[color=red][h3]Madison Ripley[/h3][/color][hr]The cacophonous racket from outside the lobby shook the window closest to Madison, causing her to jump and shout as her ears began to ring from the explosions. Screams of terror and fear rung out as the rest of the building rocked in the shockwaves. Her father had always ranted on about how city life was all cramped spaces and scared people, and now more than ever she was beginning to take those words to heart completely. These hallways were not meant to support mass invasions like this. They were not meant to be crowded like sardines waiting to be canned. The barricade's splintering and snapping within the confines of the space made her teeth itch.

Her heart almost jumped into her throat as she recalled what a pivotal role the closeness of space played in many of her crisis operations back on the job. She was wringing the axe in her hands over and over again, biting her lip as she bounded back over to her apartment door. She stamped her feet, shaking off what blood she could, before unlocking the door once more and barreling in past the furniture amassed at the entrance. Her eyes darted, her body twitched and her hands jittered, her mind turned itself inside out then back in again trying to search for a solution to the problem, anything just to buy time.

A few moments later, she almost collided with her door frame, breathless and frantic. She spoke in a voice between a panicked scream and a grim command, trying to communicate her plan to whosoever was nearby.

[color=red]"Gather all the grease, oils, soaps and any other lubricants you can find. Anything slippery. [b]All of them.[/b]"[/color]

With that she skittered back in and began to literally throw aforementioned containers out onto the landing. Cooking oil, handsoap, shampoo, conditioner. Even a can of WD-40. It might not have been a concrete plan. But it was a plan. Crazy, maybe. But she didn't seem all put together in the first place.