The lobby of the Three Towers Apartment Complex

"... the Secretary of Defense has announced the establishment of a quarantine zone around the city. Our sources say that two whole national guard divisions have been dedicated to this effort, but there has been no official word as to what resources are being utilised, and where the Government is getting them from," the 38 inch wide screen blared away in lobby, as a group of the apartment buildings' inhabitants crowded around it.

The lobby had become a sort of social area, more than it usually was, because no one enjoyed being alone these days. Being alone was a dangerous business.

"Again," the anchor continued on the TV. "we urge our viewers to remain at home, and only to venture outside if absolutely necessary. The CDC is advising that everyone segregates themselves from friends and family who may have contracted the virus... um, we're going live now to Washington, D.C, where the President is due to address the nation."

The room shook suddenly, as the deafening roar of a nearby explosion tore through the airwaves. Automatic gunfire followed in quick succession, and reached an ear drum shattering crescendo within seconds. A war was being waged outside, and the living were losing - badly. The group started to take stock of their situation; it was Hell out there, on the streets. Several other inhabitants had gone to work the day before, and hadn't been seen since. Others had fled the city before the quarantine. In any case, the group wasn't going anywhere in a hurry, not with the National Guard holding firm control over all access points in and out of the city.

"... Is this a military matter, or a health concern?" crackled the TV, showing a room full of reporters besieging the President at his press pedestal. "Both," came his icy reply.

A convoy of police cruisers sped by the front of the building, their blue lights flashing from the darkness, their sirens blaring out the sounds of gun fire, if only briefly. Though, they vanished as quickly as they had appeared. It's wasn't safe outside any more, and it was only going to be a matter of time before the sick people realised that the apartment building was still inhabited. If escape had been ruled out, then the first thing the group wanted to do was fortify the place - making it an unappealing obstacle to the sick and the healthy alike.

Though with seven floors each containing six different apartments, and only a small portion of the residents accounted for, maybe the group would have been better served by checking to see if no one was sick and hiding away. An infected running amok inside the building could prove a fatal dilemma.

"Thanks Dean, keep us updated... Moving onto the 10PM weather forecast," the TV had switched back to the anchor, the president apparently having little to say. "It looks like we have some light rain throughout the night..."

It was going to be a long, long night.

A few blocks away from Three Towers.

Erik Wright

"There's too many of them!"

"Put them down! Put them down!"

"I'm out, I'm fucking out!"

The line of police cruisers, parked haphazardly across Gwen street, was alive with gunfire and panicked screams. S.W.A.T personnel and officers alike were manning their impromptu barricade as if it was the wall of a medieval castle, running this way and that, barking commands, firing off their weapons and pushing back any of the infected that got near them.

They'd done a good job, and had stood much longer than any two-bit National Guard formation would have done. They were all that was left of their precinct, and had been prescribed suicide orders by some National Guard ass hole ten miles away in the Safe Zone. They were to hold the main junction, where Gwen passed over into Evey, and where drone imaging had shown a build up these things moving south.

It had been an hour of chaotic battle - the healthy few facing off against the countless sick. The police had taken few losses, but each felled was a known friend; and there was only one way to deal with a friend afflicted by this disease: A clean shot to the brain.

The sick had piled up against the crooked line of police cruisers, trying to climb over them only to be driven back by a fresh wave of hot lead. The police were taking no prisoners, knowing all too well by this point what they were really up against. They cursed, fired, hit and stabbed at anything that tried to grab hold of them, but it was only a matter of time.

"Wright!" Chief Hornby roared, discharging his 12-gauge at the mangled face of what was once a young woman. Brain fragments splatted him, and he winced briefly. "Wright, where the fuck are you?"

Sergeant Erik Wright appeared from the chaos.

"We're bugging out of here, sergeant," the Chief said, shoving more shells into his weapon. "We're low on ammo, and these fuckers are about to swarm over us. Let the Guard take care of this, I'm not losing any more good men to whatever .... to whatever this is!"

Right on cue, the crowd of infected on the other side of the cruisers reached its critical mass, and one of the vehicles on the far left was pushed steadily to one side - even as three S.W.A.Ts unloaded onto that particular part of the crowd with their submachine guns. The infected stumbled through the gap, grabbing hold of anyone that was too stupid or too petrified to move. The defenders rounded on this breach, unleashing a devastating volley onto the rapidly expanding bulge of sick people. Some fell, others staggered, but most continued as if the bullets meant nothing to them.

The defenders didn't need the Chief to tell them what was what. They fled, jumping in the squad cars that had been parked further back for just such an occasion.

"Sergeant," the Chief yelled, his face red with exertion. He pointed at the nearest cruiser. "Let's get the fuck out of here!"

Erik butted away an infected, and made his way to the cruiser, ignoring the screams of his dying comrades who were not fortunate enough to escape. Chief Hornby wrenched open the passenger side door and threw himself in.

"Drive, damnit, drive!"

Reverend John McDougal saw that the world was going to hell. So he did the only thing he knew how. He prayed. He had locked himself in his office, in the Orthodox church, and drew the curtains, keeping the room dark. However, he knew that he had to leave. Taking everything he could, he unlocked the window, jumped outside, and made his way to the apartment building, where several of his flock had lived. Ducking past gunfire and explosions, which were down the street, illuminating shambling figures in a ball of flame. Just as he made his way to through the doors, the President had appeared on the TV's grainy screen, and gave such a cryptic reply to the reporter's comment, that there was one second of frustrated, angry, rioting reporters, before going back to some tripe about the weather. John looked about the lobby, and saw the scared, tired faces of the people. Some of them he knew from his church, and others, he didn't recognize. Letting the door close behind him, he said, "Is everyone all right? Is anyone missing?"

