Jezebel and Kyle Hardin - The Bathroom

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(ooc: Jump in as you like kids.)

Jezebel

You awaken to find yourself uncomfortably slumped on a hard wooden seat. Your first assessment is that you are in a bathroom, and a glance at your perch does not dissuade you. You are in an offshoot of the main room, a small cubicle separated by a dividing wall, and you cannot see the rest of the room.

Of greater importance is the abundance of fish hooks suspended from small, metal loops in the ceiling. Set at varying heights around you, there seems to be no way of safely escaping. To make matters worse, the hooks are barbed, designed to pierce and then stick in the flesh. They are not the real danger, however.

Strapped to the walls are bombs clearly marked as flash grenades, the pin of each one attached to one of the dozens of lines dangling before you. One wrong move will cause one or more of the explosives to detonate in a dazzling eruption of light, so bright it would be impossible to shield your sensitive eyes against them.

In your pocket is the weight of a small, brass key, like that of a pair of handcuffs, though you are not wearing any. There is also a small card, no doubt from whoever captured you and brought you here. It says: “Avert your eyes.”

====

Kyle

You wake stiff with cold to find yourself immersed in ice. Your first instinct is to scramble free and you flop limply to the linoleum below. One moment, you realise that you were lying in a bathtub. The next, you find that you are naked. A quick scan of your surroundings reveals a bathroom furnished with the bare minimum. You are lying between the tub, and a wash basin and mirror.

Beside you is a waterproof bag, containing your uniform and boots. Whoever kidnapped you was kind enough to leave your clothes nearby, at least.

Above you glint an array of fish hooks, each suspended at varying heights with very little room to manoeuvre. You notice they are attached to the pins of flash grenades strapped to the walls. In these closed confines, they will do serious damage to your vision and hearing.

Worse yet, slumped against the door is the body of a severely injured man, unconscious and barely breathing. His injuries are consistent with those of a zombie attack and he will turn soon. If you don’t act fast, he will set the bombs off himself, or worse, try to devour you.

You try to move, but your foot has been cuffed with a short chain to the thick pipes connected to the bathtub. You need to find the key.

In a cubicle separated by a dividing wall, you glimpse someone’s foot. Another potential zombie, or...?

Attached to the front of the waterproof bag is a card that reads: “Your carelessness will see you in the ground.”

====

[crystalofchaos]

A blinking moment, bleary eyes batted futilely as she awoke. Light, it burned and seared, and scratched at her eyes like it wanted to rip her retinas clean out of her eyeballs. A groan escaped dry lips as she turned her face and felt the cool surface of the wall behind her. Something was trying to form in the swimming world of her vision. Her vision began to clear a bit and her mood went from confused to dour instantly. Oh, look at that a flash grenade. Today was just going to be great wasn't it?

"Fucking. Fabulous." The words were bitten off almost as savagely as she felt right now. Was the pounding behind her eyes ever going to stop? There wasn't time for bullshit and she wanted to move. She was about to stand when she saw something she really didn't want to be looking at. Fish hooks. Lots and lots of fish hooks. "By the blood of Vlad Dracul if I get out of this alive I will never eat fish again..."

Her rage had been growing steadily as she had regained cognitive thought but now it had fizzled down to a simple ember of horror. She had to get out of here. Cobalt eyes took in the surroundings with a cold glare. This would be tricky but if she wasn't brash it was doable. Pockets, she still had things in her pockets. Maybe improvisation would prove useful. The first thing her fingers brushed inside her lab coat pocket was a card. Stiff, it wasn't a tender little scrap of paper which she found next. 'Avert your eyes'. Fuck that, she had to get out of here before something came IN and set off the grenades trying to get her OUT. She didn't care who or what might do so but she wasn't terribly inclined to wait.

Waiting was definitely not on her docket. She would, however, take her time to avoid mistakes. "Think bitch, think. You can do this. Wires and fish hooks tied to grenades. How do you do this?" She groaned and slumped her head back against the wall. "First, form a hypothesis. This will be your strategy. Second, set up a control..." She snarled in her throat and glared at the fish hooks as if she were trying to melt them with her hatred. "I swear on my mother's grave I will kill and eat whoever has left me in this mess." She wasn't sure whether she was talking to comfort herself or just to keep herself from flying off the handle and doing something stupid in her anger at the situation but nothing was getting better with her sitting on her ass on a toilet in a restroom rigged to signal mars.

"Right, on to work then." She took a steadying breath and closed her eyes. She was smart, she was determined, she was not sure how equipped she was, and she was for the moment completely alone as far as she could tell. She would have to work by herself or die alone. Fuck that. Fuck this. Fuck your mother. Fuck your dog's mother. Fuck you. Whoever the flying fuck you are.

Assessment time! Deft fingers dug into her pockets to carefully begin a mental list of what resources she had on hand. A card telling her to avert her eyes, useless. A piece of paper with a grease pencil scrawl saying 'good luck in your new home', useless and annoying as piss in the pond water. A key that looked like it went to handcuffs, possibly useful but not immediately so. A grease pencil, useless for now. Piece of chalk, useless for her current dilemma. A pair of rubber gloves, useless in this instance like everything else so far. Oh? This could be useful! A wide and long rubber band, now she was getting somewhere she was comfortable with. It wouldn't be perfectly effective but it could help her escape. Next she found three paperclips littered between her two pockets. Now those could be a real help.

She huffed and looked at the wires. Could she use her teeth to bite through one? No, better not to try but an idea was forming in her mind for what to do. Ah yes, hooks would be good to avoid and not get caught in things but she needed them out of her way. So many lengths of wire, so many levels of threat. When building the best place to start was on the ground. She could crawl, she had no problem crawling on her belly to escape. The trick would be transitioning herself to the floor without catching any of the taller hooks.

This wasn't about to be any breed of easy but she had to do something about her predicament. Systematically she worked on assessing and testing the wires closest to her. Too much tug and the pin would pop, too little and it might come loose from whatever she used to hold it in place. Fuck, this was going to be a frustrating day. Nimble fingers bent one paper clip into an S shape and then with the pencil she curled the ends closed.

Progress, she now had a way to capture some hooks and render them out of the way but she only had so many paperclips. She would have to be VERY careful, one wrong move and she'd be blind. Soon she had three figure eight shaped paper clips and now was the hard part. Finding a possible path or at least forging an opening in the hooks enough that she could get through. If she really wanted to take her time she could tie all the hooks together and hook them to each other or to each others wires but that also put more problems on the table, all the grenades detonating simultaneously for instance.

