Eighth.

[trustharder]

Seven in the morning comes and goes as it always does – namely, loudly and a little obnoxiously, given the usual blaring of the klaxons. Today marks almost a full eight weeks since the Survivors awakened in the Vault; more than enough time for people to get used to how things tend to work around here on Fridays, and yet not so long that there isn't any hope that maybe (maybe) this Friday will be better. The first-floor corridor is generally quiet, in that it's free of blood; however, there are some scattered books in the hallway, near the library. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe it isn't. It might be good to make sure, though, right? >Explore?

Comments

[trustharder]

[This one is talking about what stuffed animals would suit everyone and it's in the same neat handwriting. How useful!!

And with that, you're all done in here! No more paper, thankfully!!]

AREA CLEAR

[trustharder]

[notjustawriter]

Maybe it'll come back to me. Right now, I really don't remember much of anything.

[captainobnoxious]

[...... She's got a bad, bad feeling about this, because there's only one person she knows for sure who's doing the stuffed animals now, and she'll fold both papers together to tuck away.

It might be time to start steeling herself a little early.]

[amygdalae]

It could be the trauma of what happened, especially if you were attacked without warning.

[And if it is from the back it seems to be the case, anyway.]

Just take a rest for now. You need it.