Detective Norman peered at the body on the ground, studying it he saw a taser in the mans pocket. Quickly, Norman snatched the taser from the mans pocket. Norman sighed to himself for a minute. "Ugh, whats on with the smell." Norman said to himself. Norman exited the small office, with his ARI Glasses. Norman walked down the paths of the streets, covered in debris. Norman looked, around while he was, he slipped on his ARI Glasses. He walked down the streets, seeing infected bodies. "What?" Norman said to himself. Norman hadn't got one night of sleep, he looked around for a place to sleep.

Norman, with a stink amount of not good oxygen started to hold his breath, Norman with a lot of empathy felt sorry for the people. Norman groaned, what person would do such a thing. Norman saw a newspaper, half teared. He crouched down, grasping half of the teared newspaper in his hands. He read from the newspaper.

The teared newspaper, half Norman could read well, strike-through hand-writing.

DETECTIVE NEWSPAPER #1245 BRINGS YOU WITH PLENTY OF NEWS, THE OLD GANG, DETECTIVE NORMAN AND LIEUTENANT ARE GONE, NEVER EVER TO BE FOUND
The newspaper ended there, Norman sighed. He carried the newspaper that he obtained with him, he grasped it tight with two hands. The door was locked Norman thought for a second, a child could be inside, Norman took the window way inside. Falling inside, it was like his office. He rushed to the chair, sitting inside.

[Austin and Sylvia]

“Fine. We’ll do it your way. Tie the door shut, and go downstairs to see if zombies need to be held off. Sound good?” Austin asks.

“Yay, we don’t kill innocent people. And I thought you said earlier that it was too risky to go downstairs ‘cause it was dark,” Sylvia responds

“I’m still going to send someone into that room eventually you know. But anyways, even if it’s dark, it's dark for everyone else too. If we forgo the flashlight and just try to see what we can, I bet you we’d be better off than you think.”

“But we don’t know how the zombies perceive us, whether it’s sight, sound, smell, or a combination of the three,” Sylvia retorts.

“We should find out then.” Austin argues.

She sighs, “If you really want to… I guess.” Still would prefer hiding in the room. Bleh.

“Do you have any rope? Or any ideas on how we can force his apartment shut?” Austin asks. “We don’t even know if he’s still in there, so we should hurry.” He adds.

“Yeah I have some, I’ll go get it,” Sylvia rushes to get some. Hopefully that guy never left his apartment.

[iI suppose it’s best to be vigilant.[/i] Austin crouches in front of their own door and shuts off his flashlight, letting his eyes adjust to the dark until he was satisfied. He suddenly swings the door back. An empty hallway stares back at him. Looks safe. He peeks out each side to check. All clear. Austin closes the door and switches his light back on. “Got the ropes yet?”

Sylvia saunters over and holds out the ropes for Austin to take, “Yup. And some air freshener too.”

“Great, then let’s go. Hang on, actually can you take it? I want my hands free just in case.”

“Sure,” Sylvia complies, “I’d get screwed if a zombie jumps on me anyways so..yeah.”

Sylvia suddenly freezes once she hears footsteps outside. The sound seems even and unhurried. Also doesn’t sound very heavy, probably one of my lightweight neighbors, Sue or Lydia. The sound of a door closing nearby resonates afterwards. Yup. That’s her.

“Who was that? Sue or Lydia maybe?” Austin asks quietly.

“Yeah, should be,” Sylvia confirmed.

“We should check up on her later, see if she knows anything, and if she’s infected.”

“Yeah, but first let’s deal with the crazy would-be-killer-had-I-not-stopped-you of two completely innocent students.”

“Ugh let’s.”

The pair leave and head down to the 4th floor with no encounters, taking the necessary precautions of stealth, and alertness.
Austin checks the floor below as he heads down, but doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary. However, they can both hear panicked clamoring and possible zombie moaning emanating from the stairwell that wasn’t there before.

Creeping carefully to the door they were at before, Austin holds the door as tightly shut as he can and gestures for Sylvia to begin typing the rope. He was at least confident that he could hold the door closed by force. Once Sylvia had finished a few satisfactory knots, as directed by himself, he keeps pressure on the rope, feeding it back slowly until he can loop it around the base of the railing on the opposite side. Once it was looped a few times, Austin was confident the occupant wouldn’t be able to easily open the door. He leads the rope to the left and right ends of the railing to ensure force on the rope would be resisted by the entire railing, then ties it off firmly. He got creative with the knots, but it was decent enough to not go anywhere.

“All done.” Austin finishes.

“How well do you think this will hold?” Sylvia queries.

“Gotta hope its enough. Anyways, to the stairs!” Austin whispers fake-loudly.

“We’d best not throw caution to the wind, the people themselves might be dangerous too. What are you planning to do when you get there? Hope that it’ll all fall into place? Your luck isn’t good enough for that,” Sylvia cautions.

“Make a decision once we see what’s actually happening. As you would say, we don’t have enough information to come to a conclusion.” Austin counters.

“We know that there are people coming up too.”

“We hear voices is all. They could be in the middle of fighting.”

Having taken too long to make a decision, the people fleeing from the zombies ran up the stairs, some of the them dispersing into their apartments. Others simply continued to run to a higher floor, lacking an apartment to stay within.

“We were too late. Some of them might have been infected.” Austin says helplessly.

“We should start purging from the rooftop garden. Since there are zombies coming up from the lobby, it would be crucial to make sure we’re not fighting a war on two fronts,” Sylvia remarks.

Sylvia and Austin follow the stragglers up to the top floor, where the people that didn’t actually live in the apartment, or lived on much lower floors, were cowering.

Mr. Greyeson

The dead surged up the stairs, but were repulsed by an impassable barrier in the form of a battle-hardened marine. His knife work was excellent, cold and clinical. Had the dead been capable of fear, they would have turned back at the sight of so many fallen comrades, but has luck had it, they were completely incapable.

One of them, located further at the back of the broken, squirming bodies, fell down suddenly and started shuddering as if in the grip of a seizure. For what seemed like forever, though in truth only a few seconds, it lay there twitching and jerking until suddenly it stopped as if dead. And then its eyes shot open, their murky exterior a little clearer, their pupils a little darker. It jumped to its feet in one solid movement, but stumbled slightly like a gymnast who'd goofed their landing. It peered past its comrades, who climbed and fell over their broken kin, trying to get to the marine.

The newly arisen Stage Two's addled brain managed to conjure one word.

Chaos.