One of his flock came forward and grabbed him by the arm. "Reverend, most er'body is 'ere, but we don' know if th' upper levels are clear." Rubbing his chin, he thought for a moment. Indecisive in all the chaos, he gathered several members of his church around him. "Let us gather in prayer. Lord, as we gather here today, we ask for your guidance...." As he prayed with his congregation, several of those around them either joined in, or simply snorted and went back to watching the television, the streets, or glancing nervously at the fireball across the street.

30 minutes ago, Three Towers Apartment Complex, Unit 505

Having slept over 20 hours the day before to wake up to her news feed on social media seemingly bombarded with all sorts of gore and grim around the city, coupled with her inbox filled to the brim with messages, Sue still found it unbelievable that so much had happened in such a short time. Distant explosions, screams and gunfire woke her up, which she first assumed was a random YouTube video still running on her computer. Sure, she's read some articles of questionable sources written about the lethality and sheer fantasy of the spread of a certain sickness all around the world which recently hit the States, to which she scoffed at. But now that it's plastered all over her face, she laughs a little as if it was a huge 'joke of the day' or a meme gone wild.

A little sigh and a grumpy moan then came out from her dry throat as the thought of 'wasted effort' flashed pass her mind. After all, the reason for her 20-hour-sleep was caused by sacrificing her sleeping schedule in order to complete her overdue research assignment the night before, which she had procrastinated for a week.

Now staring at the blinding monitor in her dark room with her eyes partially squinted, she began to ponder her next point of action. She glanced over her favorite mug and saw that it was half full with a fragrant chocolate liquid. It was the instant coffee she made to assist her in her assignment night. She took a few gulps from the cold and sweet liquid and decided to assure her loved ones of her safety. Carefully, she choreographed a proper status post to address all well-wishers and concerned individuals. She then stood up and walked over to the window overlooking the street her apartment was on. With her two fingers, she deftly plied the blinds to reveal a peeking slit, only to witness the chaos and frenzy now spreading over the city. She could see quite a distance from the 5th floor of her apartment room.

"Ah Joo-! Are you here?" She raised her voice a little, as she hollered for her housemate.

"Ah Joo!" She hollered again, only to find herself starting to feel worried for her housemate and herself. She opened her room door slowly and peeked outside. A quick glance tells her that there was no one. She proceeded to walk out to the living room, noticing that her housemate's room door was closed and her favorite pair of shoes weren't there.

Sue then gently knocked on her housemate's room, to which there was no reply. She opened the door to find that the room was empty. Worried for the well-being of her housemate, she then returned to her room in order to grab her cellphone. On the screen was multiple missed calls, from her parents and some friends. Apparently she had missed all of it thanks to the ingenuity of 'Silent Mode'. She then proceeded to dial her housemate's cell.

The line was busy.

Grim was on her face as her heart raced a little to the thoughts of whatever that could've happened to her friend. A flash of bravery somehow urged her to venture out and look for her housemate. Without any hesitation, she walked out of her apartment unit and towards the elevator while still in her messy bed-hair and pajamas, which was basically a comfortable grey t-shirt and a pair of black track pants with white stripes on the side.

---

Present Time, Three Towers Apartment Complex, Lobby

As the elevator dinged, the doors opened up to a crowd that has already formed around the lobby's television - all staring and listening intently to the news.

"Again, we urge our viewers to remain at home, and only to venture outside if absolutely necessary..."

Sue cringed at the thought of leaving the apartment building what with the news advising against it. Part of her tells her that she should at the very least, attempt to look for her housemate. But the other half also tells her of the danger it poses if she does. In fact, she could very much be in deep trouble from the panicked crowd and traffic, or she could even meet with a stray bullet - what with the city echoing in gunfire as if it was fireworks going off in festivals. She stood there for a bit as she contemplated a while if she should waltz out, while staring with a deathly glare at the television taking in every bit of information.

Just down the road of the apartment; fleeing police cruiser

Wright hadn’t needed to be told twice. Smugglers? Bring them on. Bank robbers? He could take those. Serial killers? A few men of backup and all would be alright. Zombie things that tore the head off of a novice two feet away from him? Nope, nope.

He stepped on the gas just as a large thud sounded on the top of the vehicle. A hand appeared on the front windshield and began to pound at it. Wright couldn’t shoot at it or the one thing between him and it would be gone… looking at the rearview mirror, he saw what appeared to be the face of a man who could have once been identified as National Guard screeching at him, the ghastly, bloody face illuminated by the headlights another police cruiser that had smashed into the sidewalk, covered in those… things. He kept driving, swerving back and forth in an attempt to get those things off.

He had no choice but to start firing when the thing on the back of the vehicle broke the back windshield. He turned and shot it off, firing three rounds, with one smacking it on the head and sending it flying. Unfortunately, with his attention occupied with the back, he failed to notice the streetlight in front of him.

Slamming into the light and crunching up the hood, he was smacked into the steering wheel. The monster on the windshield fared worse - it smacked into the streetlight, its head bending an impossible angle as it screeched at him and collapsed on the road just by the passenger side door. Grabbing his backpack that had been dropped by a National Guard member prior to his suicide mission advance from the back seat, he fell out of the vehicle with it in his hands, holding up the gun to whatever hell might be coming after him. He got up and started going in the direction of the apartment - he didn’t exactly have a subtle arrival since he slammed into a streetlight just outside the window.

