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Tweak was indeed a fast runner. Hell, he practically flew over the floor rather then walked. Probably would have been faster were it not for his pace being jolted by that rifle swinging and hitting him in the side. Absolutely no experience carrying that thing, treating it entirely too much like a bag or something.

Only spared a glance for the cash register without even a pause. He wanted it, oh how he wanted to make with the prying, but the noise outside was a bit too much. Especially since someone - probably stiffy or army boy - were busy shooting up some zombies at the entrance or at least had been. Instead he vaulted the counter with one hand, legs going out to the side, and caught his feet perfect without even a stumble.

...Only to run right into Saul's arm when that guy threw it out suddenly. This left Tweak on the floor and yelling random obscenities, nothing new there. He did at least take the time to glance up and see what had caused psycho here to knock him down. Took him a bit, he had no training of that sort, but he did have street rat trap perception.

"...Told you they were ******** psychotic sons of bitches." And that was that.

Owle noted that, infact, there was someone about four stories up.

"Trap." Saul replied simply, taking that oh-so-careful step over the tripline. Since everyone wasn't freaking out or being eaten by zombies, Saul figured they had time to go around it.

"Be careful, they could be handy and I figure there's more."

Like Gabe, Saul also brought the business end of his FAMAS skyward. If they were as psycho as Tweak said, which was pretty godamn psycho, anything could have been waiting. Looking up, handling the rifle with his right, Saul held the helmet on the top of his head with his left. Chinstraps didn't work, apparently. Next flight up, Saul made mention of a chest high tripline at the top step.

Outside the clatter continued. The absent minded smashing of fists and arms against anything they could reach. Finally forming a crowded semicircle of bloated flesh against the store front.

((*presses pause button*

Waiting for Owle.))

((Catching up to pause point))

Drake had not been fast enough. When everyone suddenly leapt up and dashed inside, he was taken completely unawares...until Gabe started firing. Then he scanned the horizon and saw the incoming things.

Drake: If it is a hive mind, it has a delay. This is useful...if I stay alive long enough to share it.

He turned and ran towards the door...only to find that Gabe had blocked it.

Drake: Not good...too many to fight...

Drake hammered on the door, but to no avail. He grimaced, knowing that there was no other way but this...he grabbed at the edges of the door, and with a powerful heave wrenched it clear off the wall, hinges and all. With a grunt of exertion, he sets the door's edge on the ground and moves around behind it, then backs into the store. He shoved the shelf out of his way with a kick, then set the door back in its frame. With little time for much of anything, Drake drew his katana and pointed it at the door. The blade seemed to take on a golden sheen...and suddenly fire erupted from its tip. Thankfully the owner of this particular shop had sprung enough money for a metal door, whose edges were becoming red with heat and slowly fusing into the frame. Then a...whatever those things are slammed into the door, and Drake ended the flame and moved the shelf back in the way.

Drake: That should hold them for a while. Where's everyone else?

He wandered to the stairs in time to hear about the booby trap...and to silently curse about the low light.

Drake: And again I curse this eyepatch!

((Aye cap'n. Hope you don't mind if I steer this one a little, huh?

Because zombies need representation too.))

Rifle trained upward, Saul crept up the steps watching for anything or anyone that felt like shooting down at them. Atleast he had some kind of support, no matter how experienced or inexperienced Gabe turned out to be, anything helped.

Hand on his helmet, Saul stared up the center of the wrapping staircase, watching for anything.
"Do this kind of thing before?" A question directed to Gabriel, but the lack of eye contact and general room-wide tone didn't make clear whom he was speaking to.

The final step of staircase had a chest-high trip line running across. Scanning around the floor, hand rails, and ceiling, Saul spotted the trap again. This time a double barrelled shotgun taped to the upper case bottom, lined with the top step. Anything that set this one off would have gotten two barrels of twelve gauge in the top of the head.

Reaching out to the trip Saul strummed the taught line with one finger. It vibrated like a guitar cord. Directing the group he waved his rifle point under the line, showing everyone to go under it, ahead of him.

Tweak did not have to do much ducking to get under an over hanging wire. Lower his head and shove the rifle back so it tilted at an angle got him beneath it clean. Once past he let out an epic sigh of relief and groaned rather loudly for the place to be so quiet. "Argh...the hell did this guy have to set up so many traps for! Mayn, I shudda' picked a betta place to hit!" All this accented by a bratty arms crossed stance.

There would be no sneaking around as long as he was in tow. Now he would have been deathly silent were he on his own. Thing is there was an agenda in this. If someone was waiting for them - with intention to kill depending on the traps - then the two going in the lead would be pumped with lead. It would give him plenty of time to jump ship back down the stairs. All of this was kept to himself obviously though. Survival in this fittest, in this case he was obviously the most intellectually fit for the situation of sneaking and attempting survival.

...The others were only useful for combat and sonar or some s**t after-all.

Fuller had been listening intently as he could. And from the puases in the sound of feet trampling up the stairs he was able to tell they still had two more flights of stairs to make before they had reached the top floor and where he was. The fact that they had made it so far without triggering any of the traps showed they most likely weren't those creatures outside; but then that didn't say they came in peace.

Lieing down now he was on his stomach. A large bag of sand was placed at an angle from the door jam and provided a rest and a semblence of cover as he concealled his body in the room with his right shoulder and just top of his head easy to see.

Training the sights at the top of the stairs he waited patiently as he had been taught.

Drake seems to notice something...odd...about Owle. He can't place his finger on it though...if only he didn't have to wear this thrice-cursed eyepatch...

Drake: "The less fighting we have to do, the better."

He voices his opinion matter-of-factly and quite quickly...at least, quickly for him. This is mostly because he had come to this conclusion a long time ago...