Suddenly it charged, batting its undead comrades out of the way, and sprinted over the carpet of squirming bodies. It lost its footing twice, but was up in the blink of an eye, before finally it came rushing at Nicholas Grayeson. The marine primed himself for a defence, planning to use his height the creature's off-balanced nature to his advantage. However, as the Stage Two rushed towards him it threw itself violently to his left, dodging the knife blade. Though, rather than make good of the marine's failed attack, the Stage Two simply shoved him with its ragged, bloodied shoulder, and ran past.

Immediately it was hit by a bout of sensory overload. The stench of the living was everywhere, and it paused momentarily to get a proper sniff. This Stage Two had been a gym freak in real life, tanked but without the belly flab, heavy set but with powerful legs. This guy, in his living life, hadn't missed leg day.

Just then, an apartment door opened in front of him. First to emerge was an aluminium baseball bat, and then, the delicate face of a fair haired woman. The infected heard Greyeson approaching from behind, but was not in the slightest bit interested. Instead, it ran at the baseball bat, and the widening eyes of the woman who held it. He leapt into her, throwing all of his decomposing weight into her body, and knocked her to the ground.

Like an enraged shark, the infected tore at her clothes with filthy finger nails, even as she screamed wildly, trying to push him off. He was stronger however, and after pinning her, he crunched his jaw onto her nose. A small eruption of blood, and a louder scream followed- but this only excited and encouraged him. He bit her again, along the neck, pulling back a large clump of flesh and blood vessels. A mini-blood fountain spurted over him--

A rough hand grabbed the back of his tattered collar, pulling him away, and then everything when dark. Permanently.

Nicholas Grayeson grimaced, withdrawing his knife from the Stage Two's head, and cast the undead monster to one side. He looked down upon the mutilated body of Lucy Collins, and sighed heavily.

The undead assault continued behind him though, and he turned to confront the last of the horde, climbing over their immobilised comrades.



Everyone - Disclaimer, includes adult themes, but not graphically so. Do not be offended, I just need to make this guy sound batshit crazy.

John Marcel cursed at his stupidity. He'd left it too long! He tried the door to his apartment, and found it wouldn't open.

"Smart," he said in a voice suddenly more grizzled than a two-decade war veteran.

The .38 weighed heavily in his flabby palms, and John suddenly felt hopelessly frustrated. He was Death! The destroyer of worlds! Thwarted by a couple of chink mother fuckers. His mother never liked those gooks, in fact, she didn't like anyone who wasn't white or Mexican. John, had he been capable of criticising his mother, would have thought her views on race as very self-serving. John wasn't capable of that though, so he simply followed the blinding logic instilled on him throughout most of his life.

Niggers. Gooks. Scum!

They must be purged.

Yes.

But how?

The window, you moron.

The window?

John smiled broadly. Yes, of course! He turned and headed off to the window of the living room, and lifted it up. The glass shattered, weakened by the vibrations of the helicopter's assault. Some of the shards cut him, and he cursed with all of the swear words he knew, which despite his mother's best efforts, were many. Sticking his head out, he looked down.

Quite a way up.

It matters not.

I think it does, I mean, I'm no climber.

No.

Then how?

Rope in the toolbox.

John's grin widened further. This was proving to be quite fun... though a sane man would have pointed out the sheer insanity of a 250 pound man climbing down the side of the building on a rope. Especially one that hadn't done any exercise since school gym class, some twenty years ago. Nevertheless, he got his rope, knotted it as best he could to the fridge, and trailed it back out into the living room. Throwing it through the window, he was relieved to see it reached almost all of the way down.

Still be a six foot drop at the bottom.

It matters not.

I know. I am Death, destroyer of worlds.

Yes, yes you are.

Emboldened by the demonic voices playing in his head - though he never had a history of psychological illness - John turned back to his apartment's door, and knocked loudly.

"YOU CHINK FUCKS THINK YOU CAN HOLD ME IN HERE? SUCH HUBRIS! I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU! YOU HEAR ME? HUH? I KNOW WHO YOU ARE. I KNOW YOUR FACES!" he roared, his throat stinging with the force of his words. "I'LL KILL YOU, AND THEN I'LL KILL FUCK YOUR GIRL FRIEND, SHOW HER WHAT A REALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL MAN CAN DO!"

John turned back from the door, walked to the window, and lifted his legs out onto the frame. He looked down one final time, stuffed the .38 into his boxers, grabbed the rope, and with the courage of a parkour master, started a slow and uncertain descent.

Roger was a good man, he did his taxes, ate healthy, and even donated money to the homeless shelter from time to time. He thought he was going to be the heroic survivor to help people out, with his knowledge and know how. However, no internet article or survival guide could ever prepare a human for this type of task. He didn't exactly live in this apartment, he merely just entered it on the off chance that the military would be there to save all these people and he could just catch a ride with them. Well, he was wrong. They basically left him and the others to die alone in this damned place or maybe save them after everyone is infected in this building. So, he just let himself inside of an open door as it seems the previous owner was either dead in that room or dead outside the apartment. After doing a quick check of the room, so no random zombie would just appear out of nowhere, he started to barricade.

It was silent for the time being in his room, Roger was just sitting there with nothing to do except pace until he heard some window smashing on a nearby room. Roger silently moved towards the sound of the noise and pressed his ear towards his door barricaded by his dresser and bed and tried to listen to what was happening right outside his room. He listened and then felt disgusted that he actually listened to that whole speech about whatever the heck he was trying to actually convey. Roger contemplated on how people are already going batshit insane, the attack helicopter causing quite the ruckus, the occasional screaming by passer, and the stench of whatever from downstairs was already reaching up to his room.

A few minutes of thinking about his fucked up situation he finally made a plan for himself to survive this damned apocalypse. He wasn't too sure what was happening in the beginning, but after the attack helicopter coming over and blowing the place to hell, he assumed that they were being invaded by these freaks of nature. As people are screaming down the hallway and people are already going insane, it won't be long until the freaks actually make their way up here and then leave him in a death trap where it is either jump out of his window, or fight who knows how many freaks are out there. "Well, if I'm to survive this hellhole of a place. Might as well do when I'm not alone." Roger muttered to himself.

He dragged the items blockading his door and made sure he had everything in his pack to do sort of fine in this situation. He made sure that his mask was on correctly, gun was fully loaded, and his crowbar ready to bash the head of anything in his path. Roger tried to listen what was happening outside and it seemed that a pack of freaks weren't ready to ambush him the moment he leaves his room. So, Roger does the most ballsy move he has ever done in quite some time. Leave a room. He creaked it open and his mind was now being filled with possibilities of how many horrendous ways he could ever die in this fucked up place.

