Conroy walked through a building that was at one point a bar. He examined the area closely, watching for any movement. Satisfied that nothing would sneak up on him, he moved behind the bar an started looking for something to drink. Almost all of the bottles were smashed or empty, and there was old, stale blood everywhere. He saw something promising under the bar, and pulled out some .45 ammo and a bottle of champagne.
'Lucky break,' he though to himself as he popped the cork and took a swig. As he sat behind the bar, he thought of how the world ended. It was definitely sad, but also kind of funny.

Kent walked into the building holding his P90 out in front of him. The man drinking at the bar caught his attention. "Hey sir, should you really be drinking during an age like this?" Kent lowered his P90. "Most people gave up drink to keep their wits about them."

"Bitch please, drinking keeps me sane."
Conroy kept his eye on the man who walked in, "What are you doing here? Thought this part of the city was too dangerous for civilians."
He took a long swig of the bottle, "Good year, too bad I can't read the label."

Kent chuckled. "Civilian? Do I look like a civilian to you?" Kent rested his P90 on his shoulder. "I'm a member of Z.E.A.C.S. It's my job to protect and help civilians. Like you."

"ZEACS is a civilian organization, isn't it? If you give a man a gun, it doesn't make him a soldier."
Conroy took a drink.
"Me? I'm a professional, which is something you know nothing about."

"It is a civilian organization in a way. We don't just give guns to people who show up. The leader Jonas, he was in the canadian military. Zack and Charlotte. Was in IRA security. Me, I used to be with the IRAT." Kent turned away. "You gotta have some sort of reasonable combat experience. Not just some guy with a gun."

Conroy took a swig of his grog.
"How is Jonas? Haven't seen him in a long while. But if he has the final say on who joins, then you can't be all that bad. Maybe we got off on the wrong foot. What's yer name?"

"Kent Anderson. Commander of Z.E.A.C.S Rubra Squad." Kent turned to face the man again. "You mentioned you knew Jonas. How?"

"It was a long time ago, I don't wanna get into it right now."
Conroy took another drink.
"Today's been pretty boring. Not many dead-heads out today. Not many muties out either. It'd be prudent to get out of here before they show up. If we team up, we'll stand a better chance. Oh, I'm Conroy. At least, that's what people call me."

"Where exactly are you going in such a hurry?" Kent checked his P90, still 32 bullets in the clip. "Shouldn't you be getting somewhere safe?"

"We. We should be getting somewhere safe. I can hear them. And I can smell them."
Conroy drew his .45 handguns, modified Glock 18s.
"Shit. Too late."
A lancer burst in through the back of the bar, followed by several zombies. He fired a burst at the lancer's legs, causing it to fall. He fired a burst into the zombies as well, causing them to stumble as the large bullets ripped them apart.
"Clips're dry! Let's get out of here."

Kent pulled out a walkie and began talking into it. "Kent here. Found one survivor. We're on our way now." Kent then fired into the group expending his entire clip. He was now out of any ammunition. "Just outside there is a Jeep. Get there now!" Kent turned and began running towards the Jeep.

Conroy was already ahead of him. A zombie grabbed him, and he quickly threw it to the ground and curb-stomped it.
"Open the damn jeep! The doors're locked!"
A group of zombies shambled closer to him.
"Great, more fertilizer," He drew his machete, a long blade with the DRACS Delta logo on it, and started swinging.

Kent quickly ran at the jeep as he pulled out a small keychain remote. With the press of a button, both doors unlocked. "There you go! It's open!" Kent realised the logo on the machete. D.R.A.C.S Delta. The team that went missing a few years back. He paid it no attention for now then jumped into the drivers seat of the jeep.

Conroy jumped in to the passenger seat, ripping a zombie's arm off of his sholuder and throwing it outside before closing the door.
"Shit! Drive!"
Conroy sheathed his machete and checked over his guns. They were totally dry. He sighed and looked at Kent, "That was way too close. Almost like France..."