Heather took a little amusement in the way that the receptionist moved about. Sure, she did well enough to return a potential client's smile, but otherwise was very shy, nervous even. While waiting for the girl of Japanese descent, a quite contrasting man walked into the office holding an alarm clock that looked to be a victim to his rage. The young, athletic brunette could just imagine the alarm blaring right on cue as it always knew to, just to be smashed under the relatively large hand of this hulking brute. Well, okay, that may be a bad first impression, but that's what first impressions are.<br/><br/>With a light thunk, Heather's attention was snapped away from the man in the room to the phone that had appeared on the counter. She smiled at the receptionist one more time before picking it up with her left hand. "Thanks a lot! I'll have it back in one piece, promise." Whether she meant to poke fun at the boy with the broken clock or not, she wasn't going to tell.<br/><br/>Walking over to one of the empty seats in a line of them by the window closest to the door, Heather slipped her backpack off one shoulder then off of her back with the next, easing the bag onto the chair next to her. She watched for a moment as the other girl interacted with the clock killer, smiling slightly at the size difference between the two. With that thought in mind, the brunette punched in her house numbers and with the dial tone as a backdrop, started to watch the television in the corner of the office.<br/><br/>The scene was chaotic, to say the least. There was talk of riots turned blood baths, the dead turned undead. There were whispers of viruses and murder. Heather could only stare, not even noticing that the family message on the answering machine had finished, only waking up to the present thanks to that tell-tale beep.<br/><br/>"Holy shit," Heather blurted out into the phone after about a minute of breathing into it. "Uh... hey guys, it's me. Call me back here when you can, okay?" She promptly hung up the phone, which wouldn't make sense to anyone watching, but how often do people die on the streets only to wake up and feel like ripping others limb from limb? The young girl kept the phone in her cooling hands, a sign of her getting nervous.<br/><br/>"This shit isn't real, right?" Heather asked aloud, hoping for an answer from the other two in the room. "No way."