Drew Anderson was hiding behind a pillar next to the front desk, he carried within his calloused hands was several stuff he would find useful in this disaster of a life, a notepad and some pens, which he used to keep track of every person in the entrance area and who wasn't, a large group of the occupants weren't accounted for which had him worry and why he stayed in the lobby instead of hiding away in his room. A crowbar and a box cutter on either side of him within arm's length so if something happens he can protect himself, somewhat. He flipped through cellphone, he had hoped that he missed a call from his sister, heck even his other siblings would be nice to talk to right now, but they might be all dead by now, and if they aren't, they won't be able to reach him soon, if the power goes out here. He kept his eyes on his cellphone, which was the only illumination in his small corner of the lobby, Drew looked over the desk when he hears the front door opening, seeing it the priest, Drew groaned, it was like he was a sign of how doomed they were. And a few moments after that, the elevator dinged and opened with a girl walking out.

Drew has seen the girl a few times, from what he knew she had a roommate, which he had less info on and wasn't sure if they in the lobby with them, but if she came from upstairs, she has to know if anybody was infected or if she has seen anything out of the ordinary. He waved at her to get her attention."Oi, Lass, how are the upper floors?" Drew loudly whispered to the girl.

But he quickly ducked underneath his desk with a yelp as he heard a loud crashing noise from outside. He hid deeper under the desk grabbing his crowbar and box cutter with him. He was petrified with fear and didn't ever want to leave his hiding spot.

Erik Wright

The last few minutes of Chief Hornby's life was a blur. He was in the police cruiser, with sergeant Wright at the wheel, speeding away from a massacre. He'd lost a lot of good officers at that roadblock, many of them he'd known since he was a beat walker himself... and now they were gone; lost to a disease that was the stuff of fiction- no, the stuff of nightmares.

The next thing he knew, Wright was firing blindly towards the back of the car, and the Chief soon saw why. He'd managed to manoeuvre his 12-gauge around just as the car struck something solid, sending him flying through the wind-shield. He hit the concrete hard, rolling several times. His shotgun skidded several feet away from him, and with broken arms he crawled sluggishly towards it just as the sprinting form of sergeant Wright crossed his red-hazed sight.

"Sergeant!" the Chief yelled, his voice racked with pain.

But it was too late, as a pair of cold and grimy hands fell onto the back of his scalp, yanking his head backwards. Chief Hornby screamed in agony as incisors, coated in days-old gore, sunk into his flesh. Other infected, brought by the sound of the crash, joined in the feeding frenzy, ripping the flesh from the police chief's bones as if it were some kind of macabre buffet.

One infected though, an overweight African American with dreads, sensed something... heard something. Footsteps, hitting the pavement hard. It turned slowly towards the apartment building, and though it couldn't see Sergeant Wright, it could smell him. Slowly, it stumbled towards the building, leaving its comrades to feast on Chief Hornby.

"...in these troubled times. Lend us your aid, O Lord, and-" Rev. John was cut off by a loud crashing sound, ghoulish screaming, and several gunshots. Whipping around, the pastor's prayer drifted away as he took in the scene before him. There was a man, staggering in, and by the looks of it, was Sargent Wright, of the local police. John didn't know the man well, but they were acquainted. Throwing open the door, John rushed the man inside, and said, "Sargent! Are you all right? What exactly is going on out there?" Closing the door behind him, John began to ask, "Is there anyone still alive out there?", but was again interrupted by the sound of a crashing sound. This time, however, it was an obese black man, with unkempt dreads, and blood staining his lips and hands, breaking through the glass of the full-length window of the lobby.

Stunned for a moment, the priest was galvanized by the scream of an attractive young Hispanic woman, who was being devoured by the undead. Reaching into his messenger bag, John pulled out the cross that he had brought along as a bludgeon. Running towards the struggling pair, he raised the cross high, and brought one arm of the solid gold figure down at the base of the neck of the infected, snapping it's spine, and causing it to go limp. However, the man's teeth still had a tenacious hold on the woman's shoulder, and no matter what he did, John couldn't separate the two. John shouted, "I need some help over here!", as the woman's screams grew softer. He frantically tried to pull the zombie off, eventually resorting to breaking it's teeth and jaw with the statue. Tragically, it was too late. John stared, horrified, at the gory wound, which consisted of several bite marks that tore away her shoulder to the bone. Flecks of bone and rotten teeth remained in the wound. John stood above the woman's body, and crossed himself, whispering, "May your soul find rest." Turning to everyone else, he asked, "Is everyone all right?"

Everyone

The shattering glass and subsequent commotion emanating from the apartment building echoed through the street, now that the gun fire had died down. The infected, eight of them, looked up from the mangled corpse of Chief Hornby and stared with their defective eyes in the direction of the racket. As one, they rose to their feet, and growled like rabid dogs. One of them broke from the group, sprinting like a man on fire, though the others hobbled on behind.

The sprinter, formally defined as a "Stage Two" by CDC fliers, ran up the steps and paused as it reached the shattered window. Several healthy humans confronted it, and it took a while for the infected to appreciate its luck... if it was capable of such reasoning. It was what would have been perhaps an eight year old child, with short hair, and bloody sports wear. A school's insignia was woven onto its polo-shirt.

With a shriek, it charged forwards, making a bee-line for the man holding the golden cross.

Wright entered the doorway with the priest guiding him in, barely noticing the Chief's screams in an almost blur like state. He didn't know the man well, although he had seen him around. Nice enough man; John, was it?

He was able to sit down for a moment, just long enough for the next bit of chaos to ensue. His gun probably wouldn't be enough, he knew, as he was on his last magazine - with 8 rounds left. He took off the backpack and got out his crowbar that was in there. The Chief had everyone bring one... the chief now laying dead on the sidewalk...