[]Those zombies really like that marine.[/i] Wright was thinking just as he swung the broom that had to replace his crowbar at one particularly ugly fellow's zombie head, causing the zombie to topple over a couch while breaking the broom portion off, leaving a convenient length stick remaining. There was another one coming through the door; this was ample opportunity to put his glock away, grab a surprisingly light coffee table and toss it at the new arrival. It screeched as it fell out of the doorway.

I could have taken a leg off that table... oh well.

He readied his broom stick for whatever else might come out.

[Austin and Sylvia]

As the pair heads up the stairs to the fifth floor, a loud pounding emanates from the previous level, followed by:
"YOU CHINK FUCKS THINK YOU CAN HOLD ME IN HERE? SUCH HUBRIS! I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU! YOU HEAR ME? HUH? I KNOW WHO YOU ARE. I KNOW YOUR FACES!" he roared, his throat stinging with the force of his words. "I'LL KILL YOU, AND THEN I'LL KILL FUCK YOUR GIRL FRIEND, SHOW HER WHAT A REALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL MAN CAN DO!"

Austin stops and just listens, his hand tightening on the railing. Fuck waiting till later, I’m killing this fucker now.

Part of it was the blatant racism, but Austin wasn’t the type to be so easily antagonized. It was mostly the challenge in John’s shout that made Austin want to beat him to the ground and see him cringe in fear and terror. The challenge, and the threat towards Sylvia.

Sylvia’s anger flares drastically, normally she would cower in fear-- but no, this guy was threatening Austin. Seeing Austin’s clenched fist, she looks at him and says, “Ready to wreck this guy?”
Once Austin is done with him, I want to give him a parting kick. Or several.

Austin laughs. “Hell yeah. Let’s go grab someone.”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Sylvia’s eyes narrow. I’d sacrifice a person to make sure Austin is safe any day.

The pair follow the remainder of the possibly infected crowd up to the seventh floor. A small group of survivors stood awkwardly on the final landing. Austin flicks on his flashlight and shines it at the group. “Anyone bitten or scratched by a zombie will soon die and turn on everyone else, but only if they aren’t treated in time. If you value your safety, tell me if you or anyone else here has been wounded, please.” Austin says carefully, balancing a hint of confidence and authority with some fear, adding in the hope of treatment to encourage people not to hide their wounds. If it took too long or no one was actually infected, he would grab the largest, most submissive person they could find.

Sylvia scans everyone’s reactions carefully while Austin gives his small speech to the crowd. Have to keep an eye out for any hostile reactions.
Only a moment passes before a frightened voice walks to the forefront of the group. “Erm, one of them bit me on the arm? I don’t want to die, please cure me!” The voice pleads. The possible infected was a Caucasian man in his fifties, with greying, receding hair and a thick belly hanging over his belt. He stood at about 5’11 and wore a white polo shirt tucked into khaki pants. The man holds up his arm to the light, revealing a shallow but bloody bite wound. The zombie had bitten the man but hadn’t been able to bite deep before the man tore his arm away, tearing the his own skin and flesh off before the teeth got deep into his arm.

Austin smiles. It looked reassuring to the infected man, but Austin was smiling because he had a good meat shield now, one that he could use without a guilty conscience. “The rest of you wait here, we’ll escort this man down first and get him to a safe room to cure him. We can’t protect all of you at once, but you’re safest here.” Austin assures the group.

Sylvia beams a smile at the group and the man, “Don’t worry, he’s very capable.”
Must keep up appearances.

Austin hurries the man down to the fifth floor and saws through the rope holding the door shut before stepping away and walking to the stairs. “I’ll guard the stairs while you get treated, go on in.”

“The rope was there to make sure any zombies or rogue humans couldn’t get into our supplies,” Sylvia adds.

The man thanks them quietly and enters the apartment. “Hello? Is anyone in there?” He calls out uncertainly. Austin walks to the edge of the door and peers in. Nothing. John implied he was going to escape but how? The window? Austin motions to Sylvia that it’s safe to enter and walks inside, wary for traps and people hiding. Austin makes sure to lock the door behind them, as leaving it open would have been a horrible oversight.

Sylvia slips inside quietly and glances around. She spies a rope leading from the refrigerator and out the window. Leaning towards Austin she whispers, “There’s a rope on the fridge leading out the window. He’s probably climbing. I’ll go spot his position and signal when to cut it. Prepare a heavy object to throw over the side just in case too.”

Austin nods and brings a stack of the largest, heaviest ceramic plates he could find from a cabinet to the windowsill.

Speaking to the man, Sylvia says sweetly, “There seems to be an intruder trying to get up to this room trying to steal our supplies, so sit tight while we go deal with him. Afterwards we can treat you and it still wouldn’t be too late.”

Austin chuckles at the charade and holds his knife to the taut rope. “Now?”
Sylvia peeks out of the window, exposing as little of her face as she could. She could see Mr. Marcel struggling to climb down and nods at Austin.

If he survives, I hope a zombie eats him. Austin saws through the rope where it meets the windowsill, since it was the easiest place to cut. The rope snaps once nearly cut through, and John presumably falls to his doom.

“Drop the plates. I don’t want him surviving,” Sylvia says coldly, any hint of compassion gone from her voice. This was an enemy. And he was going to pay.

“I was going to anyways.” Austin grins and drops one plate after another, all slightly spread out, watching them all zip down toward the ground.

Once the deed was done, she comments to Austin, “Now we just need to fix the last problem remaining here, right?”

“Mhm.” Austin nods. To the infected man, Austin says “Take a seat on the couch, I’ll go get the medical supplies now.” The couch just so happened to face away from Austin and Sylvia. The man nods anxiously and takes a seat.

Walking up steadily behind the man, Austin grips his hair and slams the knife through the man’s temple. The blade sinks to the hilt with a slick thud. Austin pulls the knife out and stabs the man in the back of the neck as well. The stab deflects off the spine and goes sideways, so Austin stabs two more times to be sure he succeeded. The dead man’s head sags, blood running down his back and face, staining the white polo shirt. Austin wipes his knife on the man’s shirt, getting most of the blood off.

Sylvia mutters, “You should throw the body out the window.”

“Yeah. Watch out for the blood, we can’t let it get on us. I need to clean my knife to.” Austin cautions. He drags the dead man to the window by his legs after tying a plastic bag around the man’s head to contain the blood.

