She hadn't noticed Eric leaving the room, but Rose did hear her name being called a few moments later. The girl turned away from Sherlock, glad for the interruption. Hesitating only to grab her coffee cup, she trotted into the dining room. Holmes was left to follow.

The door pulsated with a strange glow. It stood on the far wall of the dining room, which should have meant that it lead outside. Rose got the distinct feeling that this was not the case.

The Companion was awful with temptation. In her time with The Doctor, she was always the first to run off when some new world was reached. More often than not, her antics had lead her straight to danger. However, months and months in this house had amplified her need for new things. The sleepy Rose headed for the door.

"Wha' is it?" she asked, stopping just inches from the portal. "Ya think we should go through?" With about as much caution as Alice in Wonderland, Rose slowly extended her free hand to touch the door.

Sherlock was not all too pleased with the reaction that his audience got. Usually people tended to listen to him a little bit more than that. This was just... Well, sad was what it really was. Just plain sad that no one bothered to pay him anymore attention than they would an annoying fly.

He was about to open his big mouth up and start again, following the others out of the room when they came to the door. His brow rose up and eyes quickly raked over it, lips curling a little at the idea that this door seemingly manifested out of no where and now Rose was just reaching out, ready to open it.

"Of course," he murmured. Why not go through? The worst that could happen... Well. He wouldn't go into that. Why not open a magical door leading god only knew where?

Giving Sherlock only a half-glance, Rose grabbed onto the door and pulled. It swung open, much like any normal door would. It was rather anticlimactic. She'd expected some cinematic chorus or futuristic whooshing noise, or at least a burn on the hand. Instead, the trio was left looking into a vast, carpeted room of neon games- a casino.

Against the dark of the house, the image was painfully bright. Rose raised a hand to shield her sore eyes. "Wha' on Earth would-" Before she could finish, she was through the portal.

Standing alone, Rose stared in awe. She'd never actually been to one of these places before. The bells, whistles, and general clamor were overstimulating. However, even exhausted, she was quick to notice a problem. For all the noise, there weren't any people around.

Something wasn't right. Suddenly wanting to go back, Rose whirled around. The door wasn't behind her anymore- only more casino. She hoped first that the men would follow... and then, that they wouldn't.

Eric didn't have a good feeling about this. The door seemed off, unnatural. Yet, he didn't have time to protest before Rose pulled the door open and stepped through.

He genuinely thought about letting them go alone for a moment. He wanted nothing to do with whatever lay beyond that door, and yet he was curious all the same. What if something through that portal could help them escape this cursed place. With hesitant footsteps, Eric followed Rose through the door.

And instantly regretted it. A look over his shoulder, and the door was missing. In addition, he suddenly felt heavy, like some sort of dampening effect had washed over him. His senses felt bogged down and ineffective. He nearly felt...human, if it weren't for the fact that his fangs had dropped from the sudden instinctual feeling that something was definitely wrong.

A distinct human groan echoed from somewhere on the other side of the casino hall. "What the hell was that?" he hissed, looking toward the source of the sound.

Sherlock hadn't thought a moment of backing away from this strange door and had plunged in right after Rose, only to feel as though he'd been slammed in the chest when he was completely inside. His eyes widened a bit and he hummed thoughtfully, not at all impressed by the color but by the lack of people.

Or seemingly lack of people. That groan.

He spun about on his heels to peer off towards the sound, brow furrowed heavily and mind racing to catch up, asking himself what could possibly make that sound. Of course, as arrogant as he was, he wasn't keen on finding out when a solitary figure began towards them, its gait slightly broken and part of its jaw hanging off.

"Well," he coughed into his hand. "Something tells me this was a poor idea." He didn't have to be a detective to figure that out.

Rose took a few steps back. She watched the figure carefully. It looked like a person, though terribly injured. What had happened here??

"Are ya-" the blonde started to call across the casino to it, only to have the situation worsen. Standing up from behind a roulette table was another. This one was female, pulling at her own hair and bleeding from an empty eye socket. Both were heading in their direction, both picking up speed.

Rose hesitated to run, for fear of being chased. However, as the gruesome half-people reached out their arms, clawing hungrily at the air between the groups, she reconsidered. Her heart rate increasing, Rose suddenly wasn't so tired anymore. She kept her eyes locked on both creatures.

"Boys. Look around'ja, and find somethin' t' defend yourselves with. Now." She hoped they would listen. They only have a few moments to work with.

"Poor idea, indeed," he agreed bitterly. Eric still had no interest in the man whatsoever, but now they were in quite the predicament. Rose would be his priority (after himself, of course), but perhaps Sherlock could at least be a decent distraction with his loud voice.

The only object large enough to do any damage in his immediate vicinity was a chair, and so he took it up at Rose's request. The rotting, walking corpses were moving in faster than he thought was possible given their condition, and he barely had time to grab the piece of furniture before it was nearly upon them.

It was then that he noticed how weak he was. Not less powerful like he was in the mansion, but weak. No stronger than an ordinary human.

Now he was definitely worried.

