Grundy didn't sleep, so it wouldn't do to say that he woke up. Something more like he regained control of his body, and the pain had returned. Nothing specifically hurt, but it was the pain of a death that was still trying to claim his broken, withered body. He found himself wrapped up and in a cool place, and for a brief moment he feared that he was back where he had awoken. The awful hole where he had spent an unknowable amount of time, slowly letting his humanity slip away into horrible darkness. He moved to break free, and his arm tore through what was wrapped around him.

He tore the rest off and sat up. It was a dimly light office, with several tables surrounding him each with different equipment on it. There was no one else in the room with him, but there was a large observing window cut into the wall, and Grundy could see movement on the other side. There were several people studying something on a computer screen, their backs to the room. He ripped off the rest of the body bag, got off the table and began walking towards the window.

“What's the deal with the mask?”

“I dunno. We aren't supposed to actually touch anything on the...*thing* until the specialist shows up.”

“Specialist?”

“Yeah. I guess we're calling someone who might actually know what to make of a shambling corpse.”

“Wait, that thing was moving?”

“Yeah, offed 3 people in Central Park this afternoon.”

“Bull--”

And Grundy smashed through the window, grabbing each of them around the neck with one hand and smashing their faces through the screen in front of them. For good measure, he squeezed until he heard the soft popping of bone shattering. He looked around to make sure he didn't miss anyone before he began to feed. As he did, he felt the pain slip away like the tide.