The nightmare is always the same...
Replaying those first few hours of the outbreak over and over again in his head. Sometimes subtle differences would allow him to realize he's dreaming, simple changes such as Delilah speaking to him while laying dead. Surrounded by her own blood, yet her mouth would move to form words. But no matter the amount of times he says 'Its going to be okay,' and 'I love you' she never makes a sound. Just as she stops moving the dream shifts, now allowing him to stare down at Calley. His hands covered in her blood and the rage inside of him builds to a boiling point. He hears the sound of his son crying, but its warped and overtaken by the buzzing in his head. His final thoughts turn to Eric, and the flashing red light coming from a scanner being pointed at the back of his head, and just before the dream ends he finds himself looking through his sons eyes and feeling the cold metal of a gun being pressed to his head.
He wakes up to the sound of a gunshot and the taste of blood in his mouth. His bottom lip is cracked and split, he must have bitten it in his sleep. Marcel pushes aside the pile of ragged blankets, shifting to sit and rest his head in his hands. A splitting headache forms almost instantly. He takes a swig of water from a chipped mug thats been sitting by his bed for the past few days. Washing away the leftover taste of blood.
Theres no reason to concern himself over the gunshot, whether it was in his head or in the streets doesn't matter much in that moment. Instead of worrying over something thats out of his control he stands and gets dressed in something a little more suitable. His usual outfit consisting of some pretty ragged jeans and a shirt thats barely more than a scrap of fabric. He layers on another less torn up gray t-shirt and a tan anorak jacket over that. After a moments debate he tucks a knife into one of the inner pockets of the jacket. He stands, boots squeaking against the dirty tiles on the floor in an annoying way up until the point he hits carpet. He pauses just beside a broken window and looks out, glancing up at the dreary sky.
Its going to start pouring any moment now.
"Sleep well?" Pete asks, looking up at Marcel as he passes by the wooden table he has set up in the middle of what should have been a living room. Pete is situated on a dangerously rickety looking chair, made from pieces of scrap wood. His mud-caked feet are propped up on the table. Marcel doesn't bother saying anything, opting for smacking the young man on the back of the head as he passes. Pete scowls but removes his feet.
The kid is a nuisance; a former friend of Erics and the only one to have survived their final adventure beyond the Zone walls. After watching his friends get slaughtered by the Soldiers he had nowhere else to go, and against Marcels better judgment he offered a place to stay just until the kid could find something more suitable. Unfortunately the kid took that as a 'stay here for as long as you want' instead of what it was meant to be. Marcel can't say he minds too much and despite his face being a constant reminder of Eric, he tolerates the kids presence. In the least he knows how to clean up after himself and doesn't bother Marcel all that much.
"I'll take that as a no," He says. Petes eyes following Marcel for a short few seconds, then drifting back to a magazine in his lap once he gets the hint that Marcel isn't in the mood to be talking. On his return to the table he takes a seat across from Pete, noticing an envelope has been placed directly in the middle of the table. "Oh yeah, found that earlier." Pete says, "Its addressed to you."
Marcel can clearly see that- his name clearly written in looping letters across the front. He almost doesn't want to open in, wondering if its a summons for outside work duty. That would be just his luck, and a clearly horrible way to start off an already horrible day. Running a hand through the scruff on his face he looks up at Pete expectantly.
"Look man I didn't read it," Pete answers, as if Marcel had asked the question already. His hands up in a mock defensive way. Marcel scoffs, clearly in disbelief. "You expect me to think you didn't read it? I know you better than that Peter." Pete winces at the use of his full name, but relents with a small sigh.
"Sorry man, just read it." He urges.
Marcel makes an annoyed noise, but quickly opens the letter and scans it over quickly. It isn't exactly what he was expected, but somehow its no less worse.
Dear Marcel Bairse,
We've been watching over you the past week. Your skills have attracted us to use you, along with selected others, for a mission that could change the outcome of your future. Meet at the brick building on Main Street, second floor, 10:00 PM tonight, and we will be waiting for you. We're counting on you, survivor. Don't let us down, or there may be dire consequences.
Continue to Look for the Light
- The Fireflies
Who do these pricks think they are? His face must show that hes angry, because Pete makes a small waving motion and leaves the room before Marcel can even do anything. He isn't angry in a dangerous way, no, his anger is directed more towards the fact that instead of approaching Marcel they sent a damned letter - and they were apparently spying on him for an entire week. He can't believe he didn't notice them, and thats what really sets him off. Paranoia worming its way to the forefront of his mind, he crumples the letter and tosses it into a nearby waste basket. He clenches his fist and attempts to reign in some control. An entire week, an entire f***ing week.
Eventually though his curiosity outweighs his anger and he thinks over the proposition. For some strange reason the Fireflies saw something in Marcel that made them choose him, for what he didn't know but it was no less pleasing to think that his skills were enough to get their attention. After a moment of contemplation his stands and picks the crumpled paper out of the basket and unfolds it, scanning over the time and place again. He decides in that moment that if anything he would at least show up and see what all the fuss is about.
"So are you going?" Pete asks, peering at him from the doorway leading into the room he sleeps in. Marcels grin is mirthless, eyebrows raised "Thought you didn't read it?" He asks, tossing the note back in the basket and turning to face the front door. He doesn't bother answering Petes question, not wanting to give him any reason to beg to come along with him. He pauses to pick up his beat up backpack, though its empty he knows its better to keep it with him just in case.
Then he leaves, a lingering question in his mind: 'Why do they need me?'
After killing a few hours he makes his way to Main Street, the rain having begun quite a while before. His eyes roam over the buildings, searching for the correct one. Once he finds it he quells the racing thoughts in his head. Taking the steps two at a time until hes standing at the door. Unsure if hes supposed to knock or not, he chooses to simply open it and step in. He roams the building for a couple of minutes until finding a room on the second level that seems to be occupied by quite a few people.
His eyes are at first drawn to Eileen, though he doesn't know her theres no possible way he could have mistaken her for anyone else. Not with her face plastered on wanted signs on walls all over the Zone. Next his gaze lands on a dark haired woman who seems just about as out of place here as he does. Lastly he catches sight of a petite blond, her young features taking him by surprise.
"Whats this all about?" He asks, eyes turning back to Eileen. His tone conveying mild annoyance and trace amount of anger from earlier.