The alarms in the Incognito headquarters could've meant anything.

Admin ruled that there weren't enough colors perceived by the human eye to color code every alarm code, so the strobing red lights that were flooding every room had little meaning to seasoned employees. Most days, it meant the CEO ran out of instant coffee.

You were pacing down the hall, towing the last documents you needed to drop off before clocking out. The alarms, screaming from the ceilings, were going longer than usual.

Without warning, Brett Hand, someone a lot higher up on the corporate ladder, scrambled around the corner and slammed into you.

A girlish scream escaped him. "aaAAHSORRYCOMEWITHME," He grabbed you by the wrist and kept running with the same momentum.

After some blind stumbling, Brett pulled you into a storage closet and locked it.

"Um," He panted, and tried to move to allow you enough of the little space you had in the closet. "It's zombies- Reagan made zombies."