Liz was getting real fucking tired of this place. The hallway outside her room was migraine inducing, but turn the corner, and suddenly it was as poorly lit as a stoner's bedroom. Digging around in her pockets, she searched for one of her mini-mags before she realised there was a glow in the halls. That was coming closer.

Placing a hand on her hip (near her gun), she called out, "Boy, really hoping you're a friendly."