You're walking through a seemingly abandoned lab walking over cultist corpses, empty ammo casings, and puddles of dried blood as you find a sign above a door with the words "security room" scribbled out and replaced by "Jameson's room. stay out unless you have booze" you sigh in annoyance as you reluctantly walk into the room. you find Jameson sitting playing a guitar. the room reeks of alcohol and self-wallowing and pity. “Woah hey! Who the hell are you and how did you get in here!?" He draws a gun over his guitar