Running

Zero

Empty air flows throughout the halls. Nobody roams.

The windows are shattered, cracked, broken. Silence.

No life enhabits the bedrooms. Nobody roams.

Ripped curtains flutter from the breeze. Silence.

Can you hear that? Neither can I.

Nobody can hear anything.

Because there isn't anything to hear.

Nobody roams.

Plates sit in the sink. They won't be washed.

Clothes sit clean in the washing machine, the spin cycle finished. They won't be dried.

The heater is on. It won't be switched off.

I lied to you. Did you notice?

I told you that nobody roams.

One person does.

He's tall. Smartly dressed. He goes by the name Richard. Richard Johns. I think you've heard of him?

One person roams.

I lied again. Did you notice?

I told you that it was silent.

One noise is here.

The soft click-clack of dress-shoes on hardwood floor, walking around. Looking around.

One noise can be heard.

I've lied a few times. Did you notice?

I told you that one person roams.

Two people roam.

A man strolls through the doors, dressed in the same smart atire. He has a badge dawning his shirt pocket. Senior Doctor, Oakspen Testing Facility it reads.

He exhales, looking around.

"It'll be nice for you to finally see Logan again. Won't it, Mr Berry?"

"Yes. Yes, it will be."

Richard crouches down, picking up the last of seven cell phones. 

The two men walk out, smirks plasted accross their faces.

Nobody roams.

Silence.