Logain chuckled, though there was a touch of darkness in his chuckle. "Paintballed when I could. Taggin' a terrorist was something that came in close second." Logain turned his attention back to Ruben, his smile gone. "Name's Lo-GAIN, not Logan." The ex-Marine emphasized the pronunciation of his name with a little unneeded force. "Most mispronounce it anyways, usually a Yankee."
Logain took a sweep of the room and shook his head. "While I can understand y'all's desire to stay alive, especially if the manner o' death is so fuckin' bloody, you'll run low on supplies, then ammo, then nerve, then you'll die. While I ain't got a place for you to go, you might want to reconsider staying in a hell hole like New York. Find a good vehicle, load up, head inland. Smaller towns seem to fair better. Not as many potential zombies to have to handle, I guess."
Logain pulled a small metal container from one of his tactical pockets and took a swig before offering it to Ruben. "Think you can handle Texas poison?"
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Duty is heavier than a mountain, death is lighter than a feather.
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