On the fifth floor down from the surface in the mall, tucked away in a triangular shaped, corner store that was once an optometrists parlor, sat a crudely drawn sign reading 'Clinic.' The words, hastily painted black onto the back of a mardi gras banner so many years ago, barely hid the formation of the words 'Sunset Eyes' that were in three dimensional proposals on top of the age-old store. Just off to the left hand side of the maw that was the entrance was a chalkboard sign, sitting upright near the wall with its standalone triangular shape. The words in a flitted font, painted on and thus irremovable, said 'Harpers Cafe.' Though instead of lunch specials written in chalk on the board, it proclaimed in flamboyant colors; "and Scouts Inc. Walk-ins Welcome."

Years ago when the outbreak first started, Doctors flocked in and used this small station as their own. It took a long time until they were able to make their way down to the bottom floors where the majority of them reside today, as waiting on soldiers to make sure the bottom-most floors were safe were naturally a priority. Today it only housed one and her family. Yoko Faust, a Japanese-American doctor found her life on the bottom floors miserable, surrounded by coworkers she couldn't stand while her husband swung around like a damn primate, exploring the mall up in the eves. She found to enjoy her space now, and her location was more useful to those without dire injuries that simply needed checking up or stupid questions asked. It may seem harsh to state it as such, but Yoko has lost count of how many times she's been asked to check a rash that panicked the individual and left her shaking her head. 

Not much has changed since her moving in with her husband. The soft, sunset hues of the walls of the interior of the clinic always seemed soothing, and with paint so expensive anyways there was never a reason to change it. The white desks that were once used for customers to look at their new glasses with have been moved to the front where a secretary took your name and had you sit on the mismatched chairs of varying color and comfort aligned around the room. Shelves that once only displayed glasses or held posters of too happy models putting contacts in have been replaced with cabinets of the less precious materials such as cotton swabs or medical equipment. To the back, there is a hall leading to stairs that are blocked off from the public, where three doors line the halls. The first door leads to a room where a chair with the typical optical gear lies, and the counter beside it holding a sink and various medical equipment that comes standard in a clinic. The other two rooms are merely a bathroom and a medicine closet, where the more precious medical liquids and pills are stored. This door is reinforced by several locks that not even Yoko's husband can get into.

The stairs in the back lead to a surprisingly spacious second floor. Originally, it did not exist. Nor did the stairs. Thanks to a family friend that was a carpenter back in the day, they managed to turn the attic of the optometrist shop into a living quarters after they found they were going to have a child. The attic has been secured with extra walls, fresh paint, floors trustworthy enough to walk barefoot on, and even a few windows facing out towards the open mall. It's not huge, but it's cozy, like a cottage in the woods. The layout supplied a half decent kitchen, complete with a trash chute, storage closet, and sink. Yoko often told her husband, Benjamin, of how she missed being able to actually cook, something she enjoyed when it was still an option. The second floor/Attic also supplied an office area from which Benjamin and his daughter often worked, and two bedrooms that lay next to each other at the end of the hall side by side. 

Within one of these bedrooms, was the ever so charming Lauren, the daughter of Yoko and Benjamin Faust.

Lauren slept on her futon with her sheets tangled up around her body, twisted in such a manner that her hips lay flat but her shoulders were turned to the side. Her small mouth lay stretched open atop her arm, where a river of drool had begun forming new pathways down the length of her pale arm. Her snores were small, but were boyish none the less. A small stuffed owl plushie which looked irritated in ever sense of the word was tucked under the arm opposite the one which had a river of drool wide enough to let Lewis and Clark sail on. She slept soundly, but not beautifully, away. Dreaming of running through trees and falling from great heights not in fear, but in exhilaration.

A dark figure approached her in her sleep, threatening and ominous. Actually it was just her dad, grinning evilly as he raised his hands over her body the grip her tightly. He barely could stifle his giggles as he moved in for the 'kill.'