Sylvia gives herself a ton of distance away from the dead body. I don’t want blood on me.

Dead bodies are heavy. Austin complains to himself and hoists the man up onto a chair that he sets under the window. By himself, he couldn’t lift the man to the window, so he did it in stages, lifting one half and setting it onto the chair, then pulling it fully on top of the chair. He repeated this again and tipped the man out the window. Hopefully he lands on John, or kills a zombies.

“Well. That was a thing.” Austin remarks, looking absently at the couch where he killed the man. He didn’t even know his name. Shaking his head, Austin cleans off his trench knife with a paper towel wetted from a water pitcher.

“Cuddle with me?” Sylvia asks, looking hopefully at Austin.

“Now? But, I have some blood on me.” Austin wipes down his chest and gloves carefully.

“Pwease?”

“Fiiiiiiiine.” Austin sighs under his breath but agrees.

Caleb was used to all the screaming and yelling, his job was a professional wrestler and he had wrestled on the grandest Pay-Per-View of them all. He was renowned, both when his character (Koloko) was a face, and a heel. Unfortunately he was not ready for this type of screaming and yelling. He sat in his friends room on the 5th floor as he listened and watched from the window everything that was going on. The undead horde coming towards the apartments. His friend was away on a business trip, Caleb was supposed to be going home to his family.

When this whole thing first started he had received a call from his brother about what was happening over there. Caleb's wife wasn't able to escape in time and sacrificed herself so the kids could run. His brother had the kids now, but his wife was confirmed as dead. He held the photo of him, his two kids and his wife as he fought back tears. She was so beautiful and he loved her with every part of him. Of course that was over now that this whole hell had started. He had been hearing a lot of noise and people running just outside in the hallway.

Caleb looked outside at the multiple zombies burning in the streets from the recent missile that scared him to all hell. he knew that if he stayed there he would die. On the other hand if he left he might die as well. He stood there his bag over his shoulder, with his pistol in his jean's back pocket. His hand was on the door handle as he stared at the door and then back at the open ledge that screamed freedom. This hell was so tempting to escape from. He stared at the screen door and the ledge that he could jump off, but he turned from it, he knew he couldn't do it. It would be letting his kids down, his brother down. He would be letting his well, ex-wife down. Caleb reached into his bag and pulled out a crowbar, as he opened the door and the smell of death filled his nostrils and he had a hard time breathing in at first. It made him take a couple steps back before walking out the door. As he walked out he heard yelling coming from somewhere outside.

"YOU CHINK FUCKS THINK YOU CAN HOLD ME IN HERE? SUCH HUBRIS! I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU! YOU HEAR ME? HUH? I KNOW WHO YOU ARE. I KNOW YOUR FACES!" he roared, his throat stinging with the force of his words. "I'LL KILL YOU, AND THEN I'LL KILL FUCK YOUR GIRL FRIEND, SHOW HER WHAT A REALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL MAN CAN DO!"

Caleb looked around with a puzzled look trying to figure out what was going on when a lone man who seemed like he was lost started walking towards Caleb. Caleb sighed as he walked towards the man, he was dead, and must have been a straggler or somehow made it up the stairs first, or maybe it was someone who was already infected. Caleb lifted the crowbar and smashed the man in the side of the skull, his body went hurtling towards a window that shattered as the body smacked into the weakened window. The man fell all the way down all four stories and splattered against the concrete. Caleb wiped some blood off of him as he walked away. He thought about how he couldn't really fake who he was since a lot of people had seen him on TV he was wondering if it was best to try to find people to travel with or if he should try to go alone. He heard a lot of noise coming from the stairwell, but then again, they might be thinking the same thing of where he was, he did just send a man out the window after all. He stood there awkwardly in the seemingly deserted hall thinking about what he should do next. He could hear the down stairs all panicking, he didn't want to be apart of that.

Maybe if I could find a rope he thought to himself. Caleb stood there and leaned against the wall as his frustration took over. "FUCK!" he yelled as he hit the wall feeling the wall give way to his fist. "How the fuck am I supposed to get out of here!" he said aloud. He was hoping someone would hear him. He wasn't sure who, but he was wanting someone to.

5th Floor:
Brian had been sitting in the corner of his 5th story living room, keeping his eyes closed and covering his ears for the last few minutes. Between the sheer rushing panic of the evacuation from the lobby and the roar of the gunship's weapons, he had been spending the last few minutes calming himself down. Once he opened his eyes, he realized that the power had gone out. Searing under his breath, he used the light from his cell phone's screen to find his headlamp in a kitchen drawer.

Pleased to find that the water still worked, he pours himself a glass of water to drink. "Ok," he thought, "that helicopter was a mixed blessing. On one hand I can't hear that massive horde anymore. On the other hand we have no power now." He drained the glass and placed it on the counter. "Either way, I can't hear any of those things moaning outside my door. Might as well see if I can find out what the situation is."

Brian put on his windbreaker and his headlamp. As he unlocked the door he heard a man shouting outside from the other side of the building and a few floors below. Something about how he was going to kill 'them' all. Brian hoped that the shouter meant the zombies, not the residents. As an afterthought, he went back into the hall closet and retrieved the machete his wife used when re-potting plants. It was in its sheathe on a lanyard. Inspecting the blade he muttered "Thank god Karen's not here in this mess." before slinging it over his shoulder and stepping into the hallway, locking his door behind him. He sweeps the hallway with his headlamp, looking out for others.

Edit:
Brian's attention snapped to the end of the hallway as he heard a glass window breaking. Shortly after he sees a large figure at the end of the hall shout "FUCK!" before pounding the wall. "How the fuck am I supposed to get out of here!".

Brian puts his arms out in a gesture to calm this man down. "Hey, calm down. Beating yourself and the place up won't help anyone right now. My name is Brian Robinson. I live down the hall. Tell me what's wrong. " @Paingodsson

7th Floor -

Drew finally calmed down enough from his near panic attack enough to hear all the terrible noise from down below, Drew was about to panic again but he managed to calm his nerves long enough to collect his thoughts and to think ahead for a plan to survive the zombies. Drew quickly went down the stairs to get his crowbar from the lower landing which he dropped in his panic, he run back to the top landing and ran to his room, and quickly but as silently as he can he closed his apartment door. He opened the closet door next to his apartment exit and he pulled out a camper Backpack to carry all his survival tools and food while he tries to escape once the zombies are thinned enough to make a clear escape for himself.