He snapped to attention when one of the things ran up the stairs, into the lobby and straight at the priest. He gripped the crowbar, an almost mad look entering his eyes. "Oh no you don't, you little fucker!" he yelled at the zombie while swinging at its head with all his might. The head came clean off, bouncing off the walls of the lobby. Strangely... he felt a lot better with that action. More of them were coming up the stairs. They would have to get out of the lobby or somehow hold it off, but what could he do? He was the one man who seemed to have a gun in a room of panic alongside a priest who swung his cross like a bat against the stuff of his nightmares... he had to work hard to resist the urge to laugh at this whole extremely strange turn of events.

Present Time, Three Towers Apartment Complex, Lobby

As she stared at the television, she noticed a man waving at her at the corner of her eye. Turning towards his direction, she studied the person closely; a tall and rugged looking man. She was a little embarrassed, for she wasn't exactly the sociable type. Not to mention that she has barely enough experience talking to the locals since she usually hangs out with her housemate, which happens to be from Southeast Asia as well.

She pointed at herself and gestured if the man was in fact, getting her attention. It was to avoid embarrassment if the man wasn't calling out to her in the first place. It had happened several occasions before when she thought someone was calling out to her, which turned to be directed at another person. She had to walk away from that predicament utterly embarrassed while accompanied by giggles in the background.

To her relief, the man affirmed her doubts as he stared directly at her and queried about the conditions on the upper floors.

"Eh, I...I don't know to be honest, I didn't get the chance to..." her foreign accent which slightly resembled an Asian - but not quite, was immediately cut by the interruption of a loud crash from a very close proximity. She reflexively turned and looked towards the direction of the sound; the entrance of the apartment building, before looking back at the man she was conversing with. At the corner of her eye, she unconsciously followed the comedic jump which she assumed to be the poor man's reflexive startle, which ended with the man hiding under the desk in almost breakneck speeds.

She couldn't hold back but to giggle a little, only to stop in embarrassment while she covered her lips with both her hands. She shouldn't be laughing at people, she thought - fearing that she may have offended the startled man. She was often cautious to not offend a local. Who knows what they would do to foreigners!

She then attempted to divert the attention of the man from her laugh by quickly uttering; "T-that sounds like it came from outside..." while glancing quickly back and forth between the front of the apartment and the man in order to catch his expression, hoping that he wouldn't be offended, and that nothing undesirable would waltz through the front doors.

A seemingly wounded policeman showed up, to which the pastor attended to. It wasn't long before a large man covered in blood crashed through the front door while he sluggishly charged at the nearest person in his proximity. Her heart raced.

"Oh no...It's not safe here..."

She gestured to the man under the desk to leave, before a shrieking scream echoed through the lobby. She looked at the source of the sound to find a woman being mauled and attacked. Sue began to walk away from the front door and further to the back where most of the crowd was at, keeping her eyes glued at the poor woman's struggle with the large man.

She gave a sigh of relief with the knowledge that it was not her that was getting mauled. A look of pity was on her face, but she figured that she didn't have the time to empathize with the poor mangled lady, rather it served as a grim reminder for her to constantly be alert should she want to avoid being eaten alive. She stood still for a moment as she pondered if she should make a dash for her apartment unit - lock up - and hope for the best, only to recall the man querying her about the condition of the upper floors.

"What if there were some unfortunate souls that were already infected and have made their way back home?" She thought to herself, while she considered how lucky she had been for not bumping into any when she made her way to the lobby. Sue subsequently decided to hang around the relative safety of lobby while closely observing the situation before making a move.

Drew has covered his ears with his hands to make the screaming stop ringing in his ears, his has shut his eyes shut he didn't want to be down here anymore. He pressed his crowbar close to his chest and put the box cutter in his pants pocket, he breaths slowly in and out. He finally gotten the courage enough to leave the minimal safety of under the desk. Though the terrible sounds coming from the rest of the lobby scared him shitless.
He crawled out of under the desk and he lift himself up to look beyond the desk, he wished he didn't. He was sick to his stomach as he seen the infected child and the mangled throat of the lady laying on the ground. He audibly gagged barely keeping the bile down, and he sat back to the ground. He turned on his phone again, it was such a short time when he last check, and a woman was already dead. He quickly looked over the desk and gotten a better look of the dead woman, she was his neighbor, Maria Garcia. she was far too nice for that to happen to her, He sat back down again and he pulled out his notepad and a pen and crossed out her name from the list and added RIP next to her name.

He remembered what the girl he waved at said before the shit hit the fan, she said she wasn't sure if the upper floors were any safer than here.
Should he risk it and try to head upstairs to his room? The girl gestured they should leave. He finally gotten up to his feet the first time in the last while. He held his crowbar for dear life. He walked slowly and quietly to the stairs, if things goes from bad to worse he will run for his room.

John was frozen by the sight before him. Little Bobby Taylor, the child whom he had prayed over when he had complications at birth, the child who he viewed as the son he never had, was in front of him, howling. He wore his soccer gear, which was bloody. Unable to move, he stood there silently as Sargent Wright knocked his head off. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he sobbed audibly. Tony Jackson, a member of his church placed his hand on John's shoulder, and said, "Isn't that- isn't that-" He retched and vomited on the spot. John hugged him tightly, and then briefly said his last rites, and turned around, tears streaming freely. Looking at Erik, he said, "S-Sargent, please, help guide everyone up the stairs. It's not safe here." Turning back to Tony, he said, "Tony, stay with your family." Hefting the gold cross, he said, "I'll stay here, and make sure everyone gets up." Standing at the base of the stairs, he shouted to everyone left in the lobby. "Move! Get to the upper levels! Don't take the elevators, we don't know if they're safe." Those in the community who knew him, and those in the church immediately went up the stairs, trusting in their Reverend. There were a few who looked back at him, distrustfully, and ran out in the street, disappearing into the smoke and screams.

