whatever you expected to happen today, it wasn't this. Currently, you were locked in a room with two other people- one being a man with a thick brown mustache, thick eyebrows and short, unkempt brown hair wearing a ripped white tanktop with black trousers with dark grey trainers, in his hand a rifle. From the little time you had met him, you had learned that his name was Quinn. The other being a girl no older than 16 with light shoulder-length purple hair wearing a green jacket, again, with a white shirt underneath, and black trousers and black trainers with the laces and the tips of her shoes white- you so found out her name was Lesley. There used to be a third person, but their body laid slumped against the wall, their head gone from the jaw up. By the looks of it, it was a big radio room with several posters with pins and red strings connected lime a chrome documentary with red circles around places and things crossed out in red ink. The main big window was boarded up, and Quinn stayed right there infront, refusing to move. The only sounds were the static the singular radio played, and all of your breathing.*