She pulled her long braid up and coiled it clockwise around itself at the base of her neck and tied it in place with the rubber band. If she could get out of this shit hole she'd be in business so to speak. She smirked, the first real tingle of adrenaline beginning in her. At least it would be a challenge. She'd die trying before she died like a dog. She cautiously removed her lab coat, paperclips clenched between her teeth, and folded it behind her back. She could move her coat to the floor later, for now she just needed it out of the way. Slowly, delicately she tested the hooks on the different lengths of wire. She only needed so many inches of free space to move across the floor and crawl under the door. If she could just remove the hooks from that level she'd be okay. Or at least she hoped so.

Avert your eyes... The words nagged at her with a sense of foreboding but she didn't have time to analyze anything but escape. Not on your life you faceless fuck. If I find you you had better have a god to pray to for mercy. This was going to be a slow process as it was but if she could just avoid blinding herself she'd be able to do it. Good grenade, nice grenade. Don't blind me please. Please don't lose your pin. Ooooh shit I'm in so far over my head.

She worked, careful and calculating to snare the hooks she could in the paper clips. One at a time, it would be worth it. One more hook in the noose of the paperclip. One more, wire pulled up out of the way temporarily. There were still so damn many and if she got restless or careless she'd be blind. Chances were such blindness would not be temporary either. If she sustained any retinal damage in here it would probably stick with her for life.

One at a time, one at a time. Her fingers were going numb from the work, her nerves were strung so high she swore she could empathize with the grenades she was slowly tying up. Just a little more and she could move to the floor. If she crawled on her back she could see where she was going, take note of her surroundings, and work as she went to keep the wires and hooks away. If she crawled on her stomach she could cover her face if she got caught on one but she'd be going about nearly blind as it were and it would take time, time on her stomach meant sore breasts and a craned neck, that wouldn't do very well at all. Today was going to be simply fabulous.

[Damen]

All things considered, the tile floor was a lot warmer than his previous environment. He lay there for a long time, waiting for the feeling to return to his limbs, which was probably an indicator of just how long he'd been in the ice water. Dimly, he recalled a camping trip from his youth; a time he and his father had been staying in a small camp area in the mountains of Colorado. Some local boys invited him to go for a swim in the lake and he'd accepted, not knowing what it meant to swim in a lake fed by runoff from melting show on the mountain peaks. It had felt much like he was currently experiencing and now, just as back then, he was feeling the ache in his most sensitive bits.

He lay on the floor of the small room and took in his surroundings. While not expansive they were none the less interesting. Small glints swam before his blurry vision, which slowly resolved themselves into tiny barbed fishhooks suspended from the ceiling catching the glint of the single bare light bulb in the room. A close look at the wall showed it wallpapered in metal cylinders, each one a little taller than a 12 ounce soda can. There were holes drilled into them and on the top was a grenade detonating system.

Bangers. Wonderful. He squinted and was able to make out "M84" printed in white on the upper part of the grenade's body. M84 stun grenade. If I recall right, they'll blow with 180 decibels and 8 million candelas.

It wasn't a real stretch to know what kind of danger he was in. One flashbang going off would disorient and confuse a person in a good sized room. In a bathroom, with a lot of tile and flat, shiny white surfaces to redirect the sound and light, the best he he could hope for was permanent blindness and an end to his ability to listen to anything. More realistically, with as small as the room was and the number of grenades packed together, one going off had a real chance of setting off secondary detonations. The danger of being killed by the concussive force was very real. A few seconds of looking allowed him to catch sight of the thin threads running from the grenade's rings to metal loops in the ceiling and then down to the fishhooks suspended in midair. How cute.

He wondered why his body was warming up except for a circle of cold around his ankle, but a shift of his head allowed him to see the metal cuffs chaining him to the bathtub. Well, that is irritating.
He looked over toward the entrance and saw a man slumped against the door; his body chewed up and showing signs of infection. There was the sound of slow movement from the other side of the room and at that he let out a sigh as his naked body continued to warm the tile below him. I am now quite displeased.

[crystalofchaos]

So much work and so little time. Things were going as smooth as sharkskin if you rubbed the right way but it had the very real possibility that one wrong rub would be equally like sharkskin. Her breathing was getting heavier, beads of sweat forming on her forehead as she worked diligently to capture the hooks and clear herself a space. Finally, she had the worst of it done and it was time to move.

Her legs seemed to scream in agony when she finally stretched them tentatively to the floor. The flexing muscles felt like they were on fire after the extended time cramped up as she had worked. Come on bitch, you've felt worse. Get a fucking move on! She growled and steadied herself against the back wall. Slow and steady wins the race.

With a creaking on her cramped joints Jezza carefully set her rolled up lab coat on the floor and readied herself to follow. It wasn't easy, she wasn't feeling as flexible as she normally was and if she had an attack right now she was absolutely done for. Easy does it but easier said than done. Let's GO. She was having a bit of trouble talking herself into it. Her cowardice demanded she stay put and try to stay some semblance of safe but the rebellious bitch inside her demanded she get the hell out and go murder whoever had done this.

She exhaled, a slow breath that felt more like a precursor to a death rattle. It was now or never and she needed to move and if possible keep moving after she was out of here. She knew she wasn't going to get passed the door though. She could never leave unless someone took her from here. Slowly she leaned back and slid down for what seemed like eternity. Her muscles ached and bones seemed to be creaking from the strain as she lowered herself as cautiously as she could.

After her eternity in what felt like limbo she felt the cool floor supporting every bit of her weight. Fabulous, now she just had to get out. Slowly and surely she continued crossing the hooks together and snaring them to keep them out of her way. Inch by inch she wiggled across the floor. So close and yet so far. This eternity would be worth it if she could just get out the door. She crawled for what was all too long and finally she found herself looking up at the wider ceiling and suddenly it was all too much. Without further ado she roared as if she didn't give a dam or the water who heard her or what heard her.

"FUCKING COCK MONGLING BITCH CUNT DOG SHIT SANDWICH! THE LEAST YOU COULD HAVE DONE WAS LEFT ME MORE FUCKING PAPERCLIPS! I SWEAR BY MY MOTHER'S GRAVE WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE I AM GOING TO EAT YOUR FUCKING HEART OUT YOU COCK MUNCHING DICK BAG!" Wasn't she just feeling like a ray of sunshine? She closed her eyes and took a breath, looking as though she was ready to rip someone to shreds already. "Fuck." Today was obviously not her day.