Holding his cross ready, he stood watch at the base of the stairs. He began quoting Psalm 23, both to comfort the people going up the stairs, and to bolster his own resolve. "The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever."

After he finished, there was a disturbance in the lobby, which was now clear of any living people. The Hispanic woman, who had gotten bit, was twitching. Eight of the undead shambled over the broken glass of the window, causing it to crunch under their feet. Backing up the stairs, cross ready, he said, "Sargent! Need you down here!"

Nicholas Grayeson

One Hour Ago.

The shock wave from a nearby explosion woke the slightly intoxicated Grayeson, causing him to spill the half-empty bottle of Jameson from his lap. His pistol in hand, he quickly started surveying the room of his bare apartment for any signs of intruders. Maybe the nightmare of a previous combat tour and the alcohol tricked his mind into thinking there was an explosion nearby. When he felt nothing seemed out of place, he lowered himself to the couch he was laying on before. The nightmares were becoming more frequent it seemed, with every night replaying different gunfights with insurgents he either killed or narrowly missed. Taking in a deep breath, he placed his pistol on the table in front of him and stood up; making his way slowly to the kitchen for a glass of water. The radio near the window was buzzing, something about reports of an infection spreading throughout the city. He paid no mind to it, because the only lethal infections going around right now would be the flu or the virus ravaging Asia and Europe. Of course, there were rumors going around that there were some cases popping up in the United States, but they were rumors.

Grabbing a nearby glass, he filled it with water, and quickly gulped down the contents before turning back to the living room. Everything was in disarray as he left it upon returning home from the bar the previous night. Looking down to his watch, he noted the time was late and it was actually two days after the bar, not one. He missed work two days in a row, there was no talking out of this one; even with the VA appointment excuse. Shrugging his shoulders, he took a seat and grabbed his phone off the coffee table to check for any missed messages. Nothing. Which was odd as his mother or grandfather usually called him every night to ensure he was alright. Clicking on his social media profile, it was immediately filled with accounts of the Asian/European infection had hit the city and there was a military quarantine in effect.

"This can't be right... he told himself.

Immediately, he clicked on his computer and searched for the local news to confirm this wasn't just some hoax or meme gone rogue. It too told the same story as his social media, claims of reanimated corpses terrorizing the streets and the National Guard issuing a quarantine order for the city. Just to be sure, he checked three other local news sources and eventually national news sources; all saying the exact same thing. Standing up suddenly, he started pacing around the room, contemplating how this must be a horrible dream that he hasn't woken from. It was impossible to have this occurring, zombies aren't real and never would be. This wasn't some Resident Evil or Left 4 Dead video game, this has to be a dream of sorts. Then another shock wave from another explosion erupted, this time a lot closer than the one he felt was a dream. Without a second thought, he rushed over to the nearby window and pushed through the blinds to see what lay outside. Chaos, fires, police and emergency lights, gunfire, and mobs of people running around. This was real... at least it seemed to be real at the moment till he woke up. But if he was stuck in this dream, he knew what would happen to those not prepped for this situation. Then again... was he really prepared for a "Raccoon City" apocalypse in his world? Turning towards what appeared to be a military-grade container, locked under a padlock, he reached under his shirt and pulled out the key. Looking at the key, to the box, then back at the key; he took a deep breath and made his way over.

Now

Pulling back the charging handle and feeling the bolt ride back and forth in the chamber; he slowly squeezed the trigger till hearing a "click." Lowering the rifle to his couch, he reached down and drew his sidearm from its holster on his right leg. Ejecting the magazine and pulling the slide back, he slowly squeezed the trigger for the same "click" as his rifle gave. When it occurred, he slammed the magazine back inside the pistol and slid it back into the holster. Reaching over, he grabbed his old plate carrier from his time in the Marines and adjusted it to fit comfortably with his current attire. There is no adjusting equipment when in a sticky situation he recalled an old battle buddy saying before their HUMVEE took an RPG round. Sliding in the three full,30-round magazines for his rifle in their pouches on the front of the carrier; he picked up his rifle and slung it over his body. A single magazine of .223 Remington was left on the coffee table and all he could do was stare at it. If this is the real deal, he would be stepping back into a world he was all too familiar with. People would die and there would be nothing he could do to stop it. Shaking his head, he reached down and grabbed the lone magazine before inserting it into the rifle. Pulling the charging handle back, he listened and felt the round pop from the magazine and into the chamber. All he had to do now was switch it to "SEMI," aim, and fire at whatever he deemed a threat. There were no Rules of Engagement now.

"Back into the Suck..." he told himself, a phrase he always spoke before heading out the wire in a combat zone.

Making his way to the door, he grabbed the assault pack he placed there earlier, slung it onto his back and made his way out the door. Instantly, his military training kicked in and he raised his rifle to survey the hallway. Quietly and slowly, he closed the door behind him with his free hand. His eyes, never leaving from the hallway in front of him. Luckily for him, he lived at the very end of the hallway and had no one behind him to be of concern. Both hands on the rifle now, he slowly made his way down towards the intersection and paused for a moment to take a look. Everything seemed clear that was in all directions, no sounds or anything out of place it seemed. But he knew that at any moment, someone could bash through the door and try to take his life. Slowly checking his corners again, he took the left hallway and towards the staircase for the lobby on the first floor. The elevator was out of the question, because being packed like a sardine in a metal box spells trouble for everyone.

