Welcome to Gaia! ::

Jean-Mark placed his sign up against the wheel of his Range-Rover and pulled out his cellphone, checking for a picture file that Will had sent him. He pulled it up and checked it against Richie's face. This was definitely one of the new ones. Jean-Mark put his phone away. "Bonjour. My name is Jean-Mark, I am with the Canadian
Bureau for Survivor Re-Settlement." Jean-Mark idly lit a cigarette and slid it into his mouth, "My supervisor, Will, got your information off of the checkpoint you were just in and sent it to me." Jean-Mark puffed on the cigarette, "My job is to show you places you can move into, places you can't go and most importantly, figure out if you're ready to re-join the surviving work-force or if you need time to recover from the shell-shock syndrome some people get from the wastes."

((Jean-Mark is Quebecois, but his name is spelt mark, not marc he's not parisian, he's from Canda))
Jean-Mark couldn't help but chuckle a bit at the woman's outburst, "Madame, je comprends que vous n'avez pas de nourriture, vous êtes fatigués et n'ont pas de fournitures, c'est ce que le CBSR est pour nous d'évaluer votre situation, fournir une aide selon les exigences que votre situation implique." Jean-Mark replied to the woman. Still chuckling a bit.

Adam rode up the street in his gold colored 2001 Pontiac Montana, his family's van. It wasn't tricked out like every other survivor's vehicle, but all he had was the windows reinforced with metal bars him that his old group has salvaged from the high school's metal shop. He was lucky the teacher put in a order before the infection hit.

The front of the van was damaged and blood stained from the corpses he ran over on his way to Toronto. He was lucky the van didn't crap out on him the entire ride up to Toronto with all the undead creeps he hit. The was probably at least a hunk of body part somewhere in the van's grill. Adam didn't know how to fix a vehicle if one did break down, so he would have to walk if that happened.

Being the zombie freak Adam was, he had burned at least 5 disks worth of music, which he called his "Zombie Apocalypse Disk Set". He was listening to one of the songs right now in the van. The song was called "Electric Worry" by Clutch. He had plenty of other songs, but he had only a few songs that were light and relaxing for ride. The rest were used to put in the red boom box he took from home to bring zombies to him when he felt bored. It was just loud enough that he could only hear it in the van.

Adam checked the van's gas gauge, which was reading almost empty. "Great. I guess the gas I was saving for molotovs is going into the van." he thought as he clenched his teeth and grunted. He put his foot on the break and the van slowly stopped on Main Street. Adam shut the van off, took a shotgun, loaded it, and slipped it over his back. He then grabbed his MK 23, that was on the passenger seat, and checked the clip. "6 shots left" he thought to himself. Between each gun, there was about 9 shot in total. He finally grabbed his 4' lead pipe and exited the van.

He went over to the trunk, and popped it open. In the trunk was his red duffel bag, which contained a a single box of buck shot, which was nearly empty, 4 empty 9mm clips, and about 8 beer bottles. He had some torn up shirts in the duffel bag too, which he used as rags to light the molotovs. A crushed and empty match box was inside it too. HE lit the molotovs with a lighter he stole from a convenience store a few kilometers back.

Adam put on his surgical mask, his safety glasses, and grabbed the gas can that was strapped to one of the sides of the trunk. He closed the trunk, leaned his pipe against the side of the van, and started filling the gas tank.

Maryse's fair, freckled face reddened. "Et pour nous mettre au travail?!" she shouted, "Après tout ce que nous avons vécu?! Epargnez-moi votre sympathie faux. C'est tout comme les militaires. C'est tout comme mon oncle." She hadn't really expected to be allowed to sit around and do nothing for the rest of her days, but she was outraged that the military would send someone to see whether or not they could be put to use so soon after they'd escaped the wastes.

What's worse, it reminded her of how her uncle had put her to use shortly after she'd moved in with him. Shortly after her mother had died.