Sherlock eyed the monsters and, honestly, had no inclination to stick around and try to beat them back, let alone stay with Eric and Rose, people who he honestly didn't get on very well with. So he did the only thing that he could think of doing in this sort of situation, with no means of defending himself and no real reason to stick around.

He booked off in the other direction, long legs meant for sprinting and for keeping the chase whenever need be. For a detective and a smart man, he had an odd amount of physical ability and limitations were not a thing that he was very familiar with.

Of course, for mere reason that maybe it wasn't good form, he was searching for an exit, a safe spot perhaps, or maybe even a better weapon when he stumbled across a larger group of the undead monsters. And then he really ran, scrambling to pull up a metal crowd control pole and flinging it backwards at the things. This was not good.

"Sherlock 'olmes!!" Rose scolded with a yell disturbingly similar to her mum's. Splitting up was the worst thing they could do! Impossible or not, their attackers were clearly zombies. Rose wasn't about to see the group divided into a three-course meal.

She waved for Eric to keep up, not noticing the vampire's weakened demeanor. He was given no time to protest. The girl was already dashing after Holmes.

Rose caught up just in time to see two walking corpses crushed under a stanchion. The sound of flesh and bone cracking apart beneath it was gut-wrenching. Despite a sudden desire to be sick, she nodded, "Brilliant toss, Sherly."

...Sherly? Blimey, she was tired. Whatever.

Three creatures were still standing, stepping over their fallen mates toward the trio. Rose hoisted a rotating poker chip container from a table next to her. With an ungraceful spin, she lobbed the thing shot put-style toward the nearest zombie. A satisfying crash accompanied a sizable burst of chips and bits of graying flesh.

"RUN!!" she screamed, but where could they go?

"Fucking coward," he muttered under his breath and he too turned to sprint after the Rose and Sherlock, hearing the zombies taking chase after them. The was exactly the opposite of a good plan. Having these creatures chase them to an area where more of them would likely be only put them at a greater disadvantage, but being separated was just was bad.

It didn't help that running was making him feel tired. What the flying fuck was going on?

Eric turn to look behind him, swinging the chair as he did so in just enough time to connect with the zombie that was almost up him. It connected with its face, bits of shriveled, rotting flesh tearing away and the skull caving in. It went down, shuddering violently on the ground before going still.

"We need to find a stronghold," he said, glancing all around wildly. "A place with only one entrance that can deadbolt or be fortified."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure that will be easy." Sherlock called as he leaped up, dodging the grab of a zombie and picking up his pace, catching up to Eric and Rose, his lips peeling into a grin. "Hurry now, this way!" He yelled as he took a sharp turn, apparently perfectly aware of where he was going.

Most places like this were set up similarly, in fact, most buildings in general were set up just like this. Meaning the storage spaces were in the back part of the building, hidden doors that no one really bothered to try and open. He slammed into one and, quite happily, found that it opened up. "Hurry!" He called again, gesturing for other two to hurry into the room. At least there they might be able to stock up on whatever supplies they'd need to fight their way out.

Rose only obeyed for the sake of keeping them together. Lights and sound flew by them in a haze. She wove through rows of jingling slots and tables, wondering how Sherlock was navigating so smoothly. Along the way, she picked up a thin, metal stick used for wrangling dice. It wasn't heavy, but she could certainly get some swinging force behind it.

The storage room door opened, and Rose halted long enough for her head to clear. "This is daft. We'll be cornered," she protested. Her eyes remained fixed on the rest of the casino. She saw no zombies in the immediate vicinity, but her hand still death-gripped her makeshift weapon.

"Get what'cha need," she suggested. She could stand guard while the gents gathered supplies. Maybe she was wrong, but closing themselves in a storage room didn't seem the safest. It wasn't particularly... armored.

Eric tossed the chair aside as they kept running. It was too heavy to keep carrying (something he noted with incredible disdain), and it was slowing him down.

The vampire moved into the storage room as Rose kept watch. They would need to be quick, since this room wasn't sturdy enough for to make a stand in.

There was a tool box on one of the shelves, and Eric opened it up to take a wrench from it. It didn't have much range, but it wasn't heavy and would stand up to a lot a punishment.

He really wished he had his sword.

There was also a first aid kit, and Eric pillaged it for some gauze and tape, shoving the items into his pockets.

Just in case.

Sherlock went right for the most viable piece of weaponry that he could find - a piece of PVC piping. Sure, it wasn't as ideal as a metal pipe and definitely wouldn't hold up nearly as well as metal ones would, but certainly would serve him well. Besides, judging from these things, there was no way in hell that he wanted to get close to the zombies. He'd prefer smacking them from a distance.

His eyes scanned the room and, ever the efficient, he grabbed a good bunch of rope. Never could tell when some good, old fashioned rope would come in handy. He looped it up carefully and tucked it down into his coat pocket, looking to Eric with an arched brow.

"Let's go." He said, gesturing to the door and stepping forward, ready to fight or die either way.

