "<strong>Shit hit the fan, that's what. A lot of people are comatose. Their's no law, no order, and the hooligans around here are taking advantage of it to wreak all the havoc they want. That group you probably saw, the baseball team? They were ready to beat me and Billy to death with baseball bats over his car. Then, when I made it a point to introduce them to my friend,"</strong>at this point, he showed the knife to everyone, as he closed it and stuck it back into his pocket.<strong>"Their leader decided to pull a sub-machine-gun on me. Needless to say, I beat feet." </strong><br/><br/>He moved slightly away from the group, and got to his motorcycle. He checked over it, and then began to push it closer to the group. He would put the stand down, and sit on it, looking around some more. He took the keys out of his pocket, and stuck them in the ignition, but kept the Dyna Wideglide off for the moment. Still, he looks like he's ready to get up and go at a moments notice.<strong>"If nobody else has an idea about it, I recommend we reconvene elsewhere. My apartment's not much, but it has enough room for us all, plus a few others... might be a bit cramped. But I've got quite a lot of things there that can help us out. Plus, it's second floor, and the stairs are narrow. Gives a good tactical advantage if anybody shows up looking for trouble." </strong>