Drew went into the kitchen and grabbed all the pre packaged food and water he could possibly need to last a few days, he went into his bedroom and grabbed his cellphone charger and crank radio, he chuckled at himself, reminding himself of how useless he thought this would be when he first got it. He grabbed some batteries and a lighter. Also some flares wouldn't hurt to have as either a signal or a distraction, he lucky he still had his hiking stuff from last summer. He sighed and put the bag next to the apartment door, he silently stood there for a few moments, and sighed again, he looked at his apartment window and watched the streets below, it apperes that loud explosion cleared out the street, but he could still he see zombies here and there, but now is the best time for him and others to escape to safety.

He didn't know what was going on anymore after Aadan heard explosions outside the apartments. His room was nearby as he ran to check out the street after hearing sounds of explosions. He opened the blinds and saw that the streets and the infected people were mostly gone because of the bombing. Helicopter blades passed the apartments as it was done with it's job of clearing out the inflected; however, some of them were still alive and more were coming because of the explosion.

Aadan knew that he could just hide in his room until the inflected are completely gone, or follow the group of people still in the lobby. After closing his blinds once more, he went to his couch and sat on it as he looked at his gun. The barricades were going down as he heard the inflected getting killed by the others outside his apartment room. He grabbed his gun and stool up as he looked at the doorway and sighed.

I have to help out or there will be those freaks outside my room

Aadan was going to use his pistol on those freaks until he finally realized that the gun sounds were making them come to the apartment. So, he put the gun in his pocket and decided to look into the hallway before going out there. Then, he saw as the inflected were getting in the hallway and saw some containers on the ground. He looked at the containers confused as he heard a woman's voice saying to gather anything 'slippery'. Aadan was going to talk to the woman, but decided not to after he saw some of the inflected going to the hallway.

So, he shut the door and lock it as he ran towards the nightstand and put it against the door. It was heavily enough that the door should stay holding for a while and all he had to do was to stay quiet or get eaten by them. He checked the rest of the house to make such that there were no ways that the inflected could get in. He was to scared to help out the others outside his room and decided to run and hide for the issue at hand.

After all of that was done, he walked slowly away from the door and looked at it to see if the door would collapse. Aaden kept his mouth shut and his footsteps quite as he didn't want anyone in his room.

Madison Ripley

Second Floor.

---

Madison froze in her scrambling to gather the materials for her plan, stuck in the logical loop that what she was doing would only hamper them in the long run. Oil meant slippery escape. Oil also meant fire-hazard. She knew enough about fire to know that in this situation, it could be the worst possible thing. Like a human bulldozer, Madison pushed all the containers that she brought out in the first place, back into her open apartment as quickly as she could. Her eyes were on the interior of her apartment as she was sure nothing had got in behind her back, darting from her kitchen to her television and over to her bathroom door. All seemed well inside.

The thought of staying in passed her mind before she heard the shrill scream of a woman in danger. She ran to her door and peered out just in time to see a fatal bite being delivered to the neck of one Lucy Collins, right there in front of her apartment. Her stomach flipped as skin tore, muscle stretched and deep red spattered from the open wound and onto the floor. The assailant was quickly dispatched by the marine nearby, with a blade to the back of the skull. The Marine sighed before walking off to tend to the barrier once more. Leaving Lucy to simply... lay there, leaking blood onto the floor. That could have been her that was attacked, as she came out of her apartment in nearly the same way.

Madison's hand shot out for her axe as she swore she saw Lucy's body twitch ever so slightly. A trick of the light? The last remnants of neural activity? Or a sign of impending reanimation. The reason didn't matter after Madison buried her axe in the poor girl's skull. It bit deep with an almost satisfying crunch. No risks to be taken this way, she told herself. No added danger, as she used Lucy's clothing to clean herself and her axe of blood spatters as well as she could. She had seen the dead rise. She would take no chances. It took her a few minutes to set her axe down and drag the Lucy's body back into her respective apartment, along with the already re-deceased assailant and close the door.

Slowly, she retrieved her axe and returned to the hall with the others, sighing shakily and hoping they had not seen her do the dirtier work.

"What is our plan? Are we going to get out of here or not?"

Roger was outside of his fortified room, he wondered if this was a good idea at all leaving that room, but he doesn't want to be trapped in that room once those things finally overrun the building, leaving him with only one option and wouldn't want to go there. When he peaked outside the door, he saw a glimpse of someone entering another room and wondered if they needed any help. Or, they could all be zombies in there by now and he would only just agitate them. He started walking towards the door of John's room and looked behind him multiple times during the whole ten second walk to the door. He made sure his mask was tight in his face, his crowbar ready for anything, and his feet ready to get the out if anything bad happens.

Roger tried silently as possible to put his head towards the door, trying to figure out if they were fine inside that room and managed to hear two people talking inside with no one else he could hear. He looked down both hallways, again, just as he doesn't want some random freak to come out of nowhere and bite him in the balls or something similar in that manner. Roger looked directly at the door, his mind telling him that knocking on the door holds too many negative possibilities that could come out, but most of them were just crazy imaginative things his mind was making up. He shook his head roughly and managed to gulp down his fears to actually do the second most ballsy thing he has done in this time span, knock on a door.

He knocked lightly at the door hoping that these people were some normal people and normal people that would wish to help him get rid of these freaks. "Uh... Anyone in here? I would like to speak to the people residing in this room for a discussion on protecting this apartment. Uh, please." Roger sounded so meek in that sentence that he would have probably ignored himself, however, he stood outside hoping that someone would answer him.

Grayeson, Madison and the Reverend, Second Floor

Climbing had been an unwise idea, for John was no abseiler. He was a stupid, grossly overweight loser with serious mommy issues, who had deteriorated into total insanity. His arms, large from flab rather than muscle, burned intensely as he fought to keep himself falling to his death. Casting a downwards glance froze him briefly, as he contemplated the possible end of his existence.

No.

The recent friend he'd established inside his head was a great life coach. Where before he had found only darkness and fear oweing to a life dominated by his mother, he now found courage coupled with homicidal rage. Not that he saw it that way of course; if the world was ending, John may as well take a few Chinks with him, leave more room for non-savages who'll no doubt have to survive in the urban wasteland long after his own death.

Voices erupted above, emanating from his room.

Fuckers. They're going to kill you, John. You're going to die.

John's insanity crumbled momentarily, and he regained some sobriety. His eyes welled, his nose started dribbling snot. He didn't want to die! And his arms, his arms hurt so much!

