Rob shook his head. Throw his weapon? Not gonna happen. Not with all three levels of the Terrosphere unexplored with math knows how many infected roaming about waiting to bite into his jugular vein.<br/><br/>"Look around you, doctor. See the corpses? That's the work of an infected. And a pretty fucked up one, at that. And they might still be around, for all I know. I am not going to disarm myself if I'm to stand here with my back against the hallway. You can see pretty clearly by now that I'm not a threat to you, so even if I'm infected I ain't deranged yet. So you decide - either you come to me and watch my back while examining me, or talk me through it but the gun stays with me. Or hell, shoot me if it would make you feel better."<br/><br/>He took a deep breath. His arms were starting to get tired. His throat was so sore he felt every breath painful. His eyes were filled with dust, itching badly. His back was sweaty, his feet were tired. He was hoping she would make her decision before he solves her problem by simply collapsing. 'Hold on, Hound Dog, you've been through worse,' he said to himself. He looked over his shoulder. The hallway was empty but he thought he saw something move on the far end. With the condition of his eyes, he couldn't be sure. He slowly stepped aside and closed the door with his foot.<br/><br/>"Something might be coming our way," he added calmly. "Not sure, but I thought I saw something move. So be on your toes."