[Jurinjo]

Ricky moved quietly, sticking to the walls and agonizing over every breath and step. The silence seemed to amplify every little sound despite all the crap on the floor that should've been keeping his soft steps from bouncing around. Maybe it was just his paranoia making that up though.

Whoever was, or still was here, did a good job cleaning things up. It looked like all he'd find left was bare materials. Which was considerably harder to sell of as it was time consuming and not high on wastelander's list of priorities. They could live with the same underwear for months but they could not live without ammo to shoot potential enemies, or whatever else this place probably now lacked.

The hall remained clear, with several open doors. The closest was only slightly open though. Tensing again he moved towards the door, crouched and shotgun ready to fire...