With a sharp exhale she began scooting further out once more, her focus solely on not tripping any wires as she worked to braid whatever trip hooks were still in her way. They seemed to be thinning out quite a bit the further she went until the top of her head thunked something not as cold as tile and not hard as the bathtub. Oh... well fuck.

[Damen]

"If you are quite done shouting about paperclips would you be so kind as to please shut your fucking hole?! I hurt enough without adding a headache to the mix," Kyle punctuated his statement by raising his head and glaring at the woman who had just bumped into his foot; "Unless you have a roaring case of Tourette's, in which case please, continue."

He eyed the woman for a second longer before looking back up toward the ceiling. He was thankful that the worst of the hooks were closer to the ceiling than the floor in the main room, the worst of them seeming to be around the area where the woman emerged from. In the main room, one could stand up, but they would have to crouch heavily to avoid the hooks. That wouldn’t do a great deal of help, though, considering the binding around his ankle.

Kyle kept a wary eye on the other non-moving occupant in the room as he stretched his arm out, looking for something that he might put to use. He stopped when his fingers came into contact with something smooth and yielding. A turn of his head showed it to be a clear plastic bag. He plucked the card that had been affixed to the bag between his fingers and held it so he could easily read it. The letting was decidedly less pleasant to look at. He tested the binding around his ankle and let out a growl of frustration when he found, unsurprisingly, that the chains were well secured.

“’Your carelessness will see you in the ground,’” he muttered; “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He looked back down at his chains, and then at the woman near him; “So, how’s your day been?”

A low moan came from the corpse at the doorway as it started to move.

[crystalofchaos]

The sudden yelp Jezza gave when he spoke showed just how jumpy and tightly wound she was but she let the only speaking human in the room finish his tirade before she turned her head to look at him. She heaved a sigh and poked his ankle which was closest. "My insincere apologies for assaulting your sensitive ears with my raucous cawing. Would you like an ice cream sundae with a swift kick in the ass Sir?" She scoffed and took note of the cuffs around one of his ankles. Well, that was interesting. It was all beginning to make sense now.

"My day has been rainbows and unicorns. How about you? Oh, I have a gift for you by the by, it's in my left coat pocket." She raised her foot and pushed the rolled up labcoat towards him with a toe. She wasn't sure how long she'd been clutching it between her ankles, the crawl across the floor had seemed like an eternity. Blue eyes darted toward the door as the other occupant began to move. "There's also a grease pencil in the left pocket. If you can undo your binding quickly perhaps you wouldn't mind jabbing it in that rotting fellow's eye and stirring his brains like a thick pot of stew?" It seemed like a suggestion but she wasn't sure whether or not she'd have to do it herself if he declined. She really didn't feel like getting blinded or blown to hell today. "That is unless you have something that'll work better than a grease pencil for skewering brains."

Her back was screaming a million tunes of pain and her elbows felt like jelly. She didn't have any morphine, she didn't even have aspirin on her. She was probably going to curl up in pain on the other side of the door until she began to feel like she had any semblance of numbness before she could continue her little caper. "I'll make you a deal." She lazily lifted a hand, waved, and let it flop next to her like a ragdoll's as the joints roared at her in burning fury. "If you can kill that slimy bastard and get me somewhere that I can curl up and writhe in agony without setting any bombs off that'd be great. I'll patch you up with whatever I can find once the fits pass. I don't expect my joints to settle themselves terribly soon though, feel free to drag me ruthlessly through the halls. Yes that does include down the stairs."

It was an odd offer at best but how many people got to drag someone down the stairs gracelessly and then still be offered medical treatment after that? She hoped he'd at least bite. Her eyes stayed on the moving figure as she waited for the man to start shambling their way. "I think he's hungry. Pity nobody has any lead to feed him. So what are your thoughts on the afterlife?" Might as well ask, it wasn't every day she faced such a real possibility of death.

[Damen]

Kyle growled a little louder than he needed to as he took the coat and fumbled in the pockets until he found a small silver key to a set of hand cuffs. Taking it in his hand, he tossed the coat away so it landed on the woman’s face and then twisted at the waist to fit the key into the locked shackle around his ankle.

“My day?” he asked; “It’s been all sunshine and skittlefarts. How could a day where you wake up in the middle of a bathtub full of ice water in a room with flashbangs and a zombie possibly end badly?”

The metal cuff released with a click and Kyle scrambled to his feet, slipping a little on the wet tile from when he scrambled from the tub but quickly regained his footing. The hooks in the main room were high enough that he could stand but he still had to crouch to avoid catching his head on the metal barbs. He turned and watched as the corpse reanimated itself and started to get to its feet, all the while still painfully aware of his nakedness.

I love bathrooms, Kyle thought to himself; Lots of hard surfaces.

As the corpse moved and started getting to its feet, Kyle leapt forward, closing the distance between himself and the undead man with surprising quickness and trapped the zombie’s head under his arm. Kyle then grabbed the belt on the dead man’s trousers and, still crouching, twisted his body before the zombie could try and bite him to get a better grip on the monster’s neck. Kyle set his feet and forced the monster forward, picking up speed as he used the short space to speed into a sprint. The undead didn’t have a great deal of intelligence, but some instinct forced it to try and keep itself balanced.

That proved useful to Kyle, who was able to control the zombie well enough that he drove the monster’s head into the claw foot bathtub. The zombie’s skull impacted with a jarring crunch and the bathtub came loose from its mountings to groan loudly across the tile. Kyle kept his grip on the zombie and when the monster went limp from the stunning blow, Kyle released the belt and traded the grip for a handful of the monster’s hair. He jerked the undead’s head up and brought it down again on the rim of the bathtub with more force than the initial impact had generated and heard a satisfying crunch as the zombie’s jaw shattered and teeth rained down onto the tile.

Knowing there wasn’t much time as the monster slumped to the floor, Kyle moved quickly to one grenade lined wall; and trapped the explosives’ spoon under his palm and caught the ring with his fingers. He held it still and with his other hand, he gripped the corresponding string between his fingers and pulled until it snapped and one of the fishhooks fell to the floor. With a strength that was born of fear and adrenalin he tore the grenade from the wall and quickly darted back to where the zombie was slowly recovering from the thrashing it had been given.

