The Damage Has Been Done (Markiplier)

Chapter 29: Specialist Trujillo/Broken Hearted Girl

Mark's POV.

"So what about-" I began to say. Until there was a loud banging on the door. Sam put her hand over my mouth before I could say anything else. She lowered her voice to a barely audible whisper.

"Don't say anything. You have to go hide. Now."

"Who is that?" I asked in the same low volume, once Sam pulled her hand away.

"The raiders. They must know someone is staying here." She jumped hearing another loud bang on the door.

"Raiders? You can't deal with them alone. You should go hide, I'll figure it out."

"No." More loud pounding on the door.

"I'm giving you three seconds to consider your options, realize that I'm the adult here, you should let me take care of this, and go hide. One. Two. Thr-"

"Fine. Please be careful. There's at least five of them most of the time."

"Got it. Now get out of here."

Sam got up from the couch and ran off into the back of the house she'd been staying in. I got up and went to the door, taking a deep breath and opening it. Once I opened the door, three men pushed me out of the way and one pinned me against the wall while the others tore apart the livingroom. He wore a full military uniform with a buzz cut and looked like he hadn't shaved in a week. A rifle sat on his back. His dark brown eyes wreaked of hatred and anger as he looked over to the two in the livingroom, keeping me still against the wall at the door. I looked to his nametag on his uniform reading off 'Trujillo' in my head. Trujillo...

"Ricky, c'mon man. This isn't necessary," I spoke at a low tone.

"How do you know my name?" he asked, pushing his arm harder against my chest.

"Mark Fischbach." Just like that. Realization slapped him in the face.

"Don't you dare. He's dead."

"Bitten. But alive. You're squishing him, Rick."

"Mark is dead. I saw him. Over a week ago. He's dead. Don't you fucking dare call yourself his name. I will not hesitate to kill you."

"Then I'd really be dead. C'mon, man. Let up. I know my hair is a mess and I'm not wearing my glasses and I seriously need to shave this scruff off my face, but think about it. Mark Edward Fischbach. Thomas Fischbach. Ricky Joe Trujillo Jr. You're a PIC at Oil Can Henry's and a Specialist in the National Guard for god sake. You've got a younger sister, Randi, two older brothers, Jason and Patrick, and a younger brother, Zachary."

"No, shut up already."

"Before I cuddle attack you. Let up. This'll ruin the pink dress plan if you murder me." Inside jokes should work in my favor.

"How do you know about that?"

"I'm telling you, I'm Mark. Believe me. That's two of the many inside jokes we have."

"Hey, Trujillo! Over here!" one man spoke in a husky voice. Ricky grabbed the collar of my shirt and pulled it to my shoulder, seeing the bite. There's my proof that I was who I claimed to be. Ricky still wasn't amused though. He dragged me over to his 'friends'.

"What's up, Jay?"

One guy with shaggy brown hair, blue eyes, standing at around six feet tall and wearing a black hoodie, jeans fraying at the knee and black Niké hightop sneakers held up a blue jacket. Sam's. Crap, this is bad. Jay got in my face and held up the jacket.

"Where is she?" he asked.

"Who?" I questioned back, playing dumb.

"Unless you're wearing a teenage girl's sweatshirt, you can figure it out. So I'll ask again. Where is she?"