Upon reaching the staircase, he checked over the railing and saw there was still lights on downstairs; as well as voices from TVs and people below. Perhaps he wasn't the only one inside, which could be beneficial and not so beneficial to him surviving this whole thing. Beneficial because he could learn what he hadn't from the news, but no beneficial because a crowd is a problem when surviving. Slowly, he made his way down the stairs with his rifle trained in front of him in case he needed to use it. When reaching the bottom, he pressed his back against the wall and peered out from his hiding spot to learn the situation. People were praying, others watching the news, some holding their families, all of which made sense to him in the event of a disaster. When the bloodied police officer scrambled into the lobby, Nicholas knew situations outside were as bad as he thought. And if the police are having a hard time, that means the military is having a hard time fending the civilian populace as well. As his eyes kept searching the area, he watched as a small child ran into the lobby and towards what appeared to be a priest; all the while shrieking and covered in blood. Without hesitation, the officer lunged forward and bashed it with a crowbar; putting an end to its existence. Turning back to the staircase behind him and the small area he currently occupied, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly to relax his nerves. The child, though it wasn't anything like the children he had seen in the war, still reminded him of the small boy he shot dead when it picked up a rifle to shoot his fellow Marines.

"That was the past, you have to focus on the now." he told himself.

His back still pressed against the wall between him and the lobby, he waited to see what would occur next. All he knew next was the flood of people rushing up the stairs next to him; none noticing he was even there. It was strange to think how common people are with cattle when spooked. When the pastor appeared, reciting one of the psalms he vaguely recalled; Nicholas slowly bled back into the shadows. As he turned to make his way back upstairs, he overhears the preacher calling out to the police sergeant about a problem. Looking into the lobby, he watched as the bloody corpse of a woman started twitching and more of the infected started flooding in. Without considering it, he immediately appeared in front of the priest like a ghost and flicked his rifle off SAFE. Slowly and smoothly, he squeezed off a single round into the head of the twitching female; which were quickly followed by eight more rounds to the knees of the others scrambling inside.

"Start making your way upstairs Padre, I'll secure the lobby and barricade them from higher ground." he quickly ordered to the holy man.

Present Time, Three Towers Apartment Complex, Lobby

Holy fucking shit, Timothy thought to himself. It's only been two months since I came to the city and I get this curveball?!

The young man's expression was full of grimace. He had come to the city to make a change in his life. To see new sights and experience new things. Though he technically achieved that, this was totally out of his expectations. Who would have expected a zombie apocalypse? He recalled when the first wave wave of Z's hit. He was working at some birthday party gig that a friend recommended to him. It was going well, the people were nice and he even seemingly got the interest of the birthday girl. She was a total babe, he thought. And then shit hit the fan. There was screaming and panic all around. People were pushing left and right to escape the infected that charged through the open house door.

Timothy had been fortunate to escape, hijacking an empty car to do so; the owner had been pulled out of the vehicle by the infected. Under normal circumstances, there was noway he would attempt to dive past them to get to the car... if not for the fact there were even more of them coming from behind him.

That was two hours ago.

Now he was back in the lobby of his apartment building, smack down in the middle of the city. It was pure coincidence his instincts yelled at him to return home. Though not necessarily a smart thing to do, it was apparently the best. He had heard whispers of others in the lobby of how those who attempted to fled the city and managed to bypass the Z's were forced to return back in due to the quarantine or get shot.

Though it wasn't all smiles and butterflies here, it was definitely better than being out there. Still, he had his worries.

Two people had seized charge of the people around here and among them wasn't the fucking dumb police sergeant that had just came rushing in. One was a pastor. That didn't bode well with Timothy. He wasn't exactly an atheist or anything, in fact he took a neutral stance towards religion. It was just that religious people tended to be more... extreme. The second guy didn't make things any better either. For whatever reason, he was fully armed in army gear and weapons and Timothy was praying (to no god in particular) that it wasn't some gun fanatic that always appeared in TV dramas that have warped personalities and get everyone killed.

Timothy felt his heart crumble as Z's attempted to break though. He was definitely more towards the cowardly side than brave. In fact, he actually just wanted to run around panicking his head off but the shock of the situation had yet to sink in.

"Start making your way upstairs Padre, I'll secure the lobby and barricade them from higher ground," said the gun guy.

Upon hearing this, Timothy burst out. There was plenty of noise enough from the shots he fired and he wanted to continue?

"Wowowowow, by 'securing' the lobby, you don't intend to shoot more of them dead do you?!" he yelled. Though he had only had contact with them for a short while, he noticed one important things about them. They were attracted to commotions. This was why earlier, he visualized kicking the police sergeant around (because he would never have the balls to actually do it). He had brought them to the apartment even though they had initially all been heading away towards the sound of gunfire.

Present Time, Three Towers Apartment Complex, Lobby

Considering how chaotic the events unfolded, Sue decided it wasn't safe to be lingering around anymore. With the crowd now ushered towards the higher floors, the girl has no choice but to follow suit. A tedious affair to say the least, as she moaned in her mind at the flight of stairs. As she begrudgingly started pacing towards the stairwell, she noticed a slight difference in coloration by the wall. Sue reacted by giving it a little more attention. It seems to be a dull silhouette of a figure, barely distinguishable if not for her rather 'observant' eye for detail artists tend to have.

She stopped in her tracks, fearing that it may be another one of those cannibalistic freaks readying to pounce onto whomever that was within range. Upon closer inspection, as her eyes slowly adjusted to the dimly lit area around the stairwell, she made the silhouette out to be a man hidden behind the less lit segment of the wall right beside the stairs - with what seemed to be the silhouette of a rifle that resembled an AR-15.

"Wait, what?"

She was in a sense amazed and simply stood there staring at the man for a short while as the crowd shoved her aside trying to get away from the lobby. The man eventually slipped out of the shadows with his rifle trained at the general direction of the threat - which she presumed to be responding to the plight of the pastor who willingly decided to 'hold them back'.

