"What in the Sam Hill is going on out there?" Sarge's voice was barely heard over the blaring sirens and the thud of feet hitting the tiled floor outside of their shared room. Red emergency lights flooded the tiny confines of their white walled room.

Sarge and Grif had been placed together since the start of the program, something about Grif having a lack of respect for authority and needing to spend time with a superior officer. If their goal was to get him to respect authority more, then they shouldn't have put him in the same room as the man that thought that trying to be louder than a siren was going to work.

Grif grunted, flipping over and trying to bury is head further under his pillow. "Oh god, make it stop."

Sarge either didn't hear Grif, or more likely didn't care, as he started banging against the door, trying to get the attention of one of the people running by. "Hey! Where's the fire?" His banging got progressively louder as the more people ran by without stopping. "Don't ignore me, dammit!"

Grumbling, Grif slid out of bed, the sheets tangling his legs before he fell out of his bunk with a thud. He stood up and walked closer to where Sarge was trying to beat the door down with the power of being a stubborn old man. "Sarge." Nothing. "Sarge!"

"Grif!" He stopped banging on the door only to grab at Grif's shoulder roughly. "Quick, use your head for once and break down the door."

Before Grif could point out all the things horribly, horribly wrong with that plan, the room was plunged into darkness. "Shit." The sudden lack of sirens was deafening. "Sarge?"

"Huh, must be a power-surge or something. Nothing to worry about." A scream pierced the silence.

Grif jumped, the darkness concealing the movement. "What the fuck was that?" He did not shriek, that was not a shriek. Grif moved to where he thought the door was. It was still locked. "Shit, we're gonna die."

Sarge shoved him away from the door. "Quiet, dirtbag. Death is not an option. Well, not for me. But I'm not dying before you!" But before he could try the door again something hit it with a hard bang.

"Yeah, no, I'm staying in here if it's all the same to you."

An explosion from the other side of the building was his answer.

"Donut! Dammit, Donut, you alright?" Simmons yelled as he moved the remains of their door away from where the other man had fallen.

Donut stood up awkwardly, his ears still ringing slightly. It sounded like a grenade had gone off. "Huh? Yeah, I'm fine. Man, that came out of no where!"

"No shit, Sherlock. What the hell is going on out there?" Simmons was creeping closer to the gaping hole that was once their door when a body slid to a stop in the hall. "Holy fuck! Doc? What the hell, are you trying to give me a heart attack!" Simmons yelped, clutching the standard issue gray fabric over his heart.

Doc looked haggard, breathing hard as he had apparently ran all the way there. "What are you guys still doing here?" He panted. "Didn't you hear the evacuation sirens?"

Donut gave Doc an incredulous look, hands placed disbelievingly on his hips. "Evacuation sirens? Our door's been locked for the past hour!"

Doc seemed to just notice that their door was actually no longer a door. "Well, that doesn't seem to be much of a problem now."

"True, but that was still a nice door. A little paint, maybe some faux wood, and it would have been just fine."

Doc frowned slightly at his friend. "You know I tried to get paint down here, but they said it was against regulations. Also the fumes would have been just terrible-"

"Enough!" Donut and Doc snapped out of their conversation. Simmons was staring at the two, his left eye twitching in irritation. "We do not have time for this. Doc, what the hell is going on?"

"Uh, I don't really know. I was in the contamination room, organizing the chemicals, when I got a message from Command about a breach of some kind? I don't really know what it was about but they said to go make sure you guys weren't dead or anything."

They started making their way out of the room and into the hall. The grenade had gone off a lot further away than they thought it did, but the evidence of it could be seen everywhere. Parts of what used to be a wall crunched beneath their feet. "Well, good job, we're not dead, yet. Where are the others?"

Not all of the lights were back on yet, but the ones that were seemed to paint every corner in deceptive shadows. If Simmons looked close enough, he could have sworn he saw bodies.

Doc didn't know why, but he felt the need to whisper. "I was just about to go check on them."

They turned the corner, and stopped dead.

There was scuffle outside of Grif and Sarge's door before it went quiet again. Everything was still, and that made the sound of the lock being slowly disengaged sound even louder in the too small room. Even in the semi-darkness they were in, Grif could see Sarge make an abortive movement for a shotgun they both knew wouldn't be there.

Just before the last click of the lock was in place, Grif saw Sarge give him a short nod. Well, if they were gonna die, they might as well do it in style.

The door opened.

"Die, shitsack!"

"Eat it, cockbite!"

They landed on their target, their combined weight shoving the body to the ground, but not for long. The body twisted sharpy, releasing one of its pinned arms, elbowing Grif sharply across the jaw, "Ow! Son of a-", before kicking out and connecting with Sarge's stomach.

It was the shortest fight ever. Of all time.

Their opponent stood, pressing his heel into Grif's back as Grif tried to stand, and pointing his rifle where Sarge was crouched, arm holding where he'd been kicked.

"Honestly, I should be surprised, but I've been reading your files." The man, who towered above Grif from his vantage point of rubbing cheeks with the floor, was not someone Grif recognized and, from the way Sarge was glaring at the guy strong enough to melt metal, Grif was fairly certain Sarge didn't know him either. The guy was older than Grif, but nowhere near as ancient as Sarge. His closely cropped blonde hair screamed military where his clothes only vaguely whispered it. He looked like he dressed in a hurry (or in the dark), his button up shirt halfheartedly tucked into his khaki pants like an afterthought.

Grif grudgingly accepted the hand that was offered to him, pulling himself to his feet. Grif was busy trying to gently wipe the taste of plaster out of his mouth without making his jaw twinge anymore than necessary, while Sarge was grumbling something along the lines of 'I can stand on my own, you no good..' and 'just took me off guard, is all' while the new guy walked a few paces down the corridor, peering around the edge of the wall, holding a gun Grif was sure hadn't been there a moment ago.

The guy turned away from the edge of the wall and looked back at them, frowning like Grif and Sarge were the biggest problem he had and not, you know, that the whole place was falling a part around their ears for some stupid fucking reason and was that a growl? That sounded like a growl, or maybe a snarl, some sort of not friendly sound that made Grif wish he hadn't gotten out of bed that morning.

"We can't stay here, come on, move." He walked away like he expected them to follow.

Sarge seemed to overcome his brief stint as a human punching bag, and scoffed, "Now wait just a goddamn second, who died and made you General?"

The guy looked back at them, tilting his head. "I'm not a general, and I know you have no reason to trust me, but you really need to listen to me. It's not safe here."

Grif had no idea who this guy was, Sarge had no idea who this guy was, and between the three of them there were too many guns in the wrong hands and too little information being shared. Grif was very fond of his ass, thank you very much, and was not about to go risking it for someone he just barely met. "Yeah, well, mister not-general-guy, why should we listen to you? We don't even know your name!"

The guy looked like he was about to say something, but then there was a crash from up ahead, followed by a shriek so blood curdling it felt like ice rolling down Grif's spine. Whatever it was came barreling at them, half shrouded by darkness. Grif didn't even get the chance to step back before it was dead at his feet, the echo of bullet fire ricocheting around them.

"My name's Agent Washington."