Ivan
[Rolled 17]
The padlock gives little resistance, opening with a satisfying click. You swing the thin metal door open, examining the contents within. A camouflage military jacket is hung up on a small hook within the locker, two large, zippered pockets dominating its front side. Looking down, you see two glass bottles on the floor of the container. Beer, presumably. Against regulations, maybe, but it's the apocalypse, nobody cares now.
Virgo
You retire to one of the cubicles in the front, letting your hair loose and pulling your visor off. How could this be happening? Everyone you know is probably dead, you're in a concrete building with a bunch of strangers and no food.....things are looking grim, to say the least. Before you put your hands over your eyes, a cursory glance at the cubicle reveals a standard metal desk, upon which sits an old-fashioned computer terminal.
Dennis
Your back is, indeed, sore as hell. Your trusty pistol, normally at your bedside, was confiscated by the soldiers for some unknown reason. You make your way to the front lobby, where Virgo currently seems to be on the verge of another little anxiety attack, before surveying the land outside the big door. You can't actually open the huge thing without pressing the button in the main cubicle, but you can see out the reinforced glass in the center of the steel object. The sky is blue, but something's....off. You can't put your finger on it, but it doesn't feel right. Off in the distance, down the lonely road, you can see the outline of a city. Brickton, or something, you believe.
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