But it does not have to be.

"How?" He asked, struggling to break through his sobbing fit.

The window. Break it. Kill. KILLL. KILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL.

John looked forwards, he had reached as far as the second floor. High enough still to be fatal, but low enough to really stick it to these self reighteous fuckers. All of those people that smirked at him behind his back, who cussed his mum. All the pretty girls who looked at him with pity, and all the men who looked at him with disgust.

They would all die.

Placing one meaty foot against the glass window of fuck-knows-who's apartment, he pushed himself away, suspending himself in the air for but a brief second, until all of his weight came rushing back towards the glass. It shattered, just as John's hands felt the rope lose its tensions. If he wasn't too busy crashing through the window, slicing his legs, chest, arms and face on thick shards, he'd of had the cognitive capacity to realise he almost died.

But he didn't. Because he was Death, the Destroyer of Worlds, and his cause was just. The rope had simply been sliced by the glass, just as he had been.

Speaking of which, John looked down at the floor, blood quickly pooling around him. And that was when he realised he was not alone.

Andrew Zeller, or rather, what was Andrew Zeller, stood before him, mouth agape in an unnatural and painful looking way. John struggled to his feet, snot and tears still fresh from his moment of sobriety, and stared back.

It is an obstacle. Dispatch it. The door beyond is all that matters. Kill, KILL!

John obliged, lifting his .38 up from his boxers and pulling back the firing hammer, he fired right at Andrew's head, watching it explode into fragments of brain and congealed blood. The bullet continued, smacking into the door and passing beyond. [Hitting no one, fucking dice] His ears ringing from the shot, he stumbled forwards on legs that burnt with every movement- courtesy of the many cuts he had sustained.

He passed by a mirror, gave it a quick look, and saw nothing but blood cascading down his large form.

You have come along way, John.

"Yes," he replied, smirking.

He placed his hand on the door, shoved it open and came out onto the stairwell. Madison Ripley, that disgrace to God, as John's mother had lovingly put it, had her back to him. Rather than firing out babies, she thought herself a man, and worked as one. An afront! The macho, I'm tough-look-at-me! marine prick also had his back turned, and he was someone else John's mother disliked. In her mind, the war in Afghanistan was an evil- bred purely by society's acceptance of faggots.

Then there was Reverend Johnathan McDougal. John Marcel knew the man well, his mother had seethed at the Holy man's incompetence when it came to reading the bible. He was too soft, too compassionate! God demanded an eye for an eye, and the Reverend was the kind of man who would consul a fucking homosexual.

"Forgive yourself father, for you have sinned," John Marcel said, cackling.

The priest turned, just as John pulled the trigger, and his neck exploded into ribbons of blood. He fell to the floor, gasping for air and choking on frothing blood.

Nicholas turned his attention away from the battle at the stairwell, but not quite quickly enough. John aimed and fired, the round tearing through Nicholas' shoulder and sending him into the waiting arms of a Stage One. But Nicholas was a tough son of a bitch, and quickly tore at the Stage One's clothes in an attempt to get some purchase. After steadying himself, time slowing down as his body pumped itself with adrenaline, he planted his forehead into the undead creature, sending it cartwheeling into its friends behind.

Madison stood, mouth agape at the John's menacing appearance. She was a brave one though, and quickly recovered, running forwards with her axe held high. John smiled as he fired another round, the bullet grazing her head. It was a far from a fatal wound, but she span with the force of the bullet tearing across the side of her face, and wound up on the floor.

"YOU SHOULDA STAYED IN THE KITCHEN, HONNEY!" John roared, half in insane anger, half in merriment.

He raised the gun at Madison's crouched form, and pulled the trigger.

*Click*

He pulled the trigger again.

*Click*

"Wh-?" He managed, before he noticed Madison getting steadily to her feet, and Grayeson reaching for a firearm of his own. "Oh fuck."

He backed off into the room from which he had came, kicking over a solid oak coffee table, and ducking behind it. He checked the pistol, heart thudding with excitement and fear, and found that the cylinder had jammed. He smacked it against the hard floor a few times, and that freed it, but now he'd lost his element of surprise.

Don't die like a dog, John.

"I wont!" He managed, lifting himself over the coffee table and poising his .38 at the open door. "COME GEEEEEEEEEEEEEETTTTTTTTTTTTT ITTT!"

"Hey, calm down. Beating yourself and the place up won't help anyone right now. My name is Brian Robinson. I live down the hall. Tell me what's wrong. "-Brian said.

This got Caleb's attention as he heard someone else speaking to him. He wasn't the only living person on the floor, at least i'm not the only person stuck in this hell hole. Caleb thought to himself as he stared at the man. Though part of Caleb was hoping that there wasn't, he didn't want someone recognizing him and being star struck, he just didn't have the time to deal with it. He needed to get out of here, but the man asked him a question so of course he was obligated to answer.

He was almost in disbelief that there was someone else here as well. Caleb looked at the man up and down, the man was old, somewhere in his 60's if Caleb had to guess. Caleb looked at the man almost surprised that he was still alive. Caleb then realized that the man coming at him was trying to calm him down like he was some sort of animal. "I'm not some beast, you don't need to speak to me like one." Caleb said, although he did tower over the old man. Caleb looked at the hole in the wall that he had just left and then looked back at the old man with apathy towards the hole. "Look I want to get the hell out of here, I want to go see my kids." he said as he looked at the man intently, "But as you can tell there's a mob upstairs and a different mob downstairs. So, I'm trying to figure out what to do, that is what is wrong." Caleb said sharply.

Caleb shook his head as he thought about how his wife wanted him to take a break from wrestling before all this mess happened, but he told her he needed to finish up with his rivalry with Amulacheck the Egyptian Madman and his manager Tony. Caleb had won the final match and was on his way home when all the hell broke loose. "Anyway what's it matter to you?" Caleb said glaring at the man, "Stop walking closer, don't think I'm gonna let you trick me just because your an old man. I want to see my kids I will damn sure not let an old man stop me from that." Caleb said as his voice shook with his words. Caleb was hoping he could follow up with his words if need be. "I'll send you out this window like I did that infected." Caleb said his voice still shaking. Caleb's mind filled with thoughts of his wife and kids as he fought back tears, he missed them all so much. But he needed to find them, somehow, someway, he needed to figure out where they were and if they were okay.

