Who: Mark, Carver, and NPCs When: Early Sunday morning, just after the black out Where: Subbasements What: The things are free! Damage control.
Carver swallowed thickly, staring straight ahead as Mark hit the button for the subbasements and the elevator started its trek to the absolute pit of the building. His heart was pounding - not that he was willing to show it - and he thought briefly for a moment that he might be sick. He wasn't too worried about injury as the riot gear he and Mark had donned along with a few others in on the 'secrets' of Astor should protect their skin, if they could subdue the things before they got any wilder.
Still, it was a daunting task. Every trip into that part of the building made him die a little more, piece by piece.
He wasn't looking forward to it. Then again, he doubted any of them were.
The cheery, classical music that played was a stark contrast to what was about to happen, and the irony was not lost on him. Still, it was particularly hard to find anything amusing in the knowledge that he and a group of his 'associates' were about to go beat a group of rabid, malnourished, and abused beyond belief people into submission.
When the elevator came to a stop and the doors slowly opened to the small room before the door to the pit, he could hear them. Low groans and cries, faces blurred by frosted glass, pounding at every entrance for a sign of weakness. He dropped his face protector down from his helmet and took the safety off his gun.
"Watch what the fuck you're doing," he said to the men behind him. "Try to push them back with your guns before you fire."
Rabid or not, Carver didn't feel right killing the poor, pathetic things. They were still humans, after all.