Kyle slid across the wet tile and let himself drop onto the monster’s back, knees first. The zombie turned its head to look at Kyle and as it let out another low moan, Kyle raised the grenade and slammed it down into the monster’s head. When the zombie didn’t stop moving, Kyle repeated the movement again. Over and over until the zombie went quiet and its head had come apart like an overripe gourd.

The man sighed and opened the door to the bathroom to check and see if there was anything else waiting in the next room. The room, however, turned out to be a hall, which was exceedingly empty. He then returned to the woman, who still had her coat over her face and got his arms under hers to drag her out into the hall.

“You were a great help, by the way,” he said as he pulled her across the floor, “I think the only other thing more useful than you in a fight is a screen door on a submarine.”

Once she was clear of the bathroom, Kyle looked down at the flashbang he was still clutching in his hand.

Probably not a good idea to use this, he thought, the rooms in here are too small. Bangers would probably be more harm to us than any monster.

He sighed and let the grenade drop to the floor of the bathroom as he returned to retrieve the bag that’d had the note attached. He returned to the hall, studied the note thoughtfully and decided to keep it. He wasn’t sure why, but it may be something worth hanging onto. He looked down at the woman and tugged lab coat from her face and dropped it on her stomach.

“By the way, I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” he grinned and planted his balled up fists on his still naked hips and stood proudly above her; “My name is Kyle Hardin, and I have a huge cock.”

[crystalofchaos]

Jezza groaned as he dropped her coat over her face and proceeded to beat the zombie to death or at least it sounded like something was getting the living fuck beat out of it. Zombies didn't usually bother throwing their food around so she assumed the man was the cause of the ruckus. She felt someone or something pick her up and drag her, the world feeling like a hazy ocean of motion that made her want to roll over and vomit. After his remark about screen doors on submarines she was considering aiming for his shoes if she could.

She gave a deep groan as her joints were twisted and let her head simply loll back as she was pulled along into the hall way. "I..." She nearly screamed as her lungs expanded but the sound caught in her throat. FUCK! Ow. That hurts. Maybe I should try that again more slowly. She didn't have much time to finish that thought as she came to a stop, was dropped, and what's-his-nuts went away for a moment. She could feel his footfalls through the floor all too acutely and it felt like she'd be vibrated into jelly by them but she knew better. It was just time for some more painful as fuck cellular something or other. She wasn't sure if it was mutation at a slow rate or if her cells were just destroying each other for the sake of making her writhe, whatever it was anymore it was as fun as sticking her head in a sack of bees.

Suddenly, the world came back into view and she wanted nothing more than to roll over and vomit immediately. So while he introduced himself as Kyle Hardin, he of the huge cock, she did. The bile building at the back of her throat couldn't be denied anymore and she didn't quite fancy choking herself to death on vomit. With every screaming joint she rolled listlessly onto her side and horked. She didn't have the energy to make a scene of it as if she were vomiting at the sight of his dick but she'd have loved to see how he'd take such a reaction. It would have been classic. Instead she simply stayed on her side until the agony died down a little.

Oh... So that's where my coat went. Her eyes stung, the greasy vomit clung to her chin and part of her cheek as though it didn't want to leave. Too bad. Maybe next time it'd stay down. She grunted and tried to sit up only to slide back down and nearly crack her head in the process. She decided better of it and simply rolled back over onto her back as the pain began to subside. She was glaring almost directly at his dick. Goddammit. I should pretend I never heard your name and call you Dick for the rest of this venture shouldn't I?

She took a shallow breath testing how much her lungs protested and was pleased to realize it had only been a pang. "I'm Jezebel and I hope you can fight monsters with it or else I'll use it as a tug rope to pull myself up." She grunted and tried again at sitting up this time meeting with some success. "Sorry, I can't fight. They don't exactly train slaves for fighting. Something about getting uppity and bearing arms against their masters..." She trailed off and let the words sink in as she took in the rest of him, or as much as she could from her position.

Blue eyes glared over his form, taking careful note of his features. Huh, so that's a huge cock eh? He puts my ex fiance up for some great competition. Pigs. She took a deep breath and curled reflexively as she felt a stabbing pain in her lungs. Was it too late to curl back up and sit here a while longer? "Ow." She steadied herself with shallow breaths until she could sit back up and this time tried to get to her feet which almost sent her reeling into a wall and ended in her falling on her ass. "Okay, suffice to say I don't think I can move yet. Mr. Dick would you be so kind as to check the halls for more company?" She looked up at him, trying her best to look pleasant and sweet. She was probably failing terribly, he seemed so proud of his dangle meat and it was a little difficult to not consider taking a punch at it or his balls.

[Damen]

Kyle stepped back out of the line of fire while the contents of the woman's stomach ended up all over the hallway. As she emptied herself, the man went back into the bathroom and to the sink. Because the bathroom was so painfully typical, aside from the grenades, fishhooks and dead body, he figured it was worth exploring. He opened the medicine cabinet behind the mirror over the sink and was pleased to find an assortment of boxes and bottles. He put as many as he could fit into a towel and returned to the woman on the floor.

"My knowledge of medicine and most first aid is limited," he said, putting the towel down and clear of the bodily waste, "But maybe there's something in here to help you."

He then moved off and opened the sack that had been left for him. Inside, he found plenty of clothing and was grateful that, whatever else happened, he wouldn't have to go naked for however long their ordeal was going to be for. Keeping a sharp ear out, the man started getting dressed. He pulled on the soft black boxers first followed shortly by a black T-shirt before tugging on, what was now revealed to be, a set of army camouflage clothing in a tiger stripe pattern. The tiger stripe camouflage was mostly green and black with a liberal amount of brown and tan added to the coloring. While it would be most effective in a jungle or forest setting, it would also provide a fair amount of use in the dark earth tones that made up the majority of the mansion's decor. He also noted that the uniform had the distinctive feel of fabric that was designed to help conceal body heat from infrared sensors and cameras. He had a strong suspicion that it was an oversight on the part of whoever was in charge of picking out his clothing. He couldn't imagine handing an enemy that kind of advantage.

"A bit of advice I'll give you," he said, reaching once again into the bag once he was fully dressed to retrieve his socks and boots, "whatever your history is," he sat down and started pulling the remainder of his clothing on and relishing the comfort of the sturdy boots, "I would suggest you forget it and learn to fight quickly because as it stands you're as useless as a nun with big tits."

He got to his feet and noted that his boots, in addition to boasting steel toes, were also waterproof, slip proof and the thick rubber soles would provide protection against electrical hazards.