Caleb then looked into the man's eye's as he saw sincerity in them, he dropped his crowbar as he put his back against the wall and slid down. "Sorry, I just, I don't know, I am trying to be careful, I can't let my kids down. I can't leave them without a parent." he said. That was when he heard gunshots from down below and he jumped back up to his feet, "What the fuck was that?" he said, since it had been awhile since he heard gunfire around the apartments.

[Austin and Sylvia]

Four gunshots, unmistakable, ring out one after another. The pause between them suggested multiple targets, or an evasive target. Austin at least, makes this assumption. More zombies? Firing a gun would just attract more though, unless there are too many? There can’t be, they were just decimated, and I didn’t see any zombies outside. Did an argument break out?

"YOU SHOULDA STAYED IN THE KITCHEN, HONNEY!" Roars the muffled but unmistakable bigoted voice of John Marcel. He didn’t die?! Austin thinks with alarm.

When he cut the rope earlier, it was too dark to see John’s body. Apparently, it wasn’t due to the darkness but the fact that his body never landed. “He really must have survived somehow” Austin says.

“How in the world did he survive that??” Sylvia exclaims. Maybe he got tipped off by that guy’s voice. I’m pretty sure we were quiet enough though.

"COME GEEEEEEEEEEEEEETTTTTTTTTTTTT ITTT!" Comes John’s voice once more.

“I can’t tell what kind of gun that is, but at least it isn’t an automatic. Is he shooting at... humans? He probably would.”

Sylvia pauses and listens, “I heard four gunshots total. And he probably is considering what he wanted to do to us.”

“True. We might be able to tell if he has the ammo or box for it around here, but we should deal with him before he comes upstairs. Let’s grab another infected or probable one if we can.”

“Yeah. Or maybe multiple guns. You know, that thing you’ve wanted this entire time?” Sylvia remarks.

“It’s worth using guns on humans. Do you think he has another one around here? He probably would have taken them all with him.”

“We might as well check though. No harm, right? Although we might want to get out of this apartment soon. Cause he’ll probably come back. And we should avoid our own apartment too for now, in case he tries to kill us there.”

“Alright, but let’s do it fast. You should go hide in maybe Sue’s apartment while I grab and bring down a possible infected to shield with.”

Sylvia shakes her head stubbornly, “I’m sticking with you. Maybe I’d be useless in terms of fighting, but I could at least block a bullet for you.” I’d rather I die than him.

“It’d probably go right through you.” Austin jokes. Well, he didn’t want her blocking bullets for him anyways. “But alright.”

“I’ll look through this room, you can check out another room,” Sylvia says while entering Mrs. Marcel’s bedroom. She quickly scans the entire room before her eyes fall onto an open shoebox. Looks out of place...and open. Mr. Marcel most likely used something from here earlier, but what was it? Sylvia tips the shoebox over completely and a box of .38 ammo falls out. This must’ve held a gun. A pistol? Need to go play more first person shooters. She stuffs the box into her front pants pockets.
((@Dungeon Blaster can edit this out if necessary. Would make sense for there to be extra ammo lying around.))

Austin rifles through the rest of the house with care, knife in hand while searching the other rooms. He could very clearly remember a scene in “The Walking Dead” where a zombie jumps out after a character opens a door. He finds no guns or ammo ((but maybe other things, didn’t the OP say

“Austin, I found something!”

Austin hurries over. “What is it?”

“Look,” Sylvia holds out the ammo box.

“Hmm. I’m pretty sure .38 ammo is only used for revolvers. John probably has one on him then, and probably few shots left unless he has ammo on himself. We should grab that.”

“Yeah, I don’t want him to be able to come back here and get more ammo. Can you hold onto it? My pockets aren’t as secure as yours.” They really need to make girl pants with guy pockets. A great advertising point would that they would allow you to carry more stuff on your person during a zombie apocalypse.

“I don’t have pockets available, it’s all covered up so I don’t get stabbed or bitten.” Austin points out. “Just hide it somewhere and we can grab it later.”

“I’ll just...put it in my pocket.”

“I’ll take six rounds just in case.” Austin pockets a few rounds in a few different pockets.

After grabbing spare keys and locking the apartment door, Austin and Sylvia cautiously but hastily ascends up the stairs, knife drawn, lights on, wary for infected that might have turned coming from the top of the stairs. Luckily, upon arriving, all were accounted for and unharmed.

“What took you so long to get back here?!” Yells one woman, outraged that the apparent authorities had taken so long to do their jobs. “We could have died while you were gone!” She complains.

“We got caught up with some infected, I’m sorry,” Sylvia graciously apologizes, “And we had to escort the man back to his room.”

Escorted him to the ground floor. Austin smirks to himself.

“Hey! You should take a look at my friend, he’s in pretty bad shape.” Calls out a young, clear voice, belonging to a slender young woman waving her arm. She points at a young man sitting against the wall, breathing and sweating heavily. “He was bit trying to protect me, I think he’s infected.”

Indeed, the young man had been bitten on the shoulder. ((OP doesn’t have information on lethality of bites or time it takes to die and turn? Or if they can turn after the human dies)) “We’ll treat him at once, don’t worry.” Austin assures like before, helping the man to his feet. The young man was weakened and a bit dazed, but strong enough to stand and walk. Blood soaked his shirt at the shoulder, but wasn’t dripping down his back or anything. He nods and mutters his thanks to Austin as he rises.

“Why can’t you take more people?!” a man shouts angrily.

“We can only protect so many people at once, so it’s safest to just do one at a time,” Sylvia replies calmly.

Austin takes the bitten young man down to the floor below before instructing him, “It could get really dangerous from here on out, so do exactly as I say without hesitating. Or else you’ll die. Walk in front of me and do not duck or crouch, whatever you do. If you move, it makes it harder for me to protect you since you could bump into me or get in my way.” Austin instructs firmly. These were really only instructions to meatshield, but Austin thought they sounded reasonable enough.

“This is so that we won’t get ambushed from behind. We’ll also be watching out up ahead of you so don’t worry,” Sylvia adds smoothly, positioning herself behind Austin so she could yank him out of the way if anything happened.

At each stairwell and landing, Austin checks over and through the railings to glimpse the floor below. He was taking no chances, and was cautious of the apartment doors as well. With his knife drawn, the three descended floor by floor, the young man in front, followed by Austin and then Sylvia.

((Greyson will most likely deal with John first, but in case he doesn’t, Austin and Sylvia will arrive. They won’t arrive for a bit though, they took some time searching the apartment and grabbing the infected.))

