We have a... problem...

"Shit!" Riley yells as he slams another magazine into his weapon. What the hell did this place have for security, those little buggers followed him right up to the gates with little or no resistance. Running through the glass revolving door, he managed to slip through as decaying flesh reached for him. Locking the creature's hand, it continued to reach out as the revolving door spun... cutting the creature's hand off. Rolling from the revolving door, he managed to land perfectly on his two front feet. As he began to revolve his head around the room, a gun was shoved into his face. Instinctively, he grabbed the weapon by the barrel of the assault rifle and looked up to see a rather familiar face. "Johnny, you sunnavah bitch!" Johnny laughed as he reached over to pay the man on the shoulder. "Seems like you are having some trouble, we finally got this place locked down..." Turning to see the revolving door stuck on emergency shut off, a bright smile spread across his face. "Those bastards never had a chance. Some rich bastard macked this place out..." Johnny turned to Riley with a bright smile. The man was a jolly good fellow, a little plump but his muscles seared through his outfit. "Riley, you just had to go out and scout for us. You fucking idiot!" A smack was felt on Riley's back, which made his knees cave from the jolt.

Coughing from the blow, Riley looked up to see the zeds banging on the glass. "Shatterproof. Reinforced with microscopic fibers that bend but don't cave to pressure. The bottom floor glass is lined with this shit, so are the first 2 floors. A fortress of its own." Riley sighed, a fortress to keep them out alright. And to keep us in. As if the man could read the expression across Riley's face, The jolly old man slapped him across the back. "Oh don't think so damn much. Two of my boys are upstairs getting ready to take them out." With another audiable laugh, he cracked on his walkie talkie and voiced over. "Bret, Bobby. Why do I not hear those bastards getting a few leads in?" As the fast movies continue to rasp loudly against the glass, he conked over again. "Bret, bobby... tell me your location?". A long pulling silence graced itself over the room. The jolly good man turned to Riley, a grim look on his face. Riley shook his head and said "Do you think they-" BANG BANG!, the sound of semi-automatic fire echoed into the room.

Turning his head, Riley noticed the same number of zeds at the door. What the hell were they shooting at? Johnny conked on the walkie again. "Boys, where the hell are you?" A crackle of the walkie called forth from the talkie, as a raspy voice began to talk. "We ran into some trouble... Sorry Johnny, Bret bought it. Got bit in the leg before we could get a round off. I shot them both." Loud, audiable coughing came over the mic. "I thought he was dead... fast fucker bit me in the neck and ran off. Only a scratch, I think I will be alright- GAHK!" As the walkie cracked and fell silent, Riley and Johnny looked to each other. A dreadful look in their eyes. Two fast movers in a tower. The safety of the compound became dangerous once more. As the zeds continue to bang on the door, Riley and Johnny could only look upwards at the high ceiling.

X many of unexplored floors and fast movers in their own environment. Clicking the safety on his 22LR light rifle, both Johnny and Riley make their way up to the staircase. "We gotta do this a floor at a time, buddy. Ready to rock?" Riley smirked as he slipped away his 22LR, pulling out his CZ75. Racking the slide, a bright smile spread across his own. "Let's do it." The jolly man smirked, racking his AK-47. "Alright then pup, lets see what you are made of..." Riley only gave the man a simple shake of his head. "Better not slow me down, old timer."

Cleavers attention was drawn by the distant popping of gunfire preceading the deathscreams of abviouse humans. His curiosity pricked, he had not really met any undead or sprinters. His hand reached behind him and grasped the cold handle of his club, his jaw set, now was as good a time as any to find out whether or not he would have to survive by stealth alone. His body tensed lightly before dropping the 7 feet from the gutter he was hiding in.

Cleaver ran, his moccasines makes barely audible noise and his dark clothing helping to conceal his movements. Deep purple cloth was wrapped tightly around the handle of his weapons, and the one in his hand began to warm slightly. His unkept hair blew lightly in the wind and he dropped to the next floor and the fight came into sight.

Below him on a graveled rooftop 3 sprinters were watching as two others were writhing. It wasn't long however before the stood hopped around a bit, then dashed into the building. Looking through the windows he could see two figures a few stories below moving through the rooms. "Now is my chance" he thought to himself.

Silently he unraveled a rope from around his waste. He then took a heavy pipe off one of the remaining generators on the roof he stood and , exerting himself greatlybent it into a shap similar to a giant fishing hook.he slid his rope through this and tied a knott at the end, ensuring the rope wouldnt slip back through. After assuring himself that the rope couldnt slip he behand twirling it over his head, letting more and more of the rope slip through his hands. The rope was soon swinging in around a 20 foot curcumference. Timing it [perfectly, as if he had done thins a thousend time he let loose the rope, it whistled as it left his hands and the huge heavy hook thudded onto the roof below.

He pulled lightly against the rope, dragging it closer and closer to the edge of the roof that was surrounded by a two foot lip. He toyed with the rope lightly, till the hooked end of the pipe slipped under the ledge. He pulled hard now, ensuring that the rope wouldnt move. Taking several stepps back he tyed his end of the rope to the generator, then slipped his legs over the edge and beginning his descent.

He slid quickly down, his gloves able to absorb much of the friction. "Gonna be a bitch gittin back up." He thought to himself. His descent proved too fast for him to land stealthily, and his booted feet thumped roughly against the ceiling.

He looked back at the door the sprinters has entered, and sure enough one was on its way back to him now. "Show time!" he thought, the beast bearing down on him. Cleaver, being as fast and nimble as he was, was surprized at the sprinters speed. He sidestepped the creatures first onslaught, a claw raking hamlessly off his leather coat. He braced himself for the next rush and from the corner of his eye, barely in his periferal vision he caught the movement of another sprinter.

Cleaver dropped to his stomache just in time and the beast tripped over him and rolled into a ball smashing into the hook he had against the low wall surounding the roof. The brick molding snapped and the line loosened, his hook swung away from the wall in a lazy, half arc. Cleaver scrambled to his feet hurriedly, swinging his clubling weapon off his back. Bracing himself much like a ball player from before the infestation he held his ground.

The sprinter rushed in, blindly almost, as if with no concern for the weapon in Cleaver's hand. A heavy swing of the club connected to the creature's head. A gaping wound exploded open right acrost the bridge of the creature's nose, dousing Cleaver with it's blood and making the beast do a double inverted backflip before hitting the graveled roof and twitching convulsivly.

The creature that had hit the wall had been dazed, and Cleaver grasped one of his Kershaw's from inside his boot, hurling it into the creatures eye. Cleavers boots thudded as he walked up to retreave his knife, his sunglasses had protected his eyes from the infected fluids that covered his being. He stooped, not understanding the feeling of taking a life he now felt. He almost wanted to vomit, in fact, yeah, he puked over the side of the roof violently then stepped back, wiping his mouth with the back of a gloved hand.

Reaching down Cleaver removed the blade and was dismayed to see that the blade had dug into the brick, dulling the tip. "Damnit!" he cursed aloud before kicking the creature angrily.

Cleaver turned to the door and realized the lighting was poor inside, From a pack on his back he pulled a road flair, popped the cap, and atched the end burst into flame. Again Cleaver turned to the door, stooped, and entered the stairwell cautiousely.