"That said," he continued, reaching once more into the bag for the last few items, "If you want, once we're out of here I'll be quite happy to find and kill your former owners for you. No charge."

He deadpanned the wording so well that it would be hard to tell if he was being serious even though his offer was completely genuine. He stopped talking as he looked at the assault vest he was now holding in his hands. The vest was black with padding on the shoulders for added comfort when firing a rifle. There was a loop on the back of the neck on the vest so he could be dragged to safety if he were wounded. Under the right arm of the vest were three rifle magazine pouches that could hold two magazines each. On the left breast were three magazine pouches for a pistol above a cross-draw pistol holster with another magazine pouch on the stomach. But it was the patch over the utility pouch on the right breast that had caused the banter to die in his throat when he saw the familiar design of the Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service. He turned the vest over and saw also the red and white octagon that served as the background for the patch with a shield in the center behind which a pair of crossed swords could be seen.

It's like the one I wore when I was with them, he thought to himself, not relishing the time he had once spent with the UBCS, If this is a joke then someone seems to have an irritating sense of humor.

He was only belatedly noticing that the shoulders of the camouflage tunic he wore also bore a patch on each; a black and green colored United States flag on the right and a black and green UBCS patch on the left. He sighed and pulled the vest on, zipped it up and snapped the clips closed and adjusted the straps for a comfortable fit.

The last item in the clothing bag was a smaller water proof bag, inside which held a multi tool. He unzipped his vest and put the multi tool in a pocket of his tunic. The next item he pulled from the bag was a dark felt pouch that contained a brass compass that could easily be mistaken for a pocket watch until it was opened. This he put in the utility pouch on his vest. The final item he retrieved from the bag was a dark metal Zippo lighter, which he put in the tunic's left breast pocket. The smaller waterproof bag he folded up and put in a cargo pocket on his left thigh along with the larger waterproof bag. The card with the note on it he slid into the inner pocket on his assault vest before zipping it back up and refastening the clips.

"Alright, Jugs," he said, deliberately dropping a reference to Jezebel's tits in mild retaliation for her Mr. Dick comment earlier, "You stay here while I scout ahead. Maybe I can find something that'll help us figure out what we're doing here and how to get out."

He paused and assessed his current location. With his back to the bathroom there was a door to his left. To his right the hall turned a corner and vanished from view and this was the direction he decided on. The hall turned in a vaguely horseshoe shape and once he rounded both corners he found once again a choice, to go through the doors to right or to the left.

Right worked well enough the first time, he thought, may as well push my luck.

Kyle turned to the large doors on his right and pushed them open.

[crystalofchaos]

The first thought to cross Jezza's mind was that Kyle Hardin, with the massive cock, was rather sweet once he stopped talking. The second thought was of a likeness to a moment in her life that put her on the verge of vengeful tears. That bastard. This has to be a sick fucking joke! Why? How could anyone even know? Hell, who would even be alive to remember?

She closed her eyes as he spoke and steeled herself before she showed any weakness. One shaking hand reached up to her face and wiped the remains of vomit away before skidding her palm on the wall to remove the scum. She still remembered that day. How could she ever forget? The day when a broken little slave girl was rescued by a tall, handsome man who was kind despite his roughness. Her knight in shining armor, the kind of man you only heard stories about when it was bedtime. How ironic that today was beginning to play out so much like then.

Rough hands grabbed her and shook the sense straight out of her head. Useless bitch! The voice roared in fury. She found the mud was even more foul smelling as she was shoved into it face first. A sudden dizzying sensation and pain erupted in her tiny frame starting at her back and shoulder from a new friend, the wall. That was when he came. She expected another blow. She cowered and cried uselessly waiting for a hand to come down across her small face. He'd beat her to death for her failure.

The blow never came. A hand belonging to someone else held her assailant's back. The piercing glare went right through the other man and he cowed to her savior. That is no way to treat a lady, especially not one one of mine. You'll be reimbursing me damages if she's injured. He let the other man go, that handsome face was impossible to forget and he was smiling at her. Hands fumbling to move her unkempt hair out of her face, a thumb wiping the mud off slowly. Can you stand? Good. Come with me, we're going home.

The memory replayed in her mind like a sick little video. She remembered all too well. How quaint that she got to remember what she spent so much of her time trying to forget. She shouldn't be thinking about it but she was. Whatever her history was she was supposed to forget it. Fair enough, she'd fucking love to do so anyways. Learn to fight? Sure, she could learn that. She was already a vicious little cutthroat so actually learning to be brutal could be fun. She hated zombies though, they tended to make her turn tail.

It wasn't his offer to teach her she was interested in though. No, she still had some unfinished business and it sounded like Kyle might be just the man to finish it for her. Most of her owners were dead or she liked. She knew a few she'd love to have him hunt down though. There was one in particular however. Her hand reached instinctively to neck and found the chain, a pleasant little relief after the day was that the ring was still there too. The cheap little knockoff he gave her. He was probably dead by now but revenge sounded so sweet.

The deep breath she released as she opened her eyes was almost a death rattle. She noted that patches on Kyle's new found clothes as he put them on and got acquainted with the feel of them. He looked rather dashing in the uniform, he certainly wore it well. "Welcome to Umbrella, where the the better you follow orders the more expendable you are." It was a bitter quip and the look on her face said it all, she had little taste for the corporation even if she'd spent much of her time in Umbrella's care.

She waved a hand in a vaguely sweeping motion as if to brush his words away. "Don't worry Dick, I'm not going anywhere soon." So this was how it was going to be. She'd call him Dick and he could call her Sugar Tits for all she cared. She really oughtn't get attached to him but she did find him somewhat endearing in his manners. She could play nice enough with this one. His offer of hunting down her former owners could fuel her self absorbed hatred enough to ensure the job she had done many years ago was actually finished in it's entirety and his survival now factored greatly into her own motivational process. In short, she'd do everything she could to make sure he survived with her. Good for him.

The first order of business was going to be those bottles and boxes he had been so kind as to retrieve for her. She knew damned well not a single one of them or any mixture thereof would be able to fix her own problem but it made playing doctor to a human so much easier. "Let's see." She watched him go out of the corner of her eye and smiled, a wicked, sharp grin like a mouth full of knives. He was going to be very useful. Maybe she'd stay with him after this was over.