"Start making your way upstairs Padre, I'll secure the lobby and barricade them from higher ground," the armed man with what seemed to be a mohawk uttered as he left the guise of the shadow, now in full view. Sue took notice that the man was in fact, fully equipped in military gear - which somehow amazed her in quite a lot of ways.

One of the crowd took notice of the man's barking order and tried to comment on it; not long before said man unloaded several rounds seemingly ignoring his comments. Every shot fired created an unsavory shock wave to Sue's eardrums to which she responded by wincing and having her palms covering her ears instinctively. The burst of gunfire silenced most of the chatter through its sheer volume, resulting with the crowd hastening their climb with screams of panic now going off once in a while.

"Were guns really that loud?...Ugh...Americans, I guess they truly are gun-nuts...", the girl mused with these thoughts with an annoyed look. She wondered how the man came in possession with such a dangerous weapon in the first place. Well, not that she should be complaining - any form of weaponry is much appreciated now with a surge of deathly limping figures converging into the lobby.

The girl figured that it was perhaps safer to stick around - what with the crowd now whipped into a frenzy as they shoved and tugged at each other around trying to climb the flight of stairs into safety. She wasn't exactly capable enough physically to compete with a panicking crowd at this point anyway, nor would it be the wisest.

An hour ago, Three Towers Apartment Complex.

Tyson sat down on the sofa inside his apartment unit, designing on a new menu for the restaurant he was working at. Tyson was always listening to classic music that was on the radio whenever he decided to work at home, because the music helped him to be more relaxed and inspired. The night sky stood an inky canopy of darkness freckled only by the fewest of stars, where just few hours ago it had been a blue summer's day. The occasional bark of a few hidden dogs and the soft classic music were the only sound to permeate the silence until loud gunshots and screaming sound echoed angrily into the emptiness of the night. Tyson quickly looked out from his window, and soon he saw a trail of smoke roared out from a unseen spot behind the buildings near it.

"What the hell..." Tyson muttered to himself in a low voice. He walked back to his sofa confusingly, trying to know what had happened at that place. Not for long, a few gunshots can be heard coming from the same spot, and this time Tyson was really concerned about what was happening there. He decided to put his work aside and went out to look for an answer, which was not a very good idea. He went down to the lobby area and he knew he was not the only one that was concerned the moment he reached the lobby. Tyson felt like he was trapped in an endless sea of people. It was overcrowded and claustrophobic. There was noise everywhere. Someone's cell phone were ringing, two people were fighting angrily over God-knows-what.

Present time, The lobby of the Three Towers Apartment Complex.

The televisions on the wall of the lobby were having an emergency broadcasting, something about a virus outbreak or maybe not. Sounds like a typical intro for every zombie movies ever made. Tyson was going to ask one of the people standing in the lobby about the current situation, but a loud glass breaking sound interrupted his decision. A few grown up adult... only the police came in was still a human being, but the others... did not looked lively anymore. The police rushed into the lobby with blood all over him, followed up by the zombies with great speed and one of it headed straight towards a guy who looked like a pastor. The police reached very quickly and smashed the zombie in its head. Tyson was going to do the same too, IF... only if he had weapons with him, he was not strong enough to help someone out while he was unarmed.

The crowd of people was panicking in fear the whole time, running toward the stairs or to the staff room behind the lobby. Tyson was not one of them, as he was curious about the whole situation happened just now. Gunshots. Screaming. Injured officers. Those bloody attackers. He regretted immediately that he never pay any attention to the emergency broadcasting earlier.

"Start making your way upstairs Padre, I'll secure the lobby and barricade them from higher ground," said the guy that was armed, walking towards the woman that was twitching on the ground. By the look of the woman, Tyson believed that the woman was somehow one of "them", referring to the group of attackers that broke into. Somehow the armed guy finished off those attackers without even blinking his eyes, "Must be used to deal with guns." Tyson muttered to himself again.

"Start making your way upstairs Padre, I'll secure the lobby and barricade them from higher ground." John did a little jump backwards. Out of nowhere, a military-looking man appeared in front of him, wielding an assault rifle. Uncertain, John said, "I don't think so. There's no way I'm going to let you stay here by yourself." Turning back to glance at the stairwell, he saw the crowd panicking, pushing, striking each other. Holding his hands out over the crowd, he said loudly, "Excuse me, everyone!" The majority of people didn't even so much as glance backwards. Repeating himself, several times, he eventually got frustrated enough, and then shouted quite loudly. The sound didn't matter, because there were freaking guns and explosions and cars and- He calmed himself. "EVERYONE SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME!" The crowd heading up the stairs turned slowly, and stared at him, surprised that their benevolent, calm priest could muster enough air to shout, or even get angry at all.

"Men! The women, children, and elderly need to go up first! But I'm not asking you to leave your families! You will be safe, I assure you, but only if you go up quietly, and in an orderly fashion!" Unless this chaos ended, they most likely wouldn't survive. He spotted two people, a young Asian girl, and a relative newcomer to town, just standing there. Pushing past the crowd, he pulled the girl close so she could hear above the noise, and then spoke into her ear. "Head upstairs! I don't want to lose anyone else!", and then moved on, going over to the newcomer. "Sir, if you would help us block off the stairwell after everyone's up, then that would be appreciated!" Not waiting for his response, the priest took one look at the frightened crowd, and resolve and determination showed on his face. This was his flock. Pushing back to the base of the stairwell, he stood beside Sargent Wright and the mysterious military man. "We need to buy everyone time to get up to the second story! WE need to protect those weaker than us, guys!" John held the cross in both hands, like a baseball bat, ready to swing.

"The lord is my shield, I shall not want...." he began whispering, as the small group of undead approached.

