The air was chaotic. Wesley moved around like a puppet without strings, stiff limbs lashing aggressively at anyone who got too near. People were scared, nobody knew what to do, and the sirens ringing out, accompanied by their instructions, were neither calming nor helpful for the folk inside the motor shop. Someone else, unfamiliar to Julian, rushed in just in time to see the situation take a turn for the worse. She addressed Wesley by name, something that made Julian's stomach drop. He felt a guilt-induced nausea as she tried to speak to him, apparently still hoping to break through to the man buried underneath the vicious state of mind he was left in. Unable to help but think of what may have happened if they found him earlier, he took a step back as Amanda moved past him, clasping a hand tightly over his mouth. For a few moments, that sickness became overpowering, until yet another event somehow made the madness spiral even further down.<br/><br/>A gunshot. The thunderous roar of explosive powder igniting filled the room, the enclosed space of the building echoed the sounds. Julian was caught off guard, and found himself slightly stunned by the sudden noise. A low ringing in his ears dazed him, but it didn't take too long for him to piece together what had happened. Wesley, in his already horrible state of being, was further damaged by the incoming force of high-velocity lead. It would have been enough to put any man down twice over. And yet, he just got back up, leaking a vile reddish-black tar from the cavernous wound in his torso.<br/><br/>"Oh, no, no no no no, fuck this, man. Fuck this! What the<span style="font-style: italic">fuck</span>is this?!" Julian spat out, balling his fists tightly. He felt a revulsion like he'd never felt before, that mix of disgust and hopelessness that he could only imagine is what prey would feel in the moments before its death in the jaws of a ravenous beast. What he was looking at, this shambling abomination of blood and bile, was not human. Not anymore. Everything about him- no,<span style="font-style: italic">it</span>- set off the most primal urges within him. Run. Fight. Hide. Do anything he possibly could just to get away from it. It was a fear unlike anything he'd ever experienced. This was more than just self-preservation kicking in during a desperate situation. Julian couldn't even begin to explain what it was that was going through his mind, only that it was there, and it was overpowering.<br/><br/>Raphael's comment broke through all the thoughts, and he realized the answer all too well now. No, Wesley was not with them. Whatever this thing was, unnatural and offensive to the senses in its mere existence, was not him. Not their friend. Not their co-worker. Not their family member. Wesley, unquestionably, was dead, and something else entirely was parading around with his body. Julian felt his emotions stir again, a boiling rage starting to overtake him at the mere idea. With a sharp inhale, he spoke up again. "That thing, it's not him, man. It ain't fuckin' him. Nobody would just get back up after that, nobody that's still alive. This, this, whatever the<span style="font-style: italic">fuck</span>it is, it's not him. It's not." He must have sounded like a raving madman, but this was the most concise way he could vocalize his thoughts on the matter.<br/><br/>But a sudden silence befell him once again. The cars outside warned people to stay inside. How far was this already spread? If Wes had it, then it must have already been in the town since at least that morning.<br/><br/>And Wes was far from the only person Julian knew who had been out and about in the morning.<br/><br/>"Oh. Oh, fuck. Miguel, we gotta go. We gotta go! The kids!" Julian shouted. Inside the shop was hardly a safe place, but out there in town? God only knows what kind of things might have happened to them.