...a shotgun barrel pointed at your face

Before you can react, there's a barrel of a combat shotgun pointed straight at your face, and you freeze. The police woman holding the shotgun also freezes, and you're both standing there quite still, peering each other over. She's quite cute, with a short but lithe body, though her current hygiene is not doing her any favours; she seems like she hasn't washed in weeks, her skin covered in layers of sweat and her blonde ponytail is tangled with knots. She's wearing a white button up shirt with rolled up sleeves under her black bullet proof vest, which sports the word 'POLICE' in big, yellow letters across the front.

"Who are you?!" she yells, "Who sent you here?!" Her lips part and curl, showing her clenched teeth.

You hesitate for a moment, which causes her to growl and push the barrel harder against your nose. "Why are you here?! Tell me before I blow your fucking head off!"

You stutter as you say your name, then continue to say who sent you (nobody) and why you're here (to loot). She squints, looking you over once more with her blue eyes, unsure whether or not to trust you. You must've said something right, because she doesn't shoot you.

"Hmmm..." she hums for a while, before she answers with a cheerful "We'll allright then!" that catches you by surprise. "Get in before they see you!"

The armory is a rather small room, though spacious enough for perhaps two or three cars if you arranged them right. There are a few bare metal shelves pushed to one side, some partially dissasembeled. A camping lamp sits on top of a cheap looking wooden table that casts a warm yellow glow, which mixes eerily together with the red cast by the emergency LED lights embedded in the walls. There's a sleeping bag on the floor. Honestly, there's not much else you could say.

She closes the door behind you, her shotgun no longer pointed at you, and she casually tosses it away to a corner.

"Welcome to my abode! My name's Christie, or Crystal, or Cry-cry, I don't mind which one you choose! Let me give you a tour of the place!" She grabs you by the arm and pulls you around the room. "This here is the weapons pile! It's where I keep the weapons in case 'they' get in. And this here overhead pipe is where I get my water! Sometimes it leaks. The water tastes funny, but, what can you do, you know? This hole in the ground is the toilet," she points down into a hole, which seemingly leads nowhere, "it's where I piss and shit! I hope you don't mind the lack of privacy, ha ha!"

"Oh, but this is the best part!" Christie goads you over to the table, where rubbish, ammo and spare parts are arranged upright in grids, like a city, with buttons and little bits of plastic representing people and cars. "I call it London 2: Better London! Isn't it rad? Look at them go! Wheeee!" She pushes one of the buttons around, as if it were a padestrian walking down a sidewalk. "Uh-oh! Mr. Barnaby is going to be late for work!"

It's at this point you realise that Christie is not playing with a full deck.

You try to ask her how long she's been in here. "Oh psh, I don't know, maybe a few minutes or something. I'm only here because... Well, 'them' are looking for these guys, trying to destroy their peaceful way of life!" She squints at you. "You're not one of 'them', are you?"

You reassure her that you're not one of infected, and add that it'd be quite obvious if you were.

"Hrm, I guess I would be able to tell if you were one of 'them'. What's an infected though?"

You try to explain the situation outside, about how the UK and who knows where else has been overrun by sex seeking, flesh eating zombies.

"Zombies? I think someone has been watching too many horror movies, am I right guys?" She looks away from you, winking and smiling at one of the walls. "Sounds like you've been brainwashed to believe in silliness by 'them'!"

There's a long silence. You almost lack the words to ask her who she thinks 'them' are.

"You don't know? Oh you poor, naive fool! 'Them'! The ones with eyes and ears everywhere, the ones who have a their grubby hands in every branch of the government, the ones that built the piramids and the illuminati, the ones who rose from the seas and threaten to take over the world as we know it; dolphin people!"

Wordlessly you turn around and head for the door. You press down on the handle but it won't open. You struggle with it, trying to break it down, but it won't budge; these doors were made to resist more than you could ever dish out.

"Oh don't be silly, that door only opens from the outside!"

You scream bloody ****, barely constraining yourself from wrangling her neck. Why would she close the door knowing that she can't open it again?!

"What, you don't want to be in here? I know you don't want to be out there, that's for sure! Now come over here and say hello to Mrs. Barnaby; she just baked an apple pie!" She tilts her head down to lick a grubby penny lying on the table. "Mmm, yummy!" It sickens you to see how such an adult, a police officer no less, can act in such a way.

Well it seems you're stuck here, at least for the time being.