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Conor heard the shotgun fire from what seemed like a floor or two above where he was standing. He grabbed his bat, which he had placed resting against the railing of the fire exit, and continued moving up the stairs, towards where he believed the sounds were emitted from.

Once Conor reached the eleventh floor, he stopped, peering inside the window into a dark room. The door to that room was slightly ajar, allowing him to see a pair of legs on the floor, hopefully they were whatever those people were shooting at. Conor shoved the bat through the glass, creating a small hole in it. That didn't work. Conor pulled back, taking a full on baseball swing at the window, shattering the glass onto the floor inside the room.

The sound of the glass echoed through the surroundings of the hospital. That was sure to attract some zombies. He hurriedly pushed his way into the room, through the window and ran out of the door into the hallway. The stench of the now decaying, over-sized janitor zombie filled the room.

Conor pushed passed the zombie, looking around for a sign of where the survivors could have gone. "Hello!?" He called out as loud as he could, he needed to find them.

Patrick stepped lightly on the stairs when he had heard the loud greeting. He turned about to see Zack, nearly running into him.

"Ah! Good ta see ye choose ta come with me! I thought I was doin' this all alone! Like my handiwork?"

The Irishman grinned as he made a grand flourish towards the massive corpse on the floor.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted movement, he readied his shotgun again.

"I hope it was you that was stupid enough to yell earlier, no offense intended," he nudged Zack with his elbow.

Aiming his gun at the hallway, he called out in response,
"'ello? If yer still breathin' an' not rotting, talk calmly and come out where I can see ya. If not, there'll be one more corpse on the floor."

"Hah," the Irishman chuckled as he slung his weapon back over his shoulder into its holster, "Not really, no. There's a fairly large group one floor down, workin' on patchin' up one sorry bloke who got too close to an explosion. 'Course, ya probably'd find more cheer in a graveyard than down with them. This is the fun crew right 'ere! Me an'... uh, Zack was it? Hehe, sorry, bit forgetful at times, comes with the whole former life o' crime experience. Anyways, we're headin' up ta the roof, makin' sure that the route is safe for when we need ta get out o' this dump. Hopefully the doc downstairs and those lads can patch up that boy soon an' hold off the wretched buggers long enough."

Patrick, with his never-ending charisma, smiled at the young man and patted him on the shoulder.

"So, ya got a choice, go downstairs and meet up with the 'sunshine crew', or come with us upstairs an' see what baddies have crawled back into the light."

Zack had been too concentrated on the tazer, that now was up and running. He nodded to the new guy and to the irishman. "Zack, yes. And Patrick and....?" he asked, not having caught the new guy's name yet. His wrench in one pocket, his pistol in another, the tazer in his hand. He was pretty set. He grinned at the new crew member. A repairman, an Irish criminal, and a... what was he? They barely knew anything about him. With the way things were, they had no choice, but to trust him right now, but he'd definately watch him. His face didn't read any suspicion and actually welcomed the man. They'd need the help.

Conor chuckled at himself, he forgot to introduce himself to the survivors, "Nice to meet you Zack, and same to you Patrick. The name's Conor Smith, and I used to be a professional hockey player until I got a concussion, was outta commission for 'bout five months."

"And what was you boy's jobs before the zombie outbreak?" Conor spit onto the ground next to him, the dark, tobacco filled spit resting on the floor next to his foot. "I've been stuck this here baseball bat for about two days now, I was stuck in one of the rooms down on floor five I believe. I was drugged by a hooker 'bout three days ago, then woke up in that room and the sudden the outbreak started, has to scramble together some food and post up in there."

Conor sighed and swung the bat around in his right hand, it had a small bend in it now, from too many zombie skulls. He rested the end of the bat on the floor, leaning on it, spitting again in the same spot.

"Oh crap, doctor, his pulse is erratic!" Drusilla shouted. And it was, jumping too fast before slowing to barely there. She was half torn between keeping her hand in him and pulling out her gun. She moved her body a bit further from the man on the table, just in case he decided to jump up and try biting the s**t out of her.

Girgori smirked. "Fair enough. And for the record, it's an occupational hazard, being brutal. Before this business, I wrote--" He cut himself off mid-sentence when the man on the table began to have a fit. Murdock moved across the room, pistol at the ready and poised to put a bullet in the man's skull if he got aggressive. "Say hello to the new occupational hazard," he muttered to no one in particular.

Conor shook his head violently, holding it with his hands. "Well s**t, if the outbreak started months ago, then how the hell did I get here?" He was so confused, this had to be a severe side affect of the concussion, but he had never forgotten so much information at once before.

He nodded at the men as they explained what they had done before the outbreak. And again as Zack mentioned that they should get moving, "I agree with Zack, we should definitely get moving." He grabbed his baseball bat and stretched his arms out. "I'll just use this here weapon til we can find a weapon, unless you want me to take the shotgun?"