Horace would be disappointed but he could suck the test tubes until they burst in his mouth for all she cared, he was only useful for the funding and the medications. Her enabling of his addiction was no accident, it made sure she stayed useful to him, and as she addicted her former owner to stronger and more dangerous substances she'd be surprised if he didn't finish the job himself while looking for his next high. Oh, that news would be delicious.

The little soft palm who cowered in fear of her, who looked at her in such awe as though she were a goddess to be respected, adored, and properly terrified of. He'd meet his end by his own hands and hers would remain effectively clean. Wasn't that how Umbrella did everything? Let the others kill themselves off or die to protect us while our hands remain clean. Yeah, that was pretty much Umbrella's way of dealing with everything.

"Hmm, aspirin, oxycodone, oooh loratabs? Fuck, whoever was here must have had some fun going to the hospitals for pain!" She almost sang the words in glee. This was a fantastic bounty! "Anti-fungal, anti-itch cream, poison ivy lotion? Huh." She ran through what was there. "Anti-depressants, steroid eye drops. Wow, this faggot had a LOT of problems. I almost feel sorry for the bastard." She was talking to keep herself company now. She wasn't sure if Kyle could hear her or not, but if he asked her how many fucks she gave she'd not have a single one to give.

"Hydrocotisone cream, menthol camphor, rubbing alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, witch hazel, anti-histamine, burn gel, triple anti-biotic ointment," She seemed far too happy with what she had been given, like a kid at Christmas. Who gave a damn about the poor bastard who had lived here? She could already think of several practical applications for what she had should her new companion get himself injured. "Preparation H? Hmm, hypoallergenic and can be used as a great lubricant for anything requiring insertion or tubing. Ah, good old fashion Neosporin! Ohh bandaids and butterfly bandages! Ooh ooh cotton balls and q-tips! Perfect. Well, today is off to a great start but how the fuck am I going to tote all this? Pockets are simply out of the question."

Now there was something to think about. As sweet as it was that Kyle had brought her such a bounty of supplies he had only carried it out in a towel which likely meant it was for lack of a better container. His uniform had a lot of pockets and pouches, not designed in the slightest to carry any of these supplies, but until she could find a better solution she'd have to ask him to put some of it away. Or she could ask him about the water sealed bag. That sounded so much better.

She felt like a little dragon with a hoard of treasure. She'd have to wait until he got back with the bags though, he'd put them in his pockets and he'd obviously taken his pockets with him. "Don't be gone too long, I might start to have some concern for your safety." She huffed the words to herself and gave a purposeful pout to an invisible audience. Maybe she'd gone more than a little batty in her long life of captivity.

[Damen]

He burst through the double doors in a whirl of anticlimax. The empty hallway stretched out in front of him without a sign of life anywhere. A little in front of him and on his right were a pair of doors half way from where the hall turned out of sight across from a door at the end of the hall on the left. As Kyle edged into the hallway he could feel his heart speeding up with every step and a trickle of sweat fell into an eyebrow. It was one thing to be in a situation where there were monsters ready to eat his face; he could deal with that. It was, however, very different when you knew the dangers were out there but didn't know where they were. As many battlefields as he had seen in his time with the military or how many outbreaks from his time with the UBCS, nor even during his time as a freelance security consultant, waiting in ignorance was always the worst part of a job.

"Out in the desert there’s a soldier lying dead; vultures pecking the eyes out of his head," he didn't even realize the source of the song was from his own throat, nor did he consciously start to softly sing the old war song as a way to help calm his nerves, but once he started, he didn't stop himself; "Another day that could have been me there instead. Nobody loves me here. Nobody loves me here. Dad’s gonna kill me. Dad’s gonna kill me."

With the old lyrics passing through his head he found himself more steady than he had been before when his imagination had started to run away. Not finding a compelling reason to stop, he kept quietly muttering the lyrics under his breath as he proceeded very quietly down the corridor; "You hit the booby trap and you’re in pieces. With every bullet your risk increases." He tried the handle of the first door on his right and was about to see if it was open when there were the sounds of shuffling feet and quiet moaning. Feeling it best not to tempt fate, he moved on to the next door; "Old Ali Baba, he’s a different species. Nobody loves me here. Nobody loves me here. Dad's gonna kill me. Dad's gonna kill me."

"I’m dead meat in my Humvee Frankenstein," he turned the knob and found it rolled smoothly under his fingers; "I hit the road block, God knows I never hit the mine," the door opened without a whisper; "The dice rolled and I got lucky this time," the only sound in the room was his own soft voice, "Dad’s gonna kill me. Dad’s gonna kill me."

It may have been a coincidence; but if you'd asked about what had happened shortly after he entered the room, Kyle would have said that sometimes fate had a morbid sense of humor.

[crystalofchaos]

A prickle went up Jezza's spine, a faint something intangible. She had finished looking over the supplies Kyle had been kind enough to bring to her and had finally decided talking to herself was a bad idea. She had her knees pulled up to her chest as she waited but she couldn't help the beginning of a cold lump in her gut.

Normally she couldn't wait to be alone but that was usually in a cramped room crowded with supplies and work where she was the queen of her own little laboratory. Here she was in a hall with a wide space on either side of her. She wanted nothing more to find a corner and try to hide.

She knew she shouldn't worry, Kyle would be back soon but the feeling of exposure was gnawing at her ruthlessly as the pain in her limbs faded to a dull ache and then became nothing more than a belated throbbing. She couldn't do it. Not here. She had to find Kyle and if he'd allow it she'd like nothing more than to cling to another warm body. Maybe she'd cry. No, she shouldn't, she couldn't show any weakness like that.

When was the last time she had even allowed herself to cry? She couldn't remember. Some time after she had lost her son. She'd cried plenty then but after that she wasn't sure if she'd simply lost the ability to cry or had stopped herself from crying anymore. She wanted to. She wanted to just drop her head into her knees, and hide, and cry. She couldn't, now wasn't the time. When this was all over maybe she'd curl up and bawl to her heart's content.

Her ghoulishly bright eyes wandered the hallways, trying to watch both sides at once. The panic was building slowly like a snowball rolling downhill. Where was he? He hadn't gone far she was sure. She could probably catch up to him if she just got up and walked. What about the supplies? Fuck it, she was more than strong enough to carry them in the towel and if all else failed she could beat whatever she came across with it like a pillow club. She knew it wouldn't do much damage but she wasn't in the mood to give a damn, she was terrified of the goddamn hall and she wanted to find Kyle.