Brian Robinson

5th Floor Hallway:
Brian stops walking and snaps his head towards the stairwell as soon as he hears the shots."Damnit who is shooting? Don't they realize that is what got us swarmed earlier?" He turns back towards the towering figure. "Look, I can sympathize with your situation. I'm a family man too," he says as he holds up his ring hand, letting the wedding band glint in his headlamp's light, "and I'm separated from my wife because of this quarantine. I haven't been able to get in contact with her all day and my stomach's tied up like a pretzel from worry right now." He looks at his ring a little longer before putting his hand down and focusing back on the man in front of him. "I can't stand the idea of just sitting in my room, waiting for whatever comes. I am the kind of guy that feels the need to be doing something when he is anxious, a sort of nervous energy. You," he motions to the dent in the wall, "seem the same. Right now I need to know what is going on in this building. See what fires need putting out, so to speak. Personally I want to see what is going on upstairs first since that is closer and I don't like the idea of going down into known danger while there is still an unknown above me. I'd like someone to come with me. Buddy system and all that."

Brian holds out his hand towards the man. "So, what do you say mister?" @Paingodsson

Fourth floor, landing

Ryan Monroe stood, his hand just reaching out for the door handle of his apartments door when he froze, he'd hear gunshots going of a few floors below.
Maybe it'd just be safer to hide out in here. I could survive in here...
He heard muffled voices through his door, someone was on the landing. Had the infected broken past the barricades? That would certainly explain the gunshots. He clutched the hammer, found in the toolbox under the sink in his right hand tightly until his knuckles were white. Survival or morality? The .38 revolver and loaded with 6 shots, stuffed down the back of his jeans but covered out of sight by his jacket gave him some comfort about going out there into who knew what.
Fuck it, i have to help somehow
Placing his room key into the lock and twisting it once more, he opened the door cautiously inch by inch until he was sure nothing was on the landing with him, nothing that could cause harm anyway. He saw a bright light shinning from above on the stairwell, someone with a torch? but his attention was drawn to the source of light across the landing, looked like a headlamp or something? Swiftly closing the door behind him and locking it, he slipped the key into his breast pocket before turning and looking at the source of light more closely.
"Hello? who's that?" He could only see so much with the light from the headlamp shinning at him now, but he could make out the outline of two men, he also noticed the door to, what's his name? John, that's it. Anyway, John's apartment door was open but he couldn't see much inside and to be honest he didn't want to.
"What are you two doing? We should get down there and help" He was going down regardless, but if these two came with then maybe they'd have more of a chance.

7th Floor -

Drew finally sighed deeply, it's now or never. Drew picked up the bag next to the door and placed on his back, while heavy it wasn't unbearable or even exhaustion, it was a good thing he as fit as he is. He grabbed his crowbar he has absentmindedly leaned on the adjacent wall, he lift it up to his chest and held it with his other hand so if bad comes to worse he can defend himself. Drew looked at his doorknob his shaky hands hovered over the steel knob, sweat beading on his forehead and tense hand, but with a hard breath of air he collected himself enough to grabbed the door knob and twist it open, it looked exactly the same besides the lights being out, but he knew it will never be like every other ever again.

With another sigh he collect the flashlight from his backpack and he let it guide him down the hallway. Halfway to the stairwell his flashlight started to act up repeatedly turning off and on, Drew groaned, and muttered swears under his breath, it turned off entirely, he stopped where he was and looked at the bulb and suddenly to his surprised it flashed right in his eyes, Drew sneezed suddenly from the suddenly light being flash, it was a sharp and high pitched sneeze, but it almost echoed throughout the floor, Drew froze, he glanced down the hall. As if on cue, a low groaning noise could be heard from one of the rooms, Drew was paralyzed with fear. And to his shock the door knob as starting to twist, why did this apartment had handicapped doorknobs?

And to Drew shock it was the room belonging to a family, he knew them, and horror consumed him "No, please." Drew whispered. And to his horror the door opened enough for what he feared, two children, Bailey and Bradley. Bailey skin was grey and a clear bite mark was etched onto her arm, and Bradley was crawling on the ground, his cast prevent him from walking and most likely what got him killed if his sister was infected first, if the bite marks all over his neck and face proved anything. Drew was holding back a scream and tears, he knew those kids he babysat them a few times, and they were dead and coming at him. Drew had no idea what to do, and his mind was more fear ridden with each step and crawl they got to him.

At arm's reach from the girl, Drew finally decided to push Bailey away and make his way out of here. He pushed her far enough to create enough of a window for him to escape and her brother was to slow to stop him and he booked it for the stairwell. But in his panic he has missed his second step and he slipped down the stairs and fell down to the floor below, leaving him dazed and confused, and with him defenseless as his crowbar has somehow hit the wall of the landing and as fallen another flight of stairs without him.

Caleb looked at the hand of the man that was confronting him. He looked and stared at the ring on his finger, he then looked at his which meant nothing now that his wife was gone. But he realized that he might as well join this old man, the man didn't know who he was, so at least he wouldn't have to deal with that. So Caleb nodded as he took the mans hand and shook it. "Alright old man I'll join up with you." he said hesitantly. "I don't know what's going on upstairs, but i'd rather not go higher. I've already had to shake myself off one ledge, would rather not have to do it again." Caleb said half jokingly. "Personally I say we find a way to climb down, and we try to find a way out of here. Or if you want to stay here we need to find others who have a survival instinct themselves." Caleb said as he looked as his weapon.

"You are gonna need something better than that." Caleb said as he reached into his bag and pulled out his magnum. He held it out to the old man. "This will be more effective, and no offense, you don't look like you can crack anyone's skulls." Caleb said noting the man's age. "Don't worry about drawing more here, there's already enough coming from the gunshots earlier, so I doubt that it will matter much." Caleb said as he closed up his bag seeing the spandex in his bag as the bag closed. "I hope you've shot a gun before though." he said with a bit of a grin. "So, then, upstairs? Or should we wait for everyone else to meet up?" Caleb said as he looked back at the entrances and exits of the hallway.@redbaron1234

Brian Robinson

5th floor hallway:
Brian looks at the gun for a moment before taking it. "Thanks. I used to be in the army back in the day."He swings out the cylinder and checks the bullets. "These look like the kind of revolvers the Army was phasing out when I went through. Still trained us how to use them though." He closes the cylinder and sticks the gun into a jacket pocket. "I feel kinda bad taking your gun when I don't even know your name. Either way, you know what I'm gonna vote for. Head up stairs towards the roof. See whoever else we can find."

@Paingodsson