His eyes widened as scattered boots echoed around the warehouse, their steps all betraying a level of panic and uncertainty as shouts soon followed. Quackity gazed across the swathes of people, the teal green of their identical jackets, grazing over their assigned numbers.

He rested his leg stretched out on the mattress, his other knee he held to his chest. The long-haired brunet had a great vantage on his bunk, albeit surrounded by many others, almost stacked high to the roof. His glasses didn't distort his vision as he locked eyes on you down below, yet they hid the look that crossed his face.

He practically bounded down the ladder, the dead weight of his wings caught the air. Soon he came to the gathering of panicked individuals, but Quackity showed no regard for them, his heart pounding as did his shoes against the tile, brushing last every person until his arms collided with you.