She needed to stay close to him anyways, it wouldn't do to be too far away if he got hurt or if she needed protection. No, his survival factored very greatly into her own and she wasn't ready to die. The lump in her stomach turned itself into a knot and she tried not to look at the looming openness of the hallway. It seemed too long but there was a bit of a corner in the direction he'd gone. Even if she could see the door at the other end it just seemed too open for her taste.

She pushed herself up with a bit of effort and relearned to balance herself on her feet. Once she was certain she wasn't about to kiss the floor like a drunkard she gathered up the towel full of supplies and hefted it over her shoulder in what could only be looked at as an utter mockery of Santa Claus. One foot moved in front of the other as she edged toward the corner and peered down the remaining length. It looked like the hall opened into a room.

With her back to the wall and her towel bag of goodies in one hand she made a b-line around the first corner and continued edging onward. Every so often she had to stop, close her eyes, and focus on breathing alone. Panicking would do no good but it was damn difficult to keep calm with as little training she had in any kind of potentially dangerous situation like this.

She got the threshold of the larger area and balked. Too big for her taste right now. She simply couldn't go through there, not without Kyle or someone to escort her. Too exposed. She might as well have been as naked as Kyle had been when they met for as exposed as she felt. Zombies couldn't come through walls. Doors, maybe, if they were left open but not strong, sturdy walls. She didn't even realize she was whimpering until she scampered into the corner and curled up clutching the impromptu towel bag for dear life. Kyle was going to have so much fun teaching her how to fight and escorting her through the place wasn't he? She was positively brimming with potential...

[Damen]

It took only a handful of moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness in the room he entered, and as a result he was blind for the first few seconds. A second after entering he felt his pants rustling, a motion he initially took for a draft until he realized that the rustling was moving up his pants leg and not across it. He reached down when it got to his thigh and touched something soft, warm and slick that wiggling under his fingers.

“MOTHERFUCKER!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs and knocked the living creature off of himself out of pure instinct. A second later, a large object crashed into his back and there was a sudden pressure on his left shoulder that was well blocked by the padding on his vest. It didn’t take long to figure out what was happening when the mindless groans started being heard.

Kyle, working largely on self-preservation, balled up his fist and punched whatever was biting him. It didn’t knock the thing off of him but it did weaken its grip and after another two quick, solid strikes, he was freed. By this time his eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom and he now saw the three large zombies that were shuffling toward him as well as small, moving things on the floor. The room itself was very small with just a little light coming in from the open door and the window on the opposite wall which was allowing illumination from the moon to spill inside. The room itself was sparse, but elegant. Dark cream color paint and dark wood chair guards decorated the walls. There was a desk under the window with a few leafs of old paper on top of it along with a brass lamp and a very old fashioned typewriter. In the far right corner was a large…pulsing sack of some sort. Almost like an insect’s egg sack but the size of a small recliner. There was another rustling on his pant leg and, looking down, he saw a mutated spider larger than his fist trying to crawl past his ankle.

“Son of a BITCH!” he drew his leg back and lashed out, trying to kick the spider off of himself. Whatever his intentions, however, he ended up kicking a zombie right in the crotch, mashing the mutant spider between his ankle and the zombie’s scrotum and hearing a wet crunch which he wasn’t sure was caused by the spider or the zombie’s testicles. Whatever the result, the spider was flattened and the zombie was stunned. One of the three zombies lunged at him and Kyle saw his opening. He spun his arm, knocking the zombie’s hand away and also trapping the monster’s arm under his own. The mercenary didn’t waste any time and slammed the web of his open free hand into the zombie’s throat and, using the combination of control given to him by the zombie’s neck and trapped arm, forced the zombie to the floor. The zombie hit the floor on its back and got out a single moan before Kyle twisted and snapped the monster’s arm at the shoulder and then hit the zombie once again in the throat with every ounce of force he could muster and was rewarded with the sound of breaking vertebrae.

As he stood up, a second zombie tried to grab his shoulder. Kyle reacted, repeating his movement to break the zombie’s grip and trap the arm, but this time he put his palm flat against the zombie’s chest and pushed while, at the same time, kicking one heavy boot into the monster’s knee from the side. The zombie’s leg snapped inward and it fell to the ground, crushing a number of small spiders under it as it impacted. Not waiting for the third zombie to grab him, Kyle caught its outstretched arms, spun it around in a semicircle and threw the monster over the small desk and out of the window with a horrendous crash of shattering glass. The last zombie made a feeble grab for Kyle’s leg, but the man moved clear, snatched the heavy type writer from the desk and smashed it edge first into the monster’s head. When the zombie tried to move again, Kyle picked up the type writer and hit the monster again. The zombie’s head exploded like a swollen tick after the second impact, spilling gore across the rug and wood flooring.

There were a small number of mutant spiders and Kyle crunched them under his boots as he strode over to the desk, ripped the lamp off of it and smashed the bulb against the wall. He then switched on the lamp and shoved it into the large egg sack in the corner. There was a snap, a sizzling sound and smoke started drifting from the living container. The egg sack spasmed for a second and then stopped moving as a small hoard of little monstrous spiders spilled out, twitched and curled up in death.

“Fucking hell I hate spiders,” he muttered as he went to the wall and flicked on the overhead light. The room, which scared him greatly in the darkness, was remarkably less frightening in bright light, even with the amount of gore and destruction he had imparted. He sighed and counted himself lucky to come out of that scuffle as unscathed as he had. Even after having dealt with those monstrosities before, the danger had not lessened appreciably with time or knowledge of self-defense. If their numbers were great enough, they would overwhelm him.

In the light, Kyle took a chance to study the room and decided the desk was the best place to start. He walked quietly over to it, his stride taking him rapidly across the short distance, and looked down at the small leafs of paper on the surface. They were old, yellowed from age with worn edges and water stains on them in places. The sheet on the top read in tidy text

Rebecca – 01 – W.S.Room – 1F

“Odd,” he muttered. Deciding he would benefit from any intelligence he could collect about where he was, he stacked the papers neatly together, folded them carefully, and tucked them away in one of his vest’s inner pockets to examine them thoroughly later on. Sighing, he started opening drawers in the desk but only found office supplies until he reached the bottom right drawer. Opening it, he found two large hard-shell cases inside, stacked atop each other. He withdrew them and put them on the desk.

