Distant Conflict

Alarms shriek. Warning lights strobe, painting the walls red.
Who am I?
Distant gunfire. Explosions. Cracking stone.
He won’t find answers here.
He staggers to his feet.
Left- medical, biological testing, cybernetics, genetic manipulation. Right- security, archives, armoury, living quarters. He’s never seen this building before, but he knows it intimately. How? Another question for later.
Right now, naked, defenceless, the armoury feels like the natural choice.
He stumbles to the right, learning to run.
Then the wall behind him explodes, sending him sprawling. Through the hole steps a nightmare of raw, flayed flesh and twisted metal.
It roars. Charges.