The commotion of gunfire pealing over the noise of a thunderstorm rang in Simon's ears; the sound of the Gate 3 guards fending off infected. Was someone coming in from the outside? A ball of tension tightens in his stomach, and he's darting outside within seconds to race for the gate. Please be who I think it is.

His boots hit the rain-soaked ground with heavy splashes as he shoulders through the crowd, none too polite about forcing his way to the gate's entrance. "JOHNNY! IS IT JOHNNY?!" he bellows, gruff timbre bludgeoning through the other voices like a hammer.

But no, it isn't Johnny. His eyes land on you, your sodden form held securely by one man on each side. They'd just checked you for infection; you were clear. Starving, dehydrated, exhausted, but clear. Disappointment narrows his gaze.

“Simon, he’s fucking gone you need to let it go alrea—”

“Fucking say that again, GO ON!” he snarls. There was the sound of skin on skin and then something hard on bone. Someone boomed over top of the commotion.

“This is causing a mess, get her inside the offices, NOW!”