Madison Ripley

---

Madison was in her fire-suit. She enjoyed the weight of her gear on her shoulders, it helped her to stay grounded. After watching the broadcasts, listening to the emergency frequencies, hearing the rumors, she had finally decided that going outside was simply too much of a risk. She had spent literal hours blocking off her apartment and stocking all of her food up, holing up to try and weather the coming storm. And oh was there to be a storm, in all its terrible fury, bearing down on the people right now. She had heard the commotion start outside and thanked her stars, because they were definitely listening, that she had already been in her suit for the past few days. She felt heavy with sweat and stress, wearing a line in her floor from all the pacing she had been doing. Maybe she should shower or bathe herself, she thought, and get rid of this sweat and dirt she had been stewing in. But was even that worth the risk?

A quick sniff to her armpit told her that yes, she could afford to at least give herself a quick scrub with a soapy sponge. A bucket of dish-soap water and a scouring sponge quickly saw to it that her stench was... lessened. Now she just smelled like chemicals, but that was better than stinking. She was disheveled at best, her hair was a mess, dark bags hung from her eyes as they looked back with that wild stare and she was as white as a ghost, to the point of looking sickly. It almost passed her mind that she was twiddling her fingers along the haft of her fire-axe. So natural it felt to be holding it now, she even slept with it at her side. She found herself running her finger along its head, chipped and nicked, but still in more than functional form. Madison almost had to stop herself from cooing to it as she heard more commotion from outside. Footsteps, hurried and panicked. She had heard more than enough of that in her time on the job. Searching seemingly empty buildings for trapped occupants, even over flames, was much easier when they were making noise.

Feverishly, she mounted chairs, tables and went around a wardrobe to peer out the looking hole of the door and saw people. People. Moving in a panic towards the other stairwells. Madison's hands didn't even double-check with her brain as she began pulling chairs and furniture away from the door to the hallway, acting on her rescue instinct that her job honed so well. How was it that something that took hours to build up, was able to be torn away in a matter of seconds? Easier to create than destroy, she supposed. But soon enough the door was clear of debris, but the chain-lock held it in place as she cracked it slightly. The people were most certainly moving toward the other floor, fleeing the lobby. It took her a few seconds more to squeeze out into the hall, locking the door behind her for good measure, and beginning to wade through the crowd, fire-axe in hand. As she moved toward the stairwell, she overheard a shout in as she attempted to escort occupants to the other floor.

"We need to buy everyone time to get up to the second story! WE need to protect those weaker than us, guys!"

Madison spurred herself on faster, but the crowd wasn't stemming as far as she could feel. She pushed and squeezed as much as she could, but her speed remained the same, she was only halfway down the hall, being stopped every few steps by one of the fleeing pedestrians. She could only stutter, even her mind was a whirl as she attempted to wave people on the way, with the rest of the crowd. Her voice was shuddering and staggered as she attempted to play the director of the flow.

"G-go! Up the stairs, you need to get-" A woman barged past, pushing her axe from her hand, which she quickly scrambled for, "There are stairs over there that-" A child tugged at her suit's leg, "Over toward the end of the-" Another woman yanked her by the hair for a moment, caught in a fearful flail. Madison stomped her foot and stood her ground as the tide advanced past her, putting on her best crisis managing voice. "YOU ALL NEED TO GET UP THOSE STAIRS. GET UP THE STAIRS. STAIRS. GET. UP. GO. GO."

Ryan Monroe stood, the room and the people around him, muttering amongst themselves as they too watched the TV Emergency broadcast were nothing more than a blur as he focused on the broadcast, it sounded like the world was going to shit. He watched until it's end.
"Moving onto the 10PM weather forecast" Now his mind was in overdrive, so this is how it ends. A zombie apocalypse, his quasi-nightmare had come true. Zombies were afoot. The quarantine would prevent anyone from leaving the city, dead or alive, meaning he was stuck in this boiling pot just waiting to explode.

He looked around the lobby, perhaps for the first time in about thirty minutes. He looked at the people crowded around him, neighbors and fellow apartment dwellers, some he'd gotten to know, others not so much. Guess we're in this shit together then. Moving over to the lobby desk, the receptionist appeared to be no where to be seen. He grabbed a few leaflets with the bold, black letters CDC across them that were scattered across the hard oak wood desk and stashed them into his messenger bag. Who knows, this information could be important, vital even. Then the sound of the crunching of metal and a boom followed suit. Ryan whipped around, seeing flames flaring and raging across the street through the windows, then he saw the priest from the local parish.
This really must be Doomsday
He appeared to be guiding a policemen, looking like hell through the doors. Then... then he saw it, a zombie, running no less. He remembered from the CDC leaflets that these zombies had something like stages, depending on the time of death. Seems like this one had been dead for quite a while.

He watched the infected in a stunned silence, any doubt that this was actually happening now removed from his head. And a number of new thoughts rolled in as he backed away from the window towards the stairs, do i have enough food? Could i barricade my apartment? Should i call my family, no the lines would be full by now or just simply not working... Then reality came tumbling back when somebodies shoulder slammed into him as the crowd rushed for the stairs behind him. He looked back towards the lobby entrance, seemed the policeman and the priest, a strange pair had dispatched the infected that had broken in. Collecting his thoughts as the crowd pushed past him, he pressed himself against the wall at the bottom of the stairwell to avoid being taken with the crowd, he saw a figure through the crowd, armed with what appeared to be an assault rifle.
What the... that's just been sitting around his apartment?

Shots followed shortly after as the armed man went into the lobby. When the rushing crowd began to lessen, Ryan took his moment to step out, taking a look into the lobby he heard the last of the priests words, something about barricading the stairwell. Stepping forward.
"I... I'll help." Ryan called out.