Crossing his arms, Julian leaned against the wall of the office as Miguel took off to presumably take care of Wes. Left with Jason to discuss the business venture, he attempted to stall with small talk. "So, shitty weather, eh?" He asked, trying to keep things from being<span style="font-style: italic">too</span>awkwardly quiet. He would have continued if not for the loud pounds and a concerning creak and following impact, followed by even more unnerving sounds traveling through the vents. "Shit, man, what the hell are they doing in there?" He asked nobody in particular, thinking aloud. "Eh. Give me a sec, yeah? Be back." Leaving a potential business discussion didn't seem like a great idea, but if things were breaking in the shop, he at least wanted to be around to help fix it.<br/><br/>As he left the room and turned the corner, he saw the crowd gathering around the bathroom door. Clearly, something was wrong, and he felt an immediate growing concern as he took more steps down the hallway. Was Wes hurt? Was he sick? The television announcer's words that were spoken as he neared the bathroom's entryway did little to quell his worry. A twisting knot formed in his stomach as the words on the news were broadcast.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"Call 911 immediately, and if you are approached by someone who appears to be sick, quickly make your way to the nearest safe location and remain quiet. While under curfew, lock all doors and windows, and remain calm. If you are displaying influenza-like symptoms, please call 911 immediately and report them. An ambulance will be dispatched shortly to lend aid."</span><br/><br/>Julian finally reached the crowd around the bathroom, and nudged his way past Ken and towards Miguel's side. "Yo, what's going on over here? Is Wes-..." Julian's words turned to silence. He looked into the bathroom, jaw dropping when he saw what had become of Wesley. The boy was pale before, but now, he was a horribly pale white. Blood surrounded him, and his veins looked like someone had injected them with used motor oil. Revulsion immediately wracked him, and the twisting feeling deep in his gut now felt more akin to being struck. A hand clasped over his mouth, and instinct told him that something was<span style="font-style: italic">wrong.</span>Wesley, even as he stood, moved not like a person would. Sick or not, the gait his steps took just looked unnatural. Too stiff, too unfocused in motion. It was like a corpse was trying to walk.<br/><br/>And it was walking right towards them.<br/><br/>"Qué coño..." Julian whispered, taking a reflexive step back, his shoulder bumping into Miguel's chest. "The fuck's wrong with him, dude?" Tones of concern, fear, and panic underlied Julian's question. Clearly, something was incredibly fucking wrong. "Wes? Wes, stay back, bro. You're sick," Julian said, attempting to reason with him. Against all his instincts telling him to run, he held his hands up and slightly forward in a defensive, yet very unsure position. "Just, just sit down or something, we'll call the hospital."<br/><br/>Wes, while not giving much of a response, locked his eyes onto Julian while he spoke. They were still and motionless. Glazed over and lifeless. His own hands raised, and another groan rumbled deep in his throat as he lurched forward and tried to grab Julian's left arm. It failed, as he stepped back rapidly, leaving Wesley to fall flat on his face on the hallway floor. For a moment, he remained still, but he began to crawl towards the crowd not a moment after impact, broken-nailed fingertips clacking against the linoleum with each attempted grasp.