[center][h3]Warren Ames[/h3][/center] [center][b]Apartment 303[/b][/center] Ames woke up in a sense of confusion. His surroundings were...different. He could sense it, even in the darkness of his room. As he stood and whipped the curtains back from the window, he realised why. [i]Shit...I'm not downtown no more.[/i] The apartment was a lot more spacious than his old hovel a few streets down. Looking back, he was grateful that Annette had let him in. His previous home was cramp, decrepit and on the verge of falling apart from mold and rot. That was during the first weeks of the outbreak. He'd been forced to leave after a section of the floor had caved in on him. It'd almost been him in the dirt, dead. Yet here he was, a stroke of luck amidst the death and destruction. The weeks had been tough, transporting him back to an era which he thought he'd left behind. Eating cold food out of cans, living without heat (at least he had a bed and blanket), pissing and crapping into a bucket that he emptied down the drainpipe regularly enough to not make the place as dirty as hell, it felt just like Vietnam, only this was the middle of Canada, not some war-torn jungle out in the middle of nowhere. He'd been able to survive only because he had the sense to prepare early. When the first inklings of the viral outbreaks started in South America, he had immediately gone down to the nearby grocery store and stocked up on canned food, toiletries and water. His foresight had saved him, most of his neighbours weren't so lucky. When the bug hit Rittendale, he'd battened down the hatches (read: barricaded his door and sealed the windows) and waited it out, while all around him the rest of the apartment complex succumbed to the silent killer. When he re-emerged a few weeks later everyone was dead, even the poor widow Richardson. No one had stood a chance. He stretched the kinks out of his back and made his way to the bathroom to clean up. Without running water, it made it a stretch, but hey at least they had water. He dressed, plainly in a plaid shirt, jeans and work boots, and went outside. It was the morning, as usual, and the rest of the Towers were waking up to go about their business. For him? His usual thing was to amble around the place, see if anyone needed any help or manual labour. It took his mind off of things, really; if he had time to walk around, it meant time to think, and time to think meant time spent going back on his memories of the outbreak, and of the war. He didn't want to dwell on the past, so distraction was key. He'd been part of the team that was working on the other tower, setting up the necessities there while keeping himself out of trouble. Occasionally he volunteered to go out on scavenging runs with the younger men and women, keep himself on his toes and such. Not much else for an old man to do anyway. Today was no exception; as he made his way downstairs he caught wind of another scavenging run being prepared, no doubt helmed by the young Elliot and his two compatriots. Supplies were running low, as usual, and the run today would be like every other. When he approached the ground floor the crack and roar of the pickup's engine startled him - [sub][i]bullets whizzing over his head[/i][/sub] [sub][i]men screaming in pain[/i][/sub] [sub][i]his men[/i][/sub] Ames caught himself before he lapsed into another bout. Weak in the knees, even trembling a little, it took him a good few minutes to calm himself down. [i]Long, deep breaths. Relax. Breathe in, count to four, breathe out, count to four.[/i] It'd been ages since his last relapse, but ever since his doctor had prescribed him with this strange white tablet, the nightmares and episodes had significantly reduced. When the outbreak had hit, he'd been the first to stock up on that particular medicine; a traumatised soldier would break under these circumstances, but he convinced himself every day that he wouldn't. Not that easily. He still had the meds, took one every morning, and that was when he realised he'd not taken this morning's dose. It could wait. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs and proceeded forth. Ahead, Annette was busying herself with dispatching the runners, and when he was but a few paces away the truck left. All was good and fine, and he caught snippets of conversation from all around him; other survivors, just like him, going about their daily business of living. Suddenly [center][h3]BANG[/h3][/center] [i]MOVE YOUR ASS PRIVATE OR I WILL MOVE IT FOR YOU WITH MY BOOT[/i] [center][h2]BANG BANG[/h2][/center] [sub][i]GET DOWN KENNETH FARLEY MOVE UP ON THE RIGHT GIVE US MG COVER NOW[/i][/sub] [center][h1]BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG[/h1][/center] [sub][sub][i]MAN DOWN MAN DOWN COULSON'S DOWN[/i][/sub][/sub] Ames awoke just a minute later, broken from his stupor by one of the nearby men shaking him back to the real world. He was lying prone on the floor, shivering badly, a sheen of cold sweat on his face, body and muscles tense as imaginary gunfire whizzed over his head, artillery shells screaming down into the fake bush and setting illusory soldiers ablaze, if not tearing them to pieces first. The war was not kind, hell, no war was kind on the soldiers who fought it. He was no exception to the unspoken rule. [i]Dammit, I really need my meds.[/i] He gratefully accepted the younger man's help to get back up. He'd get that dose as soon as he figured out what the hell went wrong. He knew it was gunfire; it had to be, nothing else would trigger him that badly, and as he marched right up behind Annette he caught her conversation with Ned that yes, it was gunfire, no it wasn't from the direction the runners had gone, no she had no idea what it was, everybody needed to relax and continue what they were doing. But he knew what he was doing. After this he'd march straight back upstairs to down his pill. Then he'd go see what the hell was going on, by hook or by crook. "Annette, ma'am, I just got down here looking for work, but suddenly I heard gunshots. What's going on?"