'[i]Cold....sticky...and i'm thirsty...[/i]' He hated to cold, the stickiness and thirst were unpleasant, but they didn't hold a candle to the spine chilling cold that ran up and down his body. The 'he' in this scenario was John G. Alexander, however he did not know that just yet. John slowly opened his eyes and hissed with annoyance as the slitted pupil's in his cold grey eyes expanded and contracted from the sudden shift in brightness. "My head...where am I?" John muttered as he sat up and winced as a flare of pain shot through his skull, he reached up to grip his head, only to recoil as he felt that same sticky wetness now on his hair. The boy stared down at his hand, then to his shirt which were both covered in some sort of viscous brown substance. John's tongue flickered from his mouth as he leaned towards the substance. He didn't quite know [i]why[/i] he did it, however it felt natural, besides, it helped him discern precisely what was stuck to him: coagulated blood. 

He grimaced a bit, more so at the fact that it was cold and sticky rather than the fact that it was blood, however now that left the question of where the blood had come from. John didn't need to wait long for an answer as he examined the room which contained several corpses, each was wearing a white jacket, was long dead and was sporting a peculiar injury of some sort. One man, appearing in his forties, lay dead with his head twisted at an odd angle and his throat covered in bruises, another -this one a young woman- sported a horribly swollen face with two large puncture wounds in her cheek, a final man, who's age was indiscernible due to most of his face having been torn off, and, oddly enough there was a syringe embedded in his eye socket. John stared at the bodies blankly, feeling nothing, not shock, not fear, not even a morbid sense of curiosity, just apathy. 

John pried his shirt off, then reached over and ripped the sleeve from the forty year old man's jacket and wiped the coagulated blood from himself before standing and walking out. The boy had no idea who he was, where he was, or why he was there, nor did he particularly care at the moment, there was only one thing he cared about now: finding a drink. Flickering his tongue a few times, John caught the scent of other people, once again though he wasn't sure of how he knew it. Not that it mattered though, people meant there might be something to drink, so to the people he would go. John walked down the hallway towards the source of the smells.