<div align="center">(http://www.neonpunch.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/06/canon500d.jpg)</div><br/>Samuel was never a social butterfly. In fact, he often kept to himself ever since he'd arrived on Eve 7. As such, nobody knew much about it. If he left a good impression, he was always 'that guy with the Brooklyn accent.' If he left a bad impression he was always 'that tool with the Brooklyn accent.' That always annoyed him, because he was well aware that his accent was hardly obnoxious enough to define him, but otherwise, he was fine living his solitary life, blending into the background.<br/><br/>In fact, it was probably the fact that he rarely socialized that kept him alive. He'd been in his quarters when things had gone to hell, watching the reruns of old sitcoms recorded and shown to the colony's population to replicate television back on earth. He had heard the announcements to take caution due to 'unforeseen circumstances,' but he'd ignored them. There was always at least one of those a month, and so he figured it was just another bullshit announcement. However, once the station had begun shaking and jerking, and screams began to ring throughout the hallways, he was obviously alarmed.<br/><br/>He'd gotten dressed in a simple outfit, a white tee and blue jeans, and grabbed his camera, as he always did when he left. It reminded him of his old life, back on earth. When he left his room, he was shocked by what he'd seen. Corpses upon corpses everywhere, blood splattered on the walls. He frowned slightly, but didn't allow himself to fret any more than he should. It wasn't as though he hadn't seen a corpse before.<br/><br/>He picked up a nearby sidearm from one of the fallen security forces and began to run down the halls, his barefoot steps light as he held the gun close to him, his camera hanging from a strap around his neck. He stopped at the edge of a hallway, pressing his back against the wall. He had heard voices from around the corner and, gun gripped tightly in his shaky hands, he didn't know what to do.