Opening the heavier of the two, he found nine slim pistol magazines fully loaded with ammunition as well as a single lose bullet all tucked neatly in cut out padding inside the case. Now eager, Kyle opened the second case and was far from disappointed.

Inside was a familiar sight; a black .45ACP caliber M1911A1 that had been heavily customized. It had raised white dot sights, cocking serrations cut into the slide on both the back and the front. There was a rail cut into the pistol’s frame to allow attaching a flashlight, laser sight or another accessory. The trigger was small, a military standard, as was the curved mainspring housing, which would allow for a more natural, comfortable fit in his hand. The safety was a standard size, but the grip safety had an aggressive beavertail on it and was otherwise smooth on the bottom to allow the lines to flow naturally into the curved mainspring housing. The hammer was a skeleton style which, when combined with the grip safety and rear sights, would help ensure a clean draw from the holster and minimize the chances of the weapon snagging on clothing. The final addition to the pistol was a match grade barrel with threading that could allow him to fit suppressor to the weapon.

“Wait,” he muttered quietly to himself, “this is my pistol. I had this on me when I went in for…what was I going for? I think it was a meeting.”

He was growing more certain that they were being toyed with and it was not knowledge that he enjoyed. As he pondered the events prior to his emerging from the water filled bathtub, he slipped the magazines into the pouches on his vest. He made a mental note that each magazine held eight rounds, plus the single lose bullet, which he chambered in the pistol before slipping the last magazine into the weapon and tucking the heavy handgun into the holster on his vest.

“73 rounds total,” he said quietly as he left the small room, “Not much for a combat situation. I should find a knife.”

Now armed, he left the room without closing the door and moved quietly back the way he had come to find Jezebel.

[crystalofchaos]

The first shout had her leaping damn near out of her skin, the second had her bolting blindly towards the only familiar voice right now. "KYLE!" She sounded genuinely worried instead of her usual mawkish self. She stumbled at the threshold of the larger room and let her panic carry her through. If he died she'd be soon to follow and so help her she was NOT dying today.

With a heavy breath she picked herself off the floor, forgot both her coat and the towel of supplies and barreled through the larger room to find a wider room and then another set of doors. Which way had he gone? He hadn't gone far, she'd heard him! He'd barely been gone very long at all and she'd already lost track of him! It felt like her lungs were full of knives with each breath. The panic settled into her stomach like a cold fist of lead.

"KYLE! WHERE ARE YOU?!" She roared the question in frustration as she sank against the wall between both doors. This wasn't her domain. This wasn't where she belonged. She felt like a babe in the woods and she was only beginning to realize just how much she was truly at Kyle's mercy. He was the only person who was even likely to help her and if she couldn't pull her weight he might just leave her to die. She couldn't let that happen.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, it felt like swallowing nails that clawed through her esophagus. If she lost Kyle she'd lose her only hope of surviving for the moment unless someone else came along to save her. What were the chances of that? Pretty slim if it was late enough for infection to have spread throughout this place. Damn, she was beginning to miss her Umbrella corporate cell. At least the door had been built to keep most experiments out or in.

She wasn't sure she could hold it in anymore. Tears began to build in her eyes as she curled into a pathetic, quivering ball against the wall. The soft whimpering escaping her lips made her feel even less human than before. She wasn't strong or confident here. She was truly scared for the first time in many years. Funny, I feel like a kid again, as most would say. Pity that I was never allowed a childhood.

She barely heard a creak of hinges and backed away from the door that was opening with a sudden yelp. The tears finally broke passed her lashes and spilled down her cheeks. She tried to throw something at whatever was coming through but realized too late that she'd left anything she could throw behind in her hurry. She found herself much in the same position as before, on the floor looking up at Kyle Hardin. Such a fine irony, at least this time he's dressed. She wasn't sure which was more disturbing, how comfortable she was with the view from the floor at his feet or the rush of relief that he was alive.

She stopped pondering quickly enough and took his knee in a tight hug as she let the tears come. The night was already taking it's toll on her. It was serving well to remind her just how painfully defenseless she was. "Please don't leave. Please. I don't want to be alone anymore." The words tumbled from her like the pitiful wash of begging they were. She wasn't sure at first, she had thought she could handle it before but after this little incident she wasn't sure of anything. She'd have to find a way to calm herself down or detach as usual, but in this place everything was going to be up close and personal and it was going to be trying to eat her alive.

She looked up at him, ignoring the smattering of zombie gore and spider guts on him as she shook his knee pleadingly. She looked at him without even bothering to hide her weakness and tears from him. She was out of her wits and she was begging him now as truly befit a slave. "Please." It was a bare breath of a whisper but she'd lost the rest of the plea in her throat. It had once been that she could think her way out of almost anything but now she could scarcely think beyond her blood pounding in her ears and the terrified thundering of her heart.

After a few seconds she took notice of the gore on him and tentatively reached up. "Are-are you alright?" If he was infected he might have already turned. He could be turning as she clung to him. FUCK. What if he ate her here and now? She only might survive the infection itself because of her own virus but if he truly ripped her apart there'd be nothing for her but death. "Please tell me you're alright." She actually looked worried for him but she didn't let go of his leg. If it was over then it was over, she didn't have the wits about her to fight right now.

[Damen]

The shock that crossed his face was short lived and soon replaced by his usual stoic expression as he realized what it was that had affixed itself to his leg. He blinked as her words came spilling out and waited until she’d paused for a breath before flashing a reassuring smile.

“I’m fine,” he said, “they’re not. Got jumped a few doors back. They tried to take a bite out of me,” he sighed and rolled his shoulder, feeling a dull throb from where the zombie tried without success to eat him, “I disagreed.”

He reached down and gave her shoulder a comforting pat; “If you’re up to it, we should get moving soon. I’m not sure what may come across us if we stay here much longer. But there's something I need to get first."

Dislodging himself from her near-iron grasp, Kyle moved quickly down the hall and found the towel and spilled meds a few yards from where he had left her. He pulled one of the waterproof bags from his pants pocket and filled it with the spilled meds, then zipped it closed and tied it onto the web belt that made up the lower part of his tactical vest. He looked around, then ducked into the bathroom once more.

"Risks be damned, I need every advantage I can get," he muttered to himself while pulling a number of the flashbang grenades from the wall and slipping the spoons of their arming mechanisms through his web belt until his waist was covered with the explosive devices.

He then backtracked until he found Jezebel in almost the exact position he had left her and placed the sack of meds down next to the young woman; "I think you left this back there, by the way."