Unlike the other three, Sam had been running around in this hell for days. Dirty, freaked, and alone, he somehow made his way through the city and into the casino.

At first he thought it was a trick of the house - that he was only seeing things and that they weren't real. But when he tested this theory, he nearly wound up with a ripped out jugular; and so it was promptly traded in for "Yes. This is reality. I am about to die."

Along the same branch of though, he came to the conclusion that he needed to find his brother, the hotel, and a way back. There was no telling what was happening without him there as now would be the perfect time for Lucifer to make a move.

He skirted through the hallways, careful not to attract attention of the larger groups of undead. Sam wasn't sure how he had managed to get this far, but there was a decided lack of clues as to where he should go, and so the plan was to find someone, anyone, who hadn't gone under. Maybe Dean had noticed he was missing and come looking for him. Maybe there would be one lone survivor lest in this god forsaken place. given that most building's water and electricity still worked, the chances were pretty high that someone was still alive.

He rounded another corner, clutching a fire axe to his chest (his only weapon seeing as the gun he found was out of ammo) just in case he ran into trouble. And, not so surprisingly, he found it. Three dead employees were lumbering down the corridor, following the scent of the newest additions to Zombie-world.

Sam quickly judged the distance between him, the zombies, and the voices up ahead before jumping into action. After a few days of doing this (and a life of beheading much more dangerous creepy crawlies) it was easy enough to knock them down and smash their faces in. The last Zombie was just about to turn the corner up ahead before Sam charged it into the wall with his axe. It fell to the floor with a wet crunch and he turned squared his shoulders. Clearing his throat and glancing down the new hallway for the next obstacle.

And then saw Rose standing guard outside a supply room.

For real. Dirty, tired, and looking like shit, he took a breath.

"Rose?"

Sherlock weighed the pipe in his hands, slapping it lightly against his palm and getting a good feel for the weapon that could potentially save his life. Not very much trust went into that, exactly. But... He sighed and gripped onto that little piece of piping, ready to do whatever he could and he stepped out of the room, head held high, prepared to smack the living hell out of those undead things and then ---

Oh.

The large Winchester was here. Well. As opportune as this moment seemed to be... "You." He said with a narrow of his brows and a tight lipped frown. "Sam, we need to talk, once this is-" He glared off to the side, catching a glance of an approaching zombie and how dare one of these undead monsters try to interrupt his discussion. He scowled and held more forcefully onto the pipe, looking back up to Sam. "You're not going to beat up John, all right? End of problem."

At that being said, he charged at the approaching monster, smashing the PVC through its skull and holding his mouth shut tight as he watched the zombie crumple beneath the weapon and onto the ground in such a great, bloody pile. Well.

"Sam-" Rose started, before being predictably interrupted by Sherlock. She sighed heavily. Was the detective seriously bringing up John when they were about to get their brains gnawed out?

If ANYONE needed to talk to Sam, it was Rose. She hadn't seen the younger Winchester in days, and Lucifer had been in her head, and it was his fault, and he didn't even know because-

Then, a pause, as she looked him over.

...It clicked in her head, and Rose felt all sorts of stupid. Sam had been here. Trapped. His disheveled, scraped-up appearance explained it all. Smiling, she let her anger dissipate. The girl tuned out Sherlock's rambling to toss her arms about Sam's waist.

"Hi," Rose said, finding nothing else.

The sound of a zombie hitting the floor broke her out of the moment. She looked to see the detective was okay, followed by Eric. Lastly, forgetting how bloodshot her eyes were, she returned her focus to Sam. "Let's go," she said, as if he wouldn't notice.

Momentarily distracted by Sherlock, Sam looked up and was about to reply when the other man smashed the ever living shit out of another zombie.

"Hi" He answered Rose, instinctively wrapping his arms around her.

There was a far distant (thought not too far) roar, and having been there for a while he knew what it meant. There were a fuck ton of zombies on the way. A hoard, if you will. And they were in the worst possible position to defend themselves.

"This way." He instructed, nodding back to the direction from whence he had come. There were Black arrows painted on the walls in that direction anyway, left by previous survivors.

There was a safe house.

Sam had seen it, ducked in for more supplies, and come back out to look for anyone else alive. He knew if he was going to make it out alive, traveling with at least one other person increased the odds. And it was all he could to to keep going. That was his job, right? Kill bad things. Save people. The family business, if you will.

He pulled Rose along side him, turning to lead the way.

The hoard was getting closer, lead by a Tank from the sounds of it. He could also hear the distinctive sound of a hunter, snarling as it lept alongside it's less-mutated companions. They were out for blood, and now in a group of four, they were likely to get at least one of them.

"There's a room up ahead." He explained as they moved. "We'll be safe there."

And as they turned the corner, there it was, illuminated by a slap dash orange paint job around the door frame.

"C'mon, everybody in."

The Hoard was right behind them, nipping at their heels, twenty, no, thirty undead rushing down the hallway. The Tank crashing against the walls, roaring at the top of it's lungs.

The door closed, the bolt slid securely shut.

They were safe. For now.