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Rin started to follow Melvin when.... all ******** hell broke loose. Sirens? Shouting voices?! Weapons? ZOMBIES?! She took one wide-eyed stare at Melvin and... ran back to the safety of the room.

Even there she realized the sirens and warnings could not go ignored however. She desperately looked around with her hands flailing a bit. "s**t s**t s**t. I don't want my brain to be eaten. I need my brain. It has s**t to remember still."



Alarms. Flashing lights of bright yellow. People shouting in the hallways. So much for sleeping in. Al was startled from his little pile of furs on the floor just as the s**t appeared to hit the fan. His room was just as sparse as his memories. He didn't even have all his walls, so when weapons were called for - he may have heard it but he had none.

He threw on whatever clothes he could find and ran into the hallways looking like a half-naked dirty clothes hamper. He cared more for finding a weapon anyway. Any weapon. He wasn't going to die now-- wait, when WAS now? Did it matter? Nope. Zombies.

He ran down the hallway looking for anything not nailed down.

Peyton issued a rather unhelpful keening sound when asked if she suspected they were all in some kind of danger. Now that she thought about, maybe. Sparse rooms, no memories, insane tidiness. Something was certainly up. "Maybe!"

Then the Alarm tarred to blare, and lights were flashing everywhere, and something about bio specimens.. No, zombies! "Yes!" She squeaked, and actually grabbed for his arm. "I think we should do what God says and find something we can use as weapons." Peyton didn't want to be eaten alive. No thanks."

She started pulling him down the hall the way she'd come from, but but came to a stop when merry with a very tall blonde with short hair and dog tags, and a slightly shorter girl who also had short blonde hair.

She was sending a theme here..

"Um, zombies," she managed, fingers tightening on.. Hubba Bubba's atm. "God told us to go look for weapons or anything useful, maybe we should all stick together. You know, safety in numbers?"

The people Evan had passed so far looked just as lost and confused as he felt; they were probably not a threat, but they probably wouldn't be able to give him the answers he was after, either. It was disappointing, but someone somewhere had to know what the hell was going on, and Evan was determined to find them.

Hope rose as a small blonde girl flagged him down, and then abruptly died as she voiced the question that was forefront in his mind. "Unfortunately not, miss," he replied with a sad shake of his head. "I'm trying to figure that--"

Whatever else he was going to say was drowned out in the sudden wail of klaxons and a warning that something in the facility had gotten loose. Evan didn't want to stick around to see what it was. "Time to go," he said to the girl, fully expecting her to follow him as he started down the hallway. He hadn't gotten far before he had to stop short so he didn't run into an even smaller pair of blondes.

Evan frowned down at the petite girl, not quite believing what he was hearing. "God told you to look for weapons," he repeated, just to clarify, "against zombies?" He didn't know who he was beyond a name, where he was, or really, anything other than suddenly there were zombies. Sometime between going to sleep and waking up, his life had become a video game. Awesome.

He looked between his news companions, deciding that they were too young and far too small to be any kind of trained combatants; this was probably not a military installation, then. It was also equally likely that these kids' usefulness ranged from dead weight to cannon fodder. Still, he couldn't just leave them behind, even if it did increase his own chances of survival. "Okay," he said on a sigh of resignation, "first things first, we need to get out this hallway--too much traffic here. Did anyone see anything anywhere that we might be able to use as weapons? A kitchen or a broom closet or, god willing, an actual armory?"

"Home is..." The hooded teen faltered, rubbing his head. "I dunno..." He sulked then, a grimace on his face.

"No, we haven't found nuthin'. The room I came from just had pillows, a skateboard and a drum set." Maybe there was a broom closet soemwhere nearby though. Every facility needed to keep clean somehow.

"Wait, are we seriously thinkin of fightin' zombies with mops and brooms?"

"Or we're really bad siblings..." Cass mumbled, turning the ID over with her picture on it. Only then did she look up to watch Marcus as he walked past her an- "Ohmygod." her face turned bright red. "Your back is...covered in scars. LikeIthinkfromfingersohmygodIdon'trememberifthat'smyfaultI'msosorry." She continued to go through things that were on shelves, pulling a framed picture off of one of the shelves and giving it a curious look.

"You look really good in a suit, Marcus Windwalker." she noted, offering him the framed picture - a picture of the pair of them close together. In the picture Cass looked about ready to cry as Marcus held her to his side, their hands linked together. He was wearing a suit, and she was in a white dress. "Kind of feel bad I don't remember any of that, though...." The saddest thing was, she didn't actually feel bad she didn't remember it. It was a strange emotional void of confusion, rather than guilt.

And then came the blaring of a voice from god only knew where, Cass nearly jumping out of her skin as she looked around for the source. "Biohazard Specimens? What?" She felt a surge of excitement inside of her, as though she had been waiting for something like this her entire life. It was with that Cass started going through drawers to look for something to wear.

During which she found a combat knife. "... Think this is mine, this holster fits on my leg." she noted thoughtfully as she put it on...and then on went the sundress.

Combat Knife wielding Sundress wearing amnesiac. This was like the plot of a video game. Awwwwyis.

"Hey, thanks." He nodded at the guy who'd come to help him with the table. "Good idea. Get the ones on top, we need the ones on the floor to support the tabletop against the door." He eyed the table leg nearest him thoughtfully, then took hold of it with both hands and twisted and yanked sharply. It came off with a splintering crack.

He swung it a couple of times experimentally and nodded. "That'll work. Need a hand? Uh - you got a name?"

Jerry's face paled as he watched the goings on, still trying to digest the situation and announcement over the loudspeaker. "Are... are we under some sort of attack?" He managed to choke out, inching his way toward the man in the unicorn shirt who at least appeared to be armed now.