Richie watched in confusion as they conversed, then stepped between them when things looked like they were getting too heated. "I don't know what the ******** you two are saying," he said, "but I hope it's nothing bad." He turned to the man and continued, "Look, guy, we're not looking for trouble. I appreciate that you have orders to show us around and then enslave us, but if you're going to try and start something, the two of us will leave. Try explaining that to your superiors. So, let's just cool our boat and take some deep breaths. Then you can start speaking English again and do your job."

Maryse hit him. "Idiot!" she said. "We can't leave! It's more dangerous out there than it is in here."

Damon decided to spoke up."Excuse me ma'am for the intrusion,but thats depending on what you fear more.What remains of a corrupt government trying to control your life or zombies attempting to kill you."He said smoothly turning to face them."To me this place is more dangerous than the place I just left,but we cant all be hating government types."

Damon smiled a bit and shrugged.he figured what he said made sense even if it was kind of dangerous.he realized what a stupid mistake he made leaving his partner back at that hospital.But of course he wouldn't run to her side at this moment but he would soon."I find that the military is too controlling here.they made me turn over my guns,which upsets me somewhat but if you enjoy having a somewhat paranoid miniature government control you then okay but if not i dont know what to say."he said finally his fingers tracing his pistol's barrel.

Chris heard the footsteps outside, and grabbed his .22 bolt action rifle. He had been alone for several weeks now, and had been temporarily hiding out in the hospital until he could figure out what to do next. He was down by the entrance of teh hallway in the main lobby when a man burst through the doors, yelling something. Chris immediately did a combat roll behind a row of chairs, pointing his rifle at the man, using the chairs both for cover and to sturdy the rifle. He was relieved that it was another human, both because there was a possibility that he was friendly, and if he wasn't, then he could easily kill him without a headsot.

"What the **** are you doing in here?! Who the **** are you?! Answer me right now!" Chris shouted at the man as he aimed at the man's chest.

(with permission to join of course)

Chris realized that if the guy was hostile, he would have fired first, instead of introduce himself. He didn't take the gun being drawn offensively, as it was a survivors instinct.

"Well, how's it goin'?" Chris said, lowering his rifle as he stood up, making his way over to Adam, extending hsi hand and speaking with a friendly tone, "Name's Chris, Chris Cross. Don't laugh at the name. It may be funny soundin' but it ain't funny when I make fun of your name. It's weird, havin' the same last name as me. Too bad I'm an only child, as well as my mother and father. So, we ain't related. I was the proud employee of a Blockbuster before everythin' went south. That don't mean I'm not a good shot though. I spent my spare time at the range or huntin', back when I was in the southern United states that is."

Maryse regretted hitting Richie the moment she did it. He lost his balance and fell to the floor. The words 'I'm sorry' immediately leaped into Maryse's mind, but she didn't say them. She couldn't say them. She'd always had a problem with apologizing. She'd always had a problem with admitting that she was wrong. It was a matter of pride, or something of the sort. So she stood there. She stood there and let Richie help himself up. She stood there and watched.

"What the hell!" he said, "I didn't mean leave the GTA! I meant here, this spot. And just ignore this guy. You think I'd prefer out there to in here?" He couldn't get up without applying pressure to his injured leg. He screamed in pain. Maryse winced at the sound.

Just then, a bystander spoke up. "Excuse me, ma'am, for the intrusion, but that's depending on what you fear more: what remains of a corrupt government trying to control your life or zombies attempting to kill you." He turned to face them, smiled. "To me, this place is more dangerous than the place I just left, but we can't all be hating-government types. I find that the military is too controlling here. They made me turn over my guns, which upsets me somewhat, but if you enjoy having a somewhat paranoid miniature government control you, then okay. But if not, I don't know what to say."

Maryse rolled her eyes. "Idiot," she said under her breath, "I'd take my chances with other people than with zombies, any day." With that, she turned to Jean-Mark. "D'accord, Jean-Mark," she said, "D'évaluez notre situation. Évaluez la situation d'une femme et un garçon qui peut à peine se tenir sur ses deux pieds."

She grinned slyly. She was sure